My Name is Julia Ross

Less a traditional film noir than an arty psychological melodrama with a noir aesthetic, My Name is Julia Ross is a kindred spirit to the likes of Gaslight and Rebecca. While it distinctly ranks as the bronze medalist between the trio, My Name is Julia Ross is still a solidly made thriller.

Sometimes budget constraints can cause films to either flourish or flounder. The works of producer Val Lewton are perfect demonstrations of what a thin budget, but a lot of atmosphere and inky shadows can go a long way in a visual medium to strengthening the full work. My Name is Julia Ross has plenty in common with those films with its propulsive story, heavily shadowed interiors, and unsteady psychological atmospherics.

Julia Ross (Nina Foch) lands a job with a wealthy family, and is promptly kidnapped, quarantined away, and gaslit into thinking she’s Marion, the wife of Ralph Hughes (George Macready) who died mysteriously. Ralph’s domineering mother, Mrs. Hughes (Dame May Whitty), appears all docile and sweet to everyone but is the twisted engineer of Julia’s psychological torture and imprisonment. Julia’s a bit of a cypher, we only learn enough about her to care before she’s whisked away and treated as an empty vessel for the Hughes’ familial strife and poisonous worldview.

Its in Nina Foch’s central performance that much of Julia Ross gets its power. Her paranoia at the persistent manipulation is registered by Foch’s eyes continually searching for someone to believe her. Her desperation in escaping this fate and conundrum is all over her face and quivering voice.

As Julia Ross comes to its close, a bit of like watching someone willingly trade one imprisonment for another, you realize that this has been an incredibly effective and bustling 65-minute journey. No room for fat, this is a lean, mean, no bullshitting machine. Everything works and its streamlined efficiency is a marvel of B-movie engineering.