An Evening in Post-War Europe: The Third Man & Roman Holiday
Prompt: I'd like to screen a double bill of "The Third man" and "Roman Holiday" for my friends. I think there are some commonalities to be found between them, despite the differences in genre. can you draft me some programme notes that I can print and share before the screening?
Welcome, everyone. Tonight’s double feature presents two masterpieces of post-war cinema that, while stylistically worlds apart, are bound by a shared time and place: a Europe emerging from the shadow of World War II. One is a descent into the moral twilight of a shattered city, the other a sun-drenched fairytale of liberation. Together, they offer a profound and complex portrait of a continent caught between a traumatic past and an uncertain future.
First Feature: The Third Man (1949)
The Setting as Character: Allied-Occupied Vienna
Our journey begins in Vienna, a city not just recovering from war, but actively suffocating under its legacy. Filmed on location only four years after the war’s end, Carol Reed’s masterpiece captures a city in ruins—not just physically, but spiritually. Vienna was the geopolitical nexus of the nascent Cold War, carved into four sectors (American, British, French, and Soviet) with a chaotic, jointly-controlled International Zone at its center. This landscape of rubble, checkpoints, and scarcity created a fertile ground for the black market, where desperation and opportunism reigned. The film’s opening narration perfectly sets the stage, describing a city where smugglers and racketeers thrive, a place where morality is a luxury few can afford.
A Symphony of Shadows and Strings
Director Carol Reed and cinematographer Robert Krasker created a visual language that is as iconic as it is unsettling. Rejecting realism, they embraced German Expressionism, using stark, high-contrast lighting to carve figures out of the darkness and employing distorted "Dutch angles" (tilted camera shots) to create a pervasive sense of unease and moral disorientation. The city becomes a labyrinthine prison of wet cobblestones, looming archways, and subterranean sewers.
This visual nightmare is scored by the singular, unforgettable sound of Anton Karas's zither. The jaunty, yet melancholic, "Harry Lime Theme" is a character in itself—a musical embodiment of the film's cynical charm and underlying tragedy. The story goes that Reed discovered Karas playing in a Viennese wine garden and was so captivated that he hired him on the spot.
The American Innocent Adrift
Into this maelstrom of cynicism steps Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten), a writer of simplistic pulp Westerns where good guys are good, and bad guys are bad. He represents an American idealism, a belief in clear-cut morality and loyalty that is utterly unequipped for the complexities of post-war Europe. His investigation into the "death" of his old friend Harry Lime (Orson Welles) is a journey of disillusionment, forcing him to confront the horrifying truth that his childhood hero is a monster, profiting from the misery of others.
The film's most famous scene, atop the Wiener Riesenrad (the giant Ferris wheel), encapsulates its philosophical core. Lime, in his only significant appearance, delivers his chillingly casual justification for his crimes: "In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock." It's a devastatingly cynical worldview that Martins is ultimately forced to reject, but not without losing his own innocence in the process.
Second Feature: Roman Holiday (1953)
The Setting as Liberation: A Reawakening Rome
From the shadows of Vienna, we emerge into the brilliant sunshine of Rome. If The Third Man is about a city haunted by the past, Roman Holiday is about a city—and a continent—joyfully embracing the present. Director William Wyler made the radical decision to shoot the entire film on location, turning Rome itself into a vibrant, living character. We are not seeing studio backlots, but the real, bustling streets of a city shaking off the dust of war and fascism. The Vespa scooters, the outdoor cafes, the palpable energy of daily life—it all contributes to a sense of exhilarating freedom.This choice was a logistical challenge but a creative masterstroke. It lends an air of authenticity and spontaneity to the film, making Princess Ann's escape feel like a genuine discovery of the world.
A Fairytale Grounded in Reality
The screenplay, for which Dalton Trumbo won an Oscar under a front name due to his Hollywood blacklisting, is a masterfully constructed fairytale. It's a reverse Cinderella story, where royalty longs for the simple pleasures of anonymity. Audrey Hepburn, in her first starring role, is a revelation. She won an Academy Award for her portrayal of Princess Ann, perfectly capturing the character’s vulnerability, grace, and infectious joy as she sheds the suffocating constraints of her duty for one glorious day.
Her guide on this adventure is Joe Bradley (Gregory Peck), an American journalist who, much like Holly Martins, is an outsider. But where Martins is an idealist, Bradley is a jaded opportunist. He initially sees Ann as his ticket to a huge payday. However, as he witnesses her genuine delight in the simple things—getting a haircut, eating gelato on the Spanish Steps, the thrill of a Vespa ride—his cynicism melts away. He becomes not her exploiter, but her protector, allowing her the freedom she craves.
The famous scene at the "Mouth of Truth" (Bocca della Verità) is a perfect example of the film’s charm. Legend says the stone mouth will bite off the hand of a liar. Peck's improvised prank, hiding his hand in his sleeve to pretend it's been bitten off, elicited a genuine shriek of surprise and laughter from Hepburn—a moment of pure, unscripted movie magic that Wyler wisely kept in the film.
Connecting the Threads: A Post-War Diptych
Despite their starkly different tones, these films are deeply connected conversations about the state of the post-war world.
The Weight of Duty vs. The Pull of Morality: Both films hinge on a central moral choice. Princess Ann must choose between her personal happiness with Joe and her profound sense of duty to her country. Holly Martins must choose between his personal loyalty to his oldest friend and his moral duty to the countless victims of Lime's crimes. Both choices are heartbreaking, and neither film offers an easy answer.
The American Gaze: Both protagonists are Americans navigating a Europe they don't fully understand. Their journeys reflect a broader American perspective on the "Old World"—a mixture of romanticism, naivete, and a dawning awareness of Europe's deep-seated complexities and traumas.
The Unforgettable, Un-Hollywood Ending: Perhaps the most powerful connection is their shared rejection of a simple, happy ending. The final, long, silent shot of The Third Man, where Anna walks past Martins without a glance, is a masterclass in emotional devastation. Similarly, the final press conference in Roman Holiday is filled with unspoken longing and the quiet acceptance of reality. Ann's public answer to which city she enjoyed most—"Rome. By all means, Rome."—is a private message to Joe, a bittersweet acknowledgment of a love that can never be. In a world recovering from unimaginable trauma, these films suggest, true maturity lies not in getting everything you want, but in understanding what you must let go.
Enjoy the films.
