Joan Fontaine was supposed to be the sweet one. That was the brand. After Rebecca and Suspicion, audiences expected her to be the trembling wallflower, the victim, the wide-eyed innocent caught in a web of Gothic intrigue. Then 1950 rolled around, and Nicholas Ray’s born to be bad movie flipped the script entirely. It’s a film that doesn't just play with the trope of the "femme fatale"—it dissects it with a scalpel.
Christabel Caine is the character's name. It sounds melodic, almost saintly. But within the first ten minutes, you realize she is a social predator of the highest order. She’s not some gun-toting gangster's moll or a noir caricature. She is something much more terrifying because she is relatable. She's the person who enters a room, spots the most vulnerable power dynamic, and exploits it before anyone else has even finished their first drink. Watching it today, the movie feels weirdly modern. It’s basically a masterclass in gaslighting before we really had a common word for it.
The Genius of the "Soft" Femme Fatale
Most people think of film noir and they think of Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity. Hard-edged. Dangerous. Sharp. But in the born to be bad movie, Fontaine plays it soft. That’s the trick. She uses "niceness" as a weapon.
Nicholas Ray, the director, was always obsessed with outsiders. You see it later in Rebel Without a Cause. Here, he’s looking at a woman who refuses to accept her "place" in a rigid post-war society. Christabel wants everything. She wants the wealthy, stable fiancé (played by Zachary Scott), but she also wants the brooding, soulful writer (Robert Ryan) on the side. She isn't just "bad" for the sake of being a villain; she’s an egoist who views other people as chess pieces.
The production history of this thing was a nightmare, honestly. Howard Hughes, the eccentric billionaire who owned RKO at the time, was obsessed with the project. He kept ordering reshoots. He wanted Fontaine to be more "glamorous." He reportedly kept tinkering with the ending because he couldn't decide if Christabel should be punished or if her audacity was actually something to admire. This tension is visible on screen. There’s a friction between the polished RKO studio look and Ray’s grittier, more psychological directing style.
Why Robert Ryan is the Secret Weapon
If Fontaine is the engine of the film, Robert Ryan is the soul. He plays Nick, a man who sees right through Christabel but loves her anyway. It’s a toxic relationship 101.
Ryan had this incredible ability to look like he was permanently vibrating with a mix of rage and desire. When he’s on screen with Fontaine, the movie shifts from a standard melodrama into something much darker. Their chemistry is uncomfortable. It’s not "movie romance." It’s a power struggle. He tells her at one point that she’s "bad to the bone," but he says it like a compliment, which tells you everything you need to know about his character's own fractured psyche.
Behind the Scenes: The Howard Hughes Factor
You can't talk about the born to be bad movie without talking about the mess behind the curtain. Hughes was notorious for micromanaging his female stars. He had this specific vision for what a "bad girl" should look like, and it usually involved a lot of lighting tests and costume changes.
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The script went through several hands, including Edith Sommer and Charles Schnee. It was based on a novel called All Kneeling by Anne Parrish. In the book, the satire is even biting. The movie softens some of the literary edges but replaces them with a visual lushness that feels almost suffocating. Every frame is packed with expensive furniture and silk gowns, emphasizing the material world Christabel is so desperate to own.
It’s actually funny how much the censors hated this film. The Production Code Administration (the Hays Office) was breathing down their necks. They couldn't let a woman be "bad" without some kind of moral reckoning. This led to a conclusion that feels a bit rushed, a bit "studio-mandated," yet Fontaine’s final expressions still carry a hint of defiance. She might lose the battle, but you get the sense she’s already planning the next war.
A Breakdown of the Visual Language
- Shadows and Light: Ray uses traditional noir lighting but applies it to high-society settings. It’s not dark alleys; it’s dark drawing rooms.
- The Gaze: Notice how often Christabel is looking at herself in mirrors. It’s not just vanity; it’s a woman constantly calibrating her mask.
- Costume as Armor: Her dresses get more elaborate as her lies get more complex. By the end, she’s practically encased in RKO’s finest silk.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
A lot of critics at the time dismissed the film as a "woman's picture" or a standard soap opera. That’s a massive oversimplification. If you look at the subtext, the born to be bad movie is actually a stinging critique of the American Dream.
Christabel is doing exactly what men in business are encouraged to do: climb the ladder, eliminate the competition, and secure the bag. But because she’s a woman in 1950, those same traits are labeled as pathological. The film doesn't necessarily "excuse" her—she is objectively terrible to the people who love her—but it places her behavior in a context of limited options.
Honestly, the movie is a bit of a bridge. It bridges the gap between the classic 40s noir and the more cynical, technicolor melodramas of the late 50s. It’s not as "cool" as Out of the Past, but it’s arguably more psychologically complex. It deals with the idea that the most dangerous person in your life isn't the guy with the gun; it's the person sitting across from you at dinner telling you exactly what you want to hear.
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Is It Worth Watching Today?
Absolutely. If only to see Joan Fontaine go against type. It’s like watching a Disney princess decide to play Maleficent but keeping the princess outfit on.
The pacing is brisk. Unlike some older films that tend to meander, this one stays focused on Christabel’s maneuvers. You find yourself rooting for her to get caught, but also kind of impressed by the sheer brass neck of her schemes. It’s the same energy people get from watching Gone Girl or I Care a Lot.
Real-World Takeaways for Film Lovers
If you want to truly appreciate this era of cinema, you have to look past the surface level "morality" of the time. The born to be bad movie is a perfect example of how directors smuggled subversive ideas past the censors.
- Watch the eyes. Fontaine does more with a side-glance in this movie than most actors do with a three-page monologue.
- Listen to the score. The music swells in moments of "virtue," often ironically, highlighting the gap between what Christabel is saying and what she’s actually doing.
- Compare it to "Leave Her to Heaven." If you liked Gene Tierney’s performance in that, Fontaine’s Christabel is the perfect companion piece. Both films explore the "monstrous feminine" in a way that feels both dated and strangely prescient.
Basically, this isn't just a relic. It’s a sharp, mean, beautifully shot piece of work that proves Joan Fontaine was a much more versatile actor than history often gives her credit for. She took the "good girl" image and burned it down, and RKO caught the whole thing on 35mm.
To get the most out of your viewing, try to find the restored version. The black-and-white cinematography by Nicholas Musuraca is stunning. He’s the same guy who shot Cat People and Stranger on the Third Floor, so he knows how to make a room feel ominous. Look for the way he lights the staircases—it makes every entrance Christabel makes feel like an invasion.
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If you're diving into Nicholas Ray's filmography, don't start here—start with In a Lonely Place. But definitely come back to this. It’s the missing link in his career. It shows a director trying to find his voice while working for one of the most difficult bosses in Hollywood history. The result is a film that is messy, fascinating, and utterly cynical.
Next Steps for the Noir Fan:
Check out the TCM archives or your local library’s Criterion collection for the 1950 RKO catalog. Pairing Born to be Bad with a viewing of The Big Steal (also starring Jane Greer) gives you a great sense of how the studio was transitioning their "bad girl" archetypes as the decade turned. Pay close attention to the dialogue—some of the barbs Robert Ryan throws at Fontaine are genuine 24-karat gold.