The story is solid, and hits all the noir checkpoints, but the leads have very little chemistry and seem miscast. Dmytryk struggles to bring any excitement to proceedings, and the whole thing lacks the required grit and sexiness. The characters come across like the B-Movie versions of better, more dynamic counterparts in other movies. Dick Powell is no Humphrey Bogart, just as Ann Shirley is no Dorothy Malone and Miles Mander is no Clifton Webb. Claire Trevor delivers the film's only memorable performance. The drug induced dream sequence is interesting, though not as accomplished as in the following year's 'Spellbound'. Pretty tepid stuff.
Review of Murder, My Sweet
