SORRY, WRONG NUMBER

(September 1948, U.S.)

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER (adapted from the original Lucille Fletcher radio play) is, of course, old enough to feel completely dated (if not silly) to the average moviegoer, even lover of great black and white classics. However, the film opens with a message to the audience that I can't help but feel doesn't stray too far from the world we live in today...

"In the tangled networks of a great city, the telephone is the unseen link between a million lives...It is the servant of our common needs--the confidante of our inmost secrets...life and happiness wait upon its ring...and horror...and loneliness...and...death!!!

The year is 1948, but the message is clearly outlining its own version of what we consider our social media today and the equipment that ties us all together, sometimes whether we like it or not. The telephone, as simple as it may have been once, was still a quirky, little instrument that could, perhaps, throw a twist into one's life occasionally and enter them into circumstances of danger. The story is a somewhat simple one of a bedridden Manhattan woman who accidentally overhears a murder plot on the telephone when her line is crossed with another's. But to fully appreciate the victim of the story here, we have to understand just what sort of woman Leona Stevenson (played by the great Barbara Stanwyck) really is. She's a spoiled, rotten bitch who's never been shy about manipulating and controlling the men in her life, from her wealthy father to her whipped husband (in fact, there was probably nobody like Stanwyck who could play such a woman so damn well!). It's almost very easy not to feel an ounce of pity for her confined, bedridden condition, considering her abusive attitude toward everyone she comes into contact with, even the telephone operator. Even when the moment occurs when she accidentally overhears the murder plot of what will turn out to be her by 11:15 pm that night, she's only on the phone in the first place because she's desperately trying to tighten the leash she already has wrapped around her poor husband's neck. He's away somewhere, she's all alone, and she simply can't tolerate that.

Leona's history with her husband Henry (played by Burt Lancaster) is a pushy one from the moment she meets him when she quite literally steals him away from her college roommate during a dance simply because she's decided that she wants him. Does she really love him? She claims she does, but the appearance of her relationship with him is likely motivated to defy her controlling father, and nothing more. Once married, Henry's balls are forever inside of his wife's tight clutches. Even his bright career is in the hands of her father, whom he works for. When he boldly tries to break away into a business of his own, he's met with hostility and threats by Leona and her father, seemingly trapping and binding him to them forever. Too weak to simply say, "Fuck off!, and leave, it's no wonder he ultimately decides to commit illegal acts of embezzlement against his father in-law's company. Through Leona's endless, hysterical phone calls to various people all night, she manages to put the pieces together and learn of her husband's crimes and the financial and criminal consequences that have resulted. By the very end, she's also managed to discover that it was her own disgruntled husband who was responsible for putting the hit out on her so he could (presumably) inherit her money to get himself out of trouble. Interestingly, at the final moment before she's due to die at the hands of her paid assassins, there's the final conversation between her and Henry that brings confession, regret and mutual understanding between them as husband and wife. Turns out, they may have genuinely loved each other more than they ever realized. Alas, though, it's too late. Leona can't get out of bed to defend herself or scream out the window into the dark Manhattan night. She's been strangled and Henry's final, desperate attempt to save his estranged wife over the mighty telephone is met with only, "Sorry, wrong number." by one of her killers.

The film had a long history of radio adaptations before it, but it's truly the art of dark noir, circling camera work and looming shadows that brings its suspense to life, including the visuals of Stanwyck's bedroom windows facing the dark Manhattan skyline and bridge. Playing in real time, the various flashbacks help us to understand those involved with what we know is going to happen by the end of the night and decide for ourselves how much we pity those that are paying the price. Barbara and Burt play off well against each other as opposites who represent strength (her) and weakness (him). Their relationship outlines what, perhaps, represents a lot of sick, twisted marriages out there in real life where one controls the other who's more than willing to allow themselves to be controlled, even if they don't like it (like I said, a sick marriage!). I may have had Leona's killed myself if I were in such a personal hell (but hey, that's me...maybe!).

Favorite line or dialogue:

Henry Stevenson (to Leona): "I want you to do something. I want you to get yourself out of the bed, and get over to the window and scream as loud as you can! Otherwise you only have another three minutes to live!"