Film Review: Crashout (1956)

Crashout (1956) is a remarkable film for so many reasons. Yes, there is plenty of action, suspense, and the expected tension of a group of escaped convicts on the run. But what elevates this film above so many others in its genre is the extraordinary depth beneath the surface.

The mostly male cast is uniformly superb, delivering performances that feel lived-in rather than stereotypical. The script takes the time to explore the wants, fears, regrets, and desires of each man, allowing us to understand (not necessarily excuse) what has brought them to this point. And director Lewis R. Foster maintains such a constant sense of impending doom that even the quieter moments feel ominous.

A significant portion of the film takes place aboard a train, and it’s hard not to see the metaphor. These men have quite literally derailed their lives. They are moving forward, but there is no real destination waiting for them, only the consequences of their past.

What surprised me most, however, is the beautiful, almost poetic heartache that runs beneath Crashout like a thread of regret. Somehow, the film makes us empathize with these men. We find ourselves rooting for the bad guys, not because we believe they are innocent, but because we recognize their humanity.

This is particularly effective in a bittersweet sequence aboard the train involving Marshall, played with considerable depth by Billy Lang, and a young girl he encounters who is only beginning to become disillusioned with life. Gloria Talbott plays her with such heartbreaking vulnerability and perfection that the scene becomes something far more profound than a simple encounter between two strangers. It is a fleeting moment of connection between two people who, in very different ways, are already losing their faith in the world.

There is a poetic bleakness to Crashout that stayed with me long after the film ended. In fact, I couldn’t help wondering whether its particular combination of despair, desperation, damaged characters, and grim humanity might have been an influence on literary genius Hubert Selby Jr., particularly his masterpiece Last Exit to Brooklyn. I have no idea if Selby ever saw the film, but the thematic kinship is fascinating.

Crashout may look like a conventional 1950s crime picture on the surface. But underneath the gunfire, prison breaks, trains, and pursuit is something much sadder: a story about broken men desperately trying to outrun lives that have already caught up with them.

A remarkably bleak, beautifully acted, and unexpectedly moving film. 

Wren Valentino