The Mask of Dimitrios 1944

In 1938, the Dutch mystery writer Cornelius Leyden, Peter Lorre, travels to Istanbul to seek a gripping subject for his next book. At a refined evening gathering, a curious Turkish police Colonel Haki, Kurt Katch, suggests that the infamous Dimitrios Makropoulos—a Salonika-born figure who now fascinates criminal lore—might illuminate the page-turning narrative Leyden hopes to write. The two men are led to a mortuary where the body of Dimitrios Makropoulos lies, and Leyden’s curiosity tightens into a resolute drive to learn who this man was and how his life unraveled. The scene is tense, the air thick with the smell of formaldehyde and intrigue, as Leyden confronts the limits of what he can bear to hear about a life steeped in danger.

From that grim starting point, Leyden’s journey broadens as he meets Dimitrios’s former lover, the madame at a local brothel, Irana Preveza, Faye Emerson. Irana speaks with quiet dignity about a man who could charm society one moment and barter away lives the next. She recalls how Dimitrios’s deft seductions gave way to colder, more brutal schemes, and how the high life they once shared dissolved when he transitioned into a paid assassin. Her testimony leaves Leyden with a clearer sense of the shadowy figure behind the myth, a sense of the personal costs that accompany such a dangerous ascent.

Driven by these accounts, Leyden’s pursuit takes him across Europe. He boards an overnight train to Sofia, sharing a carriage with a jovial, portly English traveler whose presence will prove perilous. The stranger later enters Leyden’s hotel room—a sign that someone is always watching. The intruder adopts the name “Peters,” Sydney Greenstreet and speaks of a betrayal tied to Dimitrios in a smuggling deal that forced him into prison. Peters proposes a high-stakes bargain: a cut of a half-million French francs in exchange for Leyden’s help in blackmailing Dimitrios. But Leyden declines, determined to finish his book on his own terms instead of getting pulled into a deadly trap.

Leyden’s quest then takes him to Geneva, where he encounters Wladislaw Grudek, Victor Francen. Grudek is a former associate of Dimitrios, a man who once believed he could trust Dimitrios with sensitive Yugoslav military secrets. Dimitrios, however, proves to be a master manipulator, bending a meek government official into gambling debt and steering him to surrender a crucial minefield chart. Having orchestrated the debt in a way that benefited Dimitrios, he double-crosses Grudek by selling the chart to a rival government, leaving Grudek exposed and furious—yet unwilling to let Dimitrios fade into the shadows he loves to haunt.

Peters, still chasing his own fortune, then sends Leyden to Paris with a plan to spring a trap on Dimitrios. In the City of Light, Dimitrios’s surveillance network tightens around Leyden as the game reaches a fever pitch. The confrontation erupts in a familiar lair, where Dimitrios coldly shoots Peters twice. Leyden, filled with righteous anger and sharpened resolve, lunges at the fleeing assassin, sending the revolver clattering away. As the two men grapple, Peters scrambles toward the weapon and, with a last act of defiance, holds Dimitrios at bay long enough for Leyden to retreat. Three shots ring out in the ensuing struggle, and the police arrive to seize Peters, who is dragged away with a final glance cast over his shoulder toward Leyden.

In the immediate aftermath, the authorities take Peters into custody, and his parting wish—to have a copy of Leyden’s book sent to him in prison—lingers in the air like a testament to the perilous, seductive world they have all inhabited. The ending leaves Leyden with a sense of unfinished business—an ongoing mission to piece together Dimitrios’s life, the people he touched, and the enduring shadow of crime that seems to follow wherever a story as compelling as Dimitrios Makropoulos’s can be found.

Through these threads, the film probes how a writer’s curiosity can pull him into a web of international crime, where every whispered memory and every dangerous alliance nudges him closer to the truth—and closer to danger. The journey from Istanbul to Geneva to Paris is a study in pace and mood, as Leyden balances skepticism with a growing conviction that some stories demand more than careful notes—they demand courage. And as the tale unfolds, the reader is invited to weigh what is gained by exposing a life of crime against the personal costs carried by those who chase the truth to the very edge of peril.