Of all the actresses associated with film noir, Ida Lupino (1918-1995) seems the most complex. Ms. Lupino could be as sultry and sassy as Lauren Bacall while projecting an aching vulnerability. As world-weary as Gloria Grahame, she never came across as fragile, particularly in her subsequent work as a director.

In "Road House" (1948) and "On Dangerous Ground" (1952), both new on Blu-ray (from Kino Lorber and Warner Archive), Ms. Lupino is one tough waif. In each movie, she plays a character with obvious strengths and poignant weaknesses - a solitary seen-it-all lounge singer in "Road House" and an isolated blind woman in "On Dangerous Ground."

Both characters defend themselves against overbearing men: Richard Widmark's volatile nightclub owner in "Road House" and Robert Ryan's violent cop in "On Dangerous Ground." These actors were reprising the psychopaths they played in previous movies, yet in each case Ms. Lupino's character prevails.

Born into a family of British music hall stars, Ms. Lupino was a versatile performer who broke into the movies in her early teens. She could play comic ingénues, as well as prostitutes and gangster molls but made her mark appearing opposite various Warner Bros. tough guys throughout World War II. Ms. Lupino starred as a hard-luck torch singer in Raoul Walsh's noir musical, "The Man I Love" (1947), a model for Martin Scorsese's "New York, New York," and was cast in a similar role the following year as Lily Stevens in "Road House," directed by Jean Negulesco.

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"Road House" may be Ms. Lupino's defining vehicle. Brought to a spiffy nightclub and bowling alley 15 miles from the Canadian border by its owner, Jefty Robbins (Mr. Widmark), Lily is introduced in Jefty's office with a close-up of her legs provocatively propped on his desk. She enthralls her boss while amazing the locals with her caustic wit and hard-boiled attitude.

Jefty's patrons are even more impressed by Lily's throaty rendition of Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer's melancholy ballad "One for My Baby (and One More for the Road)," which she sings, in a slinky off-the-shoulder gown, with a smoldering cigarette parked atop the piano. Her performance is no threat to Frank Sinatra's classic interpretation, but as one listener in the movie remarks, "She does more without a voice than anyone I've ever heard."


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