Wild About Harry

“That was the shot that killed Harry Lime. He died in a sewer beneath Vienna, as those of you know who saw the movie ‘The Third Man.’ Yes, that was the end of Harry Lime…but it was not the beginning. Harry Lime had many lives, and I can recount all of them. How do I know? Very simple. Because my name is Harry Lime.” He’s on screen for a scant ten minutes, but one of Orson Welles’ most celebrated performances comes in The Third Man. As Harry Lime, Welles plays a rogue of the worst order: a man who dilutes much-needed penicillin and sells it to the sick and wounded of post-war Vienna; a man who fakes his own death and keeps his ever-loyal girlfriend in the dark; and a man who preys on the kindness of his friends to advance his own self-interest. He’s a villain, and his lack of remorse only makes his actions more dastardly. Given all of that (and his death at the end of the film), Harry Lime seems an unlikely character to anchor a series. But it’s a testament to the genius of Orson Welles that Harry Lime became one of radio’s unlikeliest heroes with adventures that premiered in America today in 1951. Harry’s story begins with writer Graham Greene (Our Man in Havana, The Confidential Agent) and director Carol Reed collaborating on the screenplay for the film The Third Man. Their story centers on Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten), a pulp western writer who travels to a divided postwar Vienna in response to a job offer from his old friend Harry Lime. Upon arriving in the city, Martins learns Lime died just days earlier, and he is surprised to learn Lime was a man wanted by the British military police. Martins launches his own investigation into Lime’s mysterious death and soon learns that Lime isn’t dead at all. It all culminates in a chase beneath the city streets, where Harry Lime - the once untouchable criminal kingpin - must descend to the sewers to escape authorities from four nations. Most of Lime’s screen time comes in a legendary sequence set on Vienna’s Wiener Riesenrad Ferris wheel. In the carriage with Martins, Lime indifferently admits his crimes and coldly reveals the depths of his greed. His view of the world and his place in it is best summed up in the film in lines added to the script by Orson Welles himself: “You know what the fellow said – in Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.” The film was a smash success in both the United Kingdom and the United States. Welles won some of his best notices in years, though he missed the opportunity for a sizable payday from the project. He was offered a percentage of the film’s gross profits but he declined in favor of a salary paid on the spot. Even if he didn’t get rich, the reception of the film must have reassured Welles after several box office disappointments prompted him to flee Hollywood to Europe. The movie also made an unlikely star of Viennese musician Anton Karas. Discovered in a tavern by director Carol Reed, Karas was enlisted to provide the film’s score of zither music. Karas’ “Third Man Theme” became one of the most popular records in the UK and the States and turned the mild-mannered Karas into an international star. Jump ahead to 1951, where Welles (still in Europe) was approached by producer Harry Alan Towers about starring in several radio projects. Not to be outdone by his star, Towers was a larger than life character in his own right. He formed his own production company and distributed radio and television programs in England and all around the world. In the 1960s, he was accused of operating a prostitution ring in New York and of being a Soviet spy. He fled to Europe where he continued to work producing films. In Welles, he saw a source of talent who was more than a little desperate. Welles was digging himself out of debt and taking on work where he could find it to raise funds for passion projects of his own. Towers signed Welles for three series: the first was a Scotland Yard crime drama called The Black Museum, which Welles would narrate and host. The second was a Sherlock Holmes series starring John Gielgud and Ralph Richardson; Welles would play Professor Moriarty in the program’s adaptation of “The Final Problem.” The third was a series which would continue the adventures of Harry Lime. Towers discovered the rights to the character of Harry Lime were still available, and he and Welles set to work developing a prequel series that would follow Lime around the world before the events of the film. It was a challenge to retain the spirit of Harry Lime as he was conceived by Graham Greene while also making him a palatable lead for a series. The solution came by dialing back the character’s less savory tendencies. Harry is still a rogue, but he’s the least odious rogue in the room. He’ll cheat someone out of their savings or pocket a diamond necklace, but this Lime is a far cry from the unrepentant fiend whose greed causes the deaths of Viennese children. It’s telling that several episodes hinge on Lime being retained to put his criminal mind to work in stopping other criminals, whether it’s to thwart a bank robbery or to recover incriminating photographs from a blackmailer. Lime’s adventures take him all over the world, from Havana to Budapest, from New York to Naples. In this respect, Harry Lime acts in several episodes as a private detective…albeit one on the wrong side of the law. Accompanying him every step of the way is the memorable zither music of Anton Karas; the score was carried over from the film, and it’s almost impossible to think of Harry Lime without thinking of Karas’ music. Welles is credited as the writer for several shows (including the episode featured on this week’s podcast). One of his scripts, “Man of Mystery,” found Lime hired by a reclusive business tycoon to investigate the man’s past. He claimed to have no memory of his younger life, and Harry embarks on a worldwide hunt for answers. Welles reworked the story into his 1955 film Mr. Arkadin. Welles starred in 52 episodes of the series and threw himself into the work with the passion that marked his earliest radio performances. He’s droll, dangerous, and always fascinating to hear. Today, anti-heroes are far more common. Audiences root for characters to succeed in their nefarious enterprises and evade the consequences of their actions, but in 1951 this was a riskier gamble. Harry Alan Towers deserves the credit for snatching up the rights and pitching the series, but it is the magnetic, captivating performance of Orson Welles that made the dastardly Lime into someone listeners would be happy to conspire with week after week.