Skip McCoy (Richard Widmark), an amoral three-time-looser, picks the purse of Candy (Jean Peters), a crime that is witnessed by several government agents. They’ve been watching her because, without her knowing it, she’s carrying government secrets for her traitorous ex-boyfriend, Joey (Richard Kiley). Now both the cops and Candy use informant Moe (Thelma Ritter) to find Skip while his only concern is how to get the most out of it for himself.
Film Noir meets espionage thriller, and both are better for it. But it is Noir first. You could pluck out the red menace and replace it with hoodlums and the story would still work. The effect of the spy elements is to separate the film world from our normal lives. Similarly, Skip lives in an elevated fishing shack that’s separated from reality by a thin board bridge. This is New York, but not our New York.
This is a properly dark and twisted film that at times is brutal. It’s a tale of nasty selfish people meeting cowardly people meeting evil driven people, with the prostitute (her profession is never named to avoid the Breen office scissors) being the one shining light of virtue.
The whole thing sails along on the shoulders of Widmark in his finest performance in a string of fine performances. He’d created some of cinema’s classic psychos; he had a real talent for it. Compared to Tommy Udo (Kiss of Death), Alec Stiles (The Street with No Name) and even Harry Fabian (Night and the City), Skip is a step up. He isn’t evil; he just doesn’t care about anything but himself. The money of Reds is as good as anyone else’s. Widmark imbues Skip with a smarmy charisma that makes him fascinating, and allows the viewer to easily forgive his initial meeting with Candy; usually punching a woman in the face and waking her by sloshing beer on her head is frowned upon. It’s a difficult tightrope to walk, but Widmark does it. He’s aided by Ritter, who received an Oscar nomination, and Peters, who sweats sex, but none of it would work without Widmark.
Pickup on South Street is a layered film that deconstructs what it appears to promote. It presents the Red Menace, but then trivializes it, and laughs at patriotism,. Nothing is saved by flag-waving or the government. The only things important enough to act on are personal. That’s a lot of attitude for a ‘50s film.