Review by Matt Henderson.

THE Third Man is reappearing in twelve cinemas across the UK this week, including Bristol’s very own Watershed cinema, as part of the BFI’s Orson Welles season, to celebrate a century since the famed auteur’s birth.

In this film, we follow pulp-western author Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) into post-war Vienna, who has been promised work by his old school friend, Harry Lime (Orson Welles).

Yet, as Martins arrives in the Austrian capital, he is informed that Lime has recently perished in a car accident, where two of Lime’s friends were witnesses.

Understandable shock shifts to unsurprising cynicism, when Martins learns of contrasting stories regarding Lime’s death, one of which recalls an unidentified third man at the scene of the tragedy.

It all becomes apocryphal, thus, aided by his deceased friend’s actress girlfriend, Anna Schmidt (Alida Valli), and whilst ignoring the warnings of Major Calloway of the British Army Police (Trevor Howard), Martins attempts to demystify the mystery around the arcane demise of his old chum, Harry Lime.

Studio interference almost irreparably maimed this picture, with heavyweight producer David O. Selznick requesting that the film be made on studio lots rather than on location.

Other potential alterations included Noel Coward being cast as the enigmatic Harry Lime, rather than Welles, and that the film should have an upbeat score, rather than the unforgettable, note-perfect zither sound performed by Anton Karas.

Roger Ebert aptly described it as ‘jaunty but without joy, like whistling in the dark’.

Luckily, for the legacy of The Third Man, Carol Reed, the director, stood up to O. Selznick, and declined his, shall we say, suggestions.

With his creative licence unrevoked, Reed went on to make one of the greatest films ever made, with some of the most famous sequences in the history of cinema.

Perfection is supposedly unattainable, though The Third Man resists this claim. How can it be bettered?

Graham Green’s script, of which the dialogue is channelled flawlessly by the actors, is brilliantly written, the words chime corruption and, in Holly Martins case, uncertainty.

Robert Krasker’s black and white expressionistic cinematography, which won the film’s only Academy Award, nourishes the mise-en-scene and forebodes the ominous events ahead.

The Third Man does not paint itself with an oneiric brush, which is conventional to most film noirs. Instead the bleak reality is refulgent, even in Krasker’s unlikeliest shot of a cat circling round the shoe of a stranger nestled in the shadows; the revenant Lime.

The ‘sewer chase’ climax is a riveting sequence, superbly edited by Oswald Hafenrichter. Many of the performers appear in their finest roles, with a never better Cotton proving that the ‘lead’ suited him.

The sardonic Howard would in normal circumstances steal the limelight, had the light not shown Welles as Lime.

I am sure that was purposeful. He, along with his self-scribed monologue that satirises Switzerland, which acts as his justification of his own insouciance toward his shady crimes, is THE THIRD MAN. Not just the character, but the film.

That is not to discredit the other key players, who I have credited profusely throughout this review. Welles, who meets the camera for barely twenty minutes, is iconic. Arguably, this trumps Kane as his most popular onscreen appearance.

It might also trump hearing him voice Optimus Prime in Transformers: The Movie.

The 4K makeover will embellish its look and sharpen each and every frame. Its resolution will exemplify its status as a classic. Well worth seeing at the cinema. Catch it if you can, from today.