When it comes to Cinema's hall of fame of screen villains Robert Walker's Bruno Anthony has to rank up there with the best of them. Outwardly harmless, he possesses the twisted psyche of a spoiled mummy's boy who is all too willing to resort to murder to get his own way (sounds a little like Norman Bates, doesn't it?).
Walker graces the role with sly hints of effeminacy that hint at his character's sexual orientation, something that in 1951 would have contributed to the overall impression of louche decadence. And what a loathsome creature he truly is, almost toadying towards tennis player Guy Haines as he ingratiates his way into the hapless athlete's life only to turn it upside down with his diabolical 'criss-cross' plan. To be fair, Haines is a tailor-made victim, and the passive indecision of his character is perhaps the film's biggest flaw. As others have no doubt noted, Haines would only need have gone to the police to sort everything out because Bruno's suave mask is clearly as fragile as an eggshell, and even a novice interrogator would quickly determine that something's not right about him.
As murder plots go, it's not a bad idea – apart from the unlikelihood of two like-minded strangers meeting, discussing and then agreeing to such a plot in the first place. Bruno takes the vaguest of affirmations – distractedly delivered by Haines to shake him off – as confirmation that his plan is a goer and promptly murders Haine's estranged wife in a justifiably famous fairground murder scene.
The psychological subtext is laid on pretty thick for an early fifties film, making it a piece of work that rewards repeated viewings. Walker's character grows increasingly menacing as the film progresses, not through any changes of attitude or manner on his part, but because of what the audience learns about him as the story unfolds. For the most part, however, his role in the film is simply as a villainous foil for the clear-cut Haines, which is a shame as it would have been interesting to see just how Bruno became as twisted as he was. Nevertheless, Strangers on a Train deserves the classic status it enjoys, and is worth a couple of hours of anybody's time.
Walker graces the role with sly hints of effeminacy that hint at his character's sexual orientation, something that in 1951 would have contributed to the overall impression of louche decadence. And what a loathsome creature he truly is, almost toadying towards tennis player Guy Haines as he ingratiates his way into the hapless athlete's life only to turn it upside down with his diabolical 'criss-cross' plan. To be fair, Haines is a tailor-made victim, and the passive indecision of his character is perhaps the film's biggest flaw. As others have no doubt noted, Haines would only need have gone to the police to sort everything out because Bruno's suave mask is clearly as fragile as an eggshell, and even a novice interrogator would quickly determine that something's not right about him.
As murder plots go, it's not a bad idea – apart from the unlikelihood of two like-minded strangers meeting, discussing and then agreeing to such a plot in the first place. Bruno takes the vaguest of affirmations – distractedly delivered by Haines to shake him off – as confirmation that his plan is a goer and promptly murders Haine's estranged wife in a justifiably famous fairground murder scene.
The psychological subtext is laid on pretty thick for an early fifties film, making it a piece of work that rewards repeated viewings. Walker's character grows increasingly menacing as the film progresses, not through any changes of attitude or manner on his part, but because of what the audience learns about him as the story unfolds. For the most part, however, his role in the film is simply as a villainous foil for the clear-cut Haines, which is a shame as it would have been interesting to see just how Bruno became as twisted as he was. Nevertheless, Strangers on a Train deserves the classic status it enjoys, and is worth a couple of hours of anybody's time.