Despite possessing all the handsome features expected of a male star in the 1950s, actor Richard Widmark ended up playing some of the most loathsome and outright disgusting characters of his era. After his star-making turn in Henry Hathaway's terrific Kiss of Death, Widmark found himself typecast as villains and anti-heroes in the subsequent years, before reinventing himself as a hero later in life. Looking back at Widmark's career, his performances are savage even by today's standards, and he perhaps never played a character so utterly vile as that of mobster Ray Biddle in Joseph L. Mankiewicz's No Way Out. Biddle is both gangster and racist, the worst type of person, and starts the film being wheeled into a hospital with his brother after a robbery gone wrong.
The Biddle brothers have both been injured in a shoot-out with the police, but elder brother Johnny (Dick Paxton) is more seriously ill than it would appear. Tasked with taking care of the hoodlums is Dr. Luther Books (Sidney Poitier), an intern who has just earned his license to practise medicine and the first African-American doctor to work at the hospital. Concerned with Johnny's slurred speech and erratic behaviour, Brooks suspects a brain tumour and starts a spinal tap, only to be bombarded with racist abuse from Ray. Johnny dies soon after, and Ray naturally accuses Brooks of murder. After consulting with chief medical resident Dr. Wharton (Stephen McNally), they both agree on the diagnosis, and also that an autopsy is the only way to know for certain. But state laws only permit an autopsy with a family member's approval, and Ray isn't going to give it. With racial tension across the city brewing, Brooks and Wharton visit Ray's ex-wife Edie (Linda Darnell) in the hope that she can make Ray see sense.
By keeping the majority of the story within the hospital setting, Mankiewicz and co-writer Lesser Samuels (who would go on to pen the great Ace in the Hole for Billy Wilder) keep the animosity at a personal level. The film would go on to earn an Oscar nomination for Best Writing, Story and Screenplay. Brooks must remain stone-faced as he is abused by Ray after genuinely trying to save his brother's life, and Poitier is magnificent in an very early role. His relationship with Ray, who refuses to see sense even when given proof, is incredibly raw even by contemporary standards. Ray is the catalyst for the trouble at the film's centre, and his actions cause a rippling effect throughout the surrounding neighbourhoods, with the inhabitants of an-all black area gearing up for a fight with the whites from Ray's neck of the woods. This highlights the fact that the themes the film is keen to explore aren't just confined to the hospital, but represent a problem of a much wider scale. It's a film that is sadly still relevant today, over 60 years later, and Widmark's ferocity only makes the experience all the more powerful.
When an immigrant is found shot to death in the docks, the cause of death is given as gun shot wounds. The coroner, however, notices signs of something far more sinister - the pneumonic plague. Lt. Commander Reed (Richard Widmark), a doctor with the U.S. Public Health Service, is brought in to investigate the matter and contain any possible signs of infection. With the backing of the mayor, Reed faces scepticism from the police, and namely Captain Tom Warren (Paul Douglas), with whom he is forced to conduct the investigation with. With a prediction of 48 hours until the disease starts to spread, Reed and Warren are forced into a desperate rush to find the killers with next to nothing to go on.
In contrast to the usual genre traits of film noir, Panic in the Streets makes the fine comparison between crime and disease, being very much one and the same. In order to prevent a deadly outburst, Reed must trace the dead body back to the intimidating Blackie (played with chiselled brooding menace by Jack Palance, he credited as Walter Jack Palance), who in the climatic scenes, scuttles across the floor as he desperately tries to evade the pursuing police like the rats that brought the bubonic plague to Europe in the 1300's. It's almost a strange subject to tackle within the confines of film noir, but if anything, heightens the intensity of the film, and with Elia Kazan's fine direction, the film becomes a fine metaphor for inner-city crime spreading like a cancer.
Coming three years after his shockingly evil turn in Henry Hathaway's Kiss of Death (1947), that earned him an Oscar nomination, here Widmark is our hero and the man standing in the way of mass infection. Rather than the quick-tongued, hard-drinking and chain-smoking anti-hero's of most noirs, Reed is the one voice of sanity, fighting the system and finding comfort with his wife (played by Barbara Bel Geddes) at home. The few scenes that see Reed talk with his wife are a stark contrast and a welcome break from the documentary-style realism of Reed's investigations, a technique carried on from Jules Dassin's ground-breaking The Naked City (1948). Beginning with a smoky card-game played out with sweaty heavies (including Zero Mostel in a fantastic slimy role), the New Orleans' streets are shot in high contrast black-and-white, with sweeping cinematography that brings to mind the majestic tracking shot from Touch of Evil (1958).
Although it pains me to say it - given his unforgivable outing of his friends and colleagues in the House Committee on Un-American Activites as being communists, leading to the black-listing and career deaths of many great artists - Kazan is a master of his medium. Yes, it's far from being one of the all-time great noirs, but Panic in the Streets is simply a finely polished and expertly paced thriller, squeezing out tension from the tiniest of moments, and bringing real originality to the genre. This is the not the Hollywood noir of Humphrey Bogart, but an honest and gravelly depiction of a city from the mayor down to the scum, with a apprehensive lone hero beating at its heart.