Technicolor wasn't supposed to look this mean. Most movies from the mid-fifties used that lush, saturated palette to sell us Technicolor dreams of romance or sweeping historical epics. Then came A Kiss Before Dying 1956, and suddenly, that bright, beautiful film stock was being used to track the movements of a cold-blooded sociopath. It's jarring. Honestly, it’s one of the most underrated entries in the transition from classic noir to the more modern, psychological thriller.
Robert Wagner is the guy here. You might know him from Hart to Hart or as Number Two in the Austin Powers flicks, but back in '56, he was a hearthrob playing a monster. He plays Bud Corliss. Bud is charming. He’s handsome. He’s also completely devoid of a soul. Based on Ira Levin’s debut novel—yeah, the same guy who wrote Rosemary’s Baby and The Stepford Wives—the film takes a hatchet to the idea of the American Dream.
A Kiss Before Dying 1956 and the Death of the Golden Boy
The plot is basically a masterclass in tension. Bud Corliss is a university student who has worked his way into the graces of Dorothy Kingship (played by Joanne Woodward). Dorothy is rich. Her father, Leo Kingship, owns a mining empire. Bud wants that money. He doesn't just want a job; he wants the keys to the kingdom.
But there’s a problem. Dorothy gets pregnant.
In 1956, a pregnancy out of wedlock wasn't just a "complication." It was a social death sentence, and more importantly for Bud, it meant Dorothy would likely be disowned by her strict, conservative father. If she’s disowned, the money vanishes. Bud’s reaction isn't to step up or even to run away. He decides to kill her.
What makes A Kiss Before Dying 1956 so unsettling is how methodical he is. He doesn't panic. He researches poisons. He scouts locations. The scene at the municipal building—where he leads her to the roof under the guise of getting a marriage license—is genuinely stressful. Cinema in the 50s usually gave you a hero to root for, or at least a villain who felt like a "bad guy." Wagner plays Bud with this terrifying, blank politeness. He looks like the boy next door while he’s calculating the fall distance from a skyscraper.
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Why the Technicolor Mattered
Most noir is black and white. Think Double Indemnity or The Big Sleep. You expect shadows. You expect rain-slicked streets. This movie flips that. Directed by Gerd Oswald, the film uses CinemaScope and vivid colors to mask the rot underneath. It’s "Sunny Noir." By placing such a dark, twisted narrative in a bright, affluent setting, Oswald highlights the hypocrisy of the era. Everything looks perfect, but everyone is miserable or dangerous.
The blue of the sky and the bright red of the copper refinery where Leo Kingship operates aren't just there to look pretty. They emphasize the industrial, cold nature of the world Bud is trying to conquer. This isn't a story about passion; it's a story about logistics and greed.
The Performance That Changed Robert Wagner’s Career
People forget how big of a risk this was for Wagner. He was a "pretty boy" star at 20th Century Fox. Taking a role where you murder a pregnant woman isn't exactly the standard path to superstardom in the Eisenhower era. Yet, he leans into it. There’s a specific look he gives—a sort of glassy-eyed detachment—that makes your skin crawl.
Joanne Woodward is equally good, though her screen time is shorter than you'd expect. This was one of her earlier roles, and you can see the talent that would eventually win her an Oscar. She plays Dorothy as naive but deeply sincere, which makes her fate feel even more brutal. After Dorothy "falls," the movie shifts focus to her sister, Ellen (played by Virginia Leith). Ellen doesn't buy the suicide note. She starts digging.
This middle act is where the film gets tricky. Bud doesn't just go away. He pivots. He decides that if Dorothy is gone, he’ll just marry Ellen instead. It’s audacious. It’s creepy. And because he’s Robert Wagner, he almost pulls it off.
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Comparing the 1956 Original to the 1991 Remake
If you’ve seen the 1991 version with Matt Dillon and Sean Young, you might think you know the story. You don’t. The remake is... fine, I guess, but it loses the subtext. The 1991 version feels like a standard 90s thriller. The 1956 version feels like a subversion of the society it was filmed in.
In the 50s version, the tension comes from the "Infiltrator." Bud is trying to pass as a member of the upper class. The way he adjusts his tie or mimics the mannerisms of the wealthy is a subtle critique of the American class system. He’s a shark in a Brooks Brothers suit.
- The Ending: The 1956 ending is famously different from the book. In Levin’s novel, the climax is much darker and more internal.
- The Visuals: The 1956 film uses the copper mine as a literal and metaphorical backdrop of industrial power.
- The Censorship: Because of the Hays Code, the movie couldn't even use the word "pregnant." They had to use euphemisms like "in trouble," which actually adds to the tension because it feels more clandestine.
The Mastery of Gerd Oswald’s Direction
Gerd Oswald wasn't a household name, but he understood framing. There’s a shot in the film where Bud is looking down from the roof, and the camera tilts in a way that makes the viewer feel the vertigo. It’s not just about the height; it’s about the moral fall.
The score by Lionel Newman is also worth mentioning. It doesn't rely on the heavy-handed brass of most crime films. It’s often surprisingly melodic, which contrasts with the violence on screen. It keeps you off balance. You're watching a murder, but the music sounds like a Sunday stroll.
Honestly, the pacing is what keeps this movie relevant for a modern audience. A lot of 50s dramas can feel "stagey" or slow. A Kiss Before Dying 1956 moves. Once the initial crime is committed, it becomes a cat-and-mouse game where the cat doesn't even know it's being hunted yet.
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What Most People Get Wrong About the Plot
A common misconception is that this is a "whodunit." It’s not. It’s a "will he get away with it?" We see Bud commit the crimes. We see him scheme. The "mystery" elements are handled through the eyes of the sister, Ellen, but for the audience, the horror comes from watching Bud's mask stay perfectly in place while he woos the sister of the woman he just killed.
Some critics at the time felt the movie was too cynical. They weren't wrong. It is a deeply cynical film. It suggests that a handsome face and a good suit can hide a monster, and that the "respectable" institutions of the 1950s—the colleges, the big corporations—are the perfect breeding grounds for men like Bud.
Key Details to Watch For:
- The way Bud handles the suicide note. It’s a terrifyingly precise moment of planning.
- The use of the color red. Look at the backgrounds when Bud is at his most dangerous.
- Jeffrey Hunter’s performance as the tutor/detective figure. He provides the moral center that the film desperately needs.
How to Watch It Today
Finding a high-quality version of the 1956 film can be a bit of a hunt compared to mainstream classics, but it's usually available on boutique labels like Kino Lorber. If you see it on a streaming service, make sure you aren't accidentally clicking on the 1991 version. You want the CinemaScope, the Robert Wagner charm, and that mid-century dread.
It's a film that stays with you. It’s not about jump scares or gore. It’s about the realization that the person sitting next to you might be checking your bank balance while they're holding your hand.
Actionable Next Steps for Film Fans
If you're looking to dive deeper into this specific era of cinema or want to appreciate this movie more, here’s how to do it:
- Read the Ira Levin Novel: It’s actually written in three parts, each from a different perspective. It’s even more chilling than the movie because you get inside Bud's head.
- Watch the "Bad Seeds" Double Feature: Pair this with The Bad Seed (1956). Both films explore the idea of "polite" society producing killers.
- Track the Technicolor: Pay attention to the transition from the bright university scenes to the harsh, dusty red of the Kingship mines. It’s a visual map of Bud’s descent.
- Look for Gerd Oswald’s Other Work: He directed some fantastic episodes of The Outer Limits and Star Trek, bringing that same sense of visual unease to sci-fi.
A Kiss Before Dying 1956 isn't just a relic. It’s a warning about the masks people wear. It’s a beautifully shot, horribly tense piece of filmmaking that deserves a spot on your "must-watch" list if you have any interest in how the thriller genre evolved. It’s mean, it’s colorful, and it’s absolutely cold as ice.