Very Cool!!!

I cannot think of one single thing that I would change about this film. The acting is incomparable, the directing deft, and the writing poignantly brilliant.

The film makes a home in your brain and the only cure is to see it again.

Let me be very fair here, this is not the best movie in my opinion. But, this movie is fun, it has purpose and is very enjoyable to watch.

Saw this 3/15/16, via YouTube.An obvious comment, but yes, here in this dialog-free film is "pure cinema", a narrative film that aggressively distinguishes itself from word-based art forms of written literature and theater.The movie revisits in inverted form Hollywood's big problem of the late 1920's, the transition to sound. Back then moguls sorted out who among the silent era stars could succeed with a dialog track (Laurel and Hardy, Ronald Colman, Garbo in a nail-biter) and who could not (Emil Jannings, famously). Here the lead is played by one of cinema's great line-deliverers, Ray Milland, giving an artistically complete performance with no more voice than Lon Chaney had in "Ace of Hearts" (1921). Milland's Dr. Fields worked for me even though his communicative activity is limited to picking up a discarded cigarette wrapper or anxiously staring at a telephone as we join him in counting how many times it rings."The Thief" also carves out a single-occupancy niche all its own, consisting of what might be called "pure espionage cinema". Through its wordlessness the film transports the audience into the secretive, hermetic world of the high-stakes nuclear spy. For Dr. Fields every utterance is a potential admission, casual conversation a revelatory trap. Writer-director Russell Rouse, working with Clarence Greene, gave Fields his Miranda warning. Fields by necessity exercises his right to remain silent. It is another entry in the cinema of "subtraction", a film that forgoes one or more cinematic components expected (and too often demanded) by a viewer. The film joins other subtractive works, such as "La Jetee" (1962), which dispenses with continuous motion for its Mobius-strip narrative, and "Rififi" (1955), whose middle, suspenseful act cuts the music. Then there is "Pulp Fiction" (1994), shuffling the deck of narrative sequence.The music is as emotionally hammering as anything this side of Alban Berg's "Wozzeck" (an interesting TV movie version appeared in 1972) or Ennio Morricone at his thundering best in "Un Uomo a Meta" (1966). Sam Leavitt's cinematography, combined with the music of Herschel Burke Gilbert, join the audience in Field's torment. Much of the action (and there is a lot) reminded me of "Vertigo" (1958) as James Stewart broodingly trails Kim Novak, with the images on screen acting as commentary on the score.Maybe "The Thief" is not for everyone. Hard to tell. Those who found the last seven minutes of Antonioni's "The Eclipse" (1962) completely appropriate and understandable will likely hold "The Thief" in high regard. On the other hand, this is probably not the movie for viewers who feel the need to ask after a half hour, "Why isn't anyone talking?"

'The Thief (1952)' sets itself apart from other Cold War-era thrillers – and, indeed, from most films released after 1930 – because it unfolds entirely without dialogue. Directed by Russell Rouse, the film uses its deliberate silence, not merely as an unusual gimmick, but as a legitimate storytelling device, to internalise the guilt, fear and frustration of its protagonist. In most films, characters get worries off their chests simply by talking to others – but to whom can Allan Fields talk? Not to his fellow Communist spies, who must never be seen in his company, and whose convictions he doesn't necessarily share. Certainly not to friends or family, whose way-of-life he is betraying to the enemy. Lonely and segregated, Fields (Ray Milland) simply goes about his painful duties, his inner torment consistently repressed behind a strained pretense of nonchalance. Only when he murders a young FBI agent does his anguish spill forth into physical and verbal form, in a pitiful outpouring of grief and emotion.Despite a slow first half, in which Fields' typical espionage duties are introduced via a lot of silent waiting, 'The Thief' picks up substantially once the American authorities catch wind of his crimes. Rouse cultivates some truly thumping suspense sequences, including a magnificent stairway pursuit up the then-tallest building in the world, the Empire State. This breathless flight from the 88th floor observatory to the 102nd floor, and beyond, serves as a convenient allegory for Fields' Communist involvement. As an FBI agent rushes in pursuit, Milland's character tries repeatedly to escape through service doors on each floor, only to find them locked each time. Throughout the film, despite wishing to abandon his treasonous practices, Fields consistently finds his path to freedom blocked, his only option to continue what he's been doing, further implicating himself with each staircase he ascends. When inevitably cornered high above New York City, ironically defenseless at the pinnacle of human achievement, Fields desperately lashes out at his aggressor, and does the unthinkable.In spite of my reservations that only a low-budget film could get away with such an anachronistic style, 'The Thief' does, in fact, boast excellent production values. Sam Leavitt's cinematography is graceful but with an edge of documentary-realism. I particularly enjoyed the lurid confusion of Fields' nervous breakdown (perhaps a nod to Wilder's 'The Lost Weekend (1945)'), with an increasingly-claustrophobic Milland filmed from above like an insignificant pawn, as specks of blood appear to permeate the walls. Despite his Oscar, Ray Milland is one of his generation's most underrated leading men, and he handles an exceedingly difficult role with poise and empathy: just watch Fields' pang of guilt every time he glances at the Capitol Dome, a symbol of American nationalism. Despite its sympathetic portrayal of a Commie spy, the film is nevertheless patriotic, as it must have been at this time. Indeed, Fields' ultimate decision to confess everything to the FBI comes not with the realisation that he is a bad person, but the realisation that he is a bad American.

This film came out before Mr. Hulot's Holiday, but it employs the same concept: the protagonist never utters a word. But whereas "Hulot" was a comedy, this one's rather noirish.MAJOR Spoiler follows: The ending of the film is a little fantastic. Suddenly, the protagonist, who's on the run, gets nostalgic about New York City. Seeing as his crimes, given the era, were capital offenses, I don't see any advantage in his action.Also, there was a cheat: when he was walking through Grand Central terminal, the PA system was broadcasting an unintelligible announcement. Deliberately unintelligible, I suppose, so that "not a word is spoken"; that is unnecessary.Not bad, but not classic.

If you can get through the first 15 minutes or so of this film, you're in for a real treat. Once the film gets going, its quite enjoyable, with scenes shot in Washington DC, Times Square, and most notably, the Empire State Building back when it was the tallest skyscraper in the world. The scenes on the 88th floor are beautifully shot, an then we get to travel higher to the 102nd floor and beyond. Anyone who loves New York will love this stuff. As a film, the gimmick of no dialogue works fairly well, though there are some scenes where it just doesn't seem natural that nobody would say anything (Milland's encounter with Gam at the flophouse screams for dialogue). But Milland carries it off for the most part and makes "The Thief" well worth a look.