Holly Martins’ futile wait for Anna at the end of The Third Man must rank as one of the most poignant conclusions to a film.
Leaning back against a truck, cigarette in hand, he waits, motionless as she approaches.
Striding purposefully along the cedar-lined avenue, Anna draws level with Holly . . . and carries straight on, utterly unmoved.
What might have been, say Holly’s eyes.