Dealing with those two side-show delights—murder and mental quirks and jerks—that Hollywood authors imply are as wedded as the Gold Dust Twins, a brisk thriller called “The Dark Mirror” is clinically alert to the differences between a normal and a twisted twin (Olivia de Havilland playing a double-header). It opens on a familiar scene—a plushy suite, a mirror busted, the curtains billowing, some champagne cooling, a clock showing a time to remember, and the boss sprawled on an ankle-deep rug with a theatrical dagger in his back. Operating at a terrific clip, a flat-foot lieutenant (Thomas Mitchell) finds the murderess is one of identical twins, neither of whom will talk against the other. The sisters are weighted with jewelry spelling out their names, but they are clearly distinguishable without the credits on their chests—Terry is sleek, dynamic, always figuring the angles as though she had grown up on the floor of the Stock Exchange; Ruth is Olivia de Havilland. After the coppers flunk the case, an expensively hatted pencil, a twin expert (Lew Ayres), solves the case by throwing a battery of psychology tests at the unaccountably permissive girls.
“The Dark Mirror,” in an unsentimental, unpretentious way, is a carefully penetrating portrayal of the paranoid twin, her dominated, subdued, non-psychotic sister, and the psychology prof who projects so effectively an all-knowing air carefully held in restraint. Through most of the film, the paranoid doesn’t seem psychotic, and is clearly recognizable as an imperious, restless, unfeminine careerist who appears put together like a jet plane and seems constantly involved in a battle of wits with a threatening world. While the oppressed sister carries her heart on her sleeve, Terry’s affection is always mingled with hostility, her conscience is stunted, she’s grandiose, and seemingly content in her isolation. There is an additional interesting projection of the characters of the three people in their kissing. They are all sort of stodgy and respectable, but there are wonderfully subtle differences. The Man in the Adam Hat busses with a custom-built precision and tons of dignity, Terry challengingly and with little if any effect, and with Ruth each kiss is a new revelation.
The crisis takes place during the scientific screening of the ink-blot test. You are prepared so thoroughly by the prof about the blots, and given such a clear shot of them, that you can have a go at them yourself if you’re feeling a little nervous and rundown. Focusing the movie around these tests makes the film’s scope somewhat restricted and not quite enough for a feature-length job.
While the acting is adroit and more than adequate, the only endearing performance—the one ray of warmth—is Mitchell’s enthusiastic job as the lieutenant, which is a welcome note in the otherwise rather antiseptic atmosphere. It’s heartwarming to find such benevolence, dignity and contemplative intelligence on the force. Mitchell also employs a sly wit to good advantage.
November 18, 1946