'The Third Man' (1949) Movie of the Book by Graham Greene

'The Third Man' stands as a defining achievement in post-war cinema—a film that not only encapsulates the disillusionment of its time but also pushes the boundaries of visual storytelling. Set in the rubble-strewn ruins of post-World War II Vienna, the film weaves a tale of moral ambiguity, betrayal, and the collision between idealism and harsh reality. With a screenplay by Graham Greene and an unforgettable performance by Orson Welles, The Third Man transcends the conventions of the noir genre to become something far more profound—a meditation on human frailty in a broken world.

At the heart of the narrative is Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten), a pulp novelist whose romanticized sense of right and wrong is quickly dismantled by the brutal realities of post-war Vienna. Arriving at the invitation of his old friend Harry Lime, Holly is met instead by news of Lime’s sudden death in a suspicious traffic accident. Driven by a mix of loyalty and curiosity, Holly delves deeper, only to uncover a city mired in corruption, black-market dealings, and conflicting stories about Harry’s final moments. It is not merely a search for truth that propels him but an existential journey—a slow realization that his notions of friendship and morality are inadequate in a world where survival often demands moral compromise.

The film’s visual style reflects this disorientation and moral uncertainty. Robert Krasker’s Academy Award-winning cinematography employs stark shadows, deep contrasts, and a persistent use of Dutch angles, creating a sense of unease that mirrors Holly’s descent into moral ambiguity. Vienna itself is presented as a fractured city—divided into Allied zones, crawling with informants, and littered with the debris of a civilization that has torn itself apart. This is not the glamorous, rain-slicked urban jungle of American noir, but a city on the edge of collapse, where even innocence feels like a luxury no one can afford. The chiaroscuro lighting, echoing the style of German Expressionism, reinforces the film’s central question: can anyone remain truly innocent in a world so thoroughly broken?

Orson Welles’s portrayal of Harry Lime is nothing short of iconic. Despite his late entrance into the film, Welles’s presence looms large throughout—an absence that grows heavier with every contradiction in the stories surrounding his death. When he finally appears, emerging from the shadows with a half-smile in a darkened doorway, it is one of the most electrifying moments in cinematic history. Welles imbues Lime with an unsettling charm, a figure who understands the ugliness of the world but has chosen to exploit it rather than resist it. His famous speech atop the Ferris wheel—an improvisation on Welles’s part—distills the film’s bleak worldview into a single chilling observation. As he speaks of the relative peace of Swiss history yielding nothing but the cuckoo clock, in contrast to the blood-soaked Italian Renaissance producing great art, Lime articulates a philosophy where human suffering is simply the price of progress.

Yet, 'The Third Man' is not content to present Harry Lime as a simple villain. Beneath his charisma and callousness lies a reflection of Holly himself—a man who, while pursuing truth, finds himself complicit in the destruction of what he sought to preserve. This moral complexity extends to Anna (Alida Valli), Harry’s lover, whose unwavering loyalty to him defies both logic and self-preservation. Her refusal to betray Harry—even in the face of undeniable evidence of his crimes—stands in contrast to Holly’s increasingly desperate need to reconcile the man he knew with the man Harry has become. Trevor Howard’s portrayal of Major Calloway, the weary British officer who guides Holly through the city’s moral quagmire, offers a voice of pragmatic cynicism. For Calloway, the world is neither good nor bad—it is simply a place where one does what is necessary to prevent greater harm.

Anton Karas’s zither score, particularly the haunting “Harry Lime Theme,” is another defining feature of the film. Its playful yet melancholic tone underscores the tragic irony at the heart of the story. The music, with its lightness, seems at odds with the film’s weighty themes but ultimately deepens the sense of unease. This tension reaches its peak in the climactic chase through Vienna’s sewers—a sequence as visually striking as it is symbolically resonant. Harry, once the puppet master, becomes a rat in a labyrinth of his own making, his charismatic façade stripped away in the cold light of pursuit.

The film’s closing shot is among the most poignant and unresolved in cinema history. As Holly waits by the side of a tree-lined road for Anna, she walks past him without a word, her gaze fixed forward. It is a moment of quiet devastation—Holly’s ideals shattered, his actions irrevocable, and his only reward an unbridgeable gulf between himself and the woman he hoped to save. There is no neat resolution, no triumph of good over evil—only the lingering weight of choices that can never be undone.

Ultimately, 'The Third Man' endures not merely as a masterwork of the noir genre but as a profound exploration of post-war disillusionment. It is a film where no one escapes unscathed, where the line between good and evil is blurred beyond recognition, and where even friendship cannot survive the realities of a broken world. In crafting a story as visually bold as it is morally complex, Carol Reed and Graham Greene created a timeless classic—a film that asks whether, in the ruins of civilization, the price of survival is the death of the soul.