Tepid noir too slack for its own good, despite smooth work from both an amoral Scott and a de-glamorized Emerson. Of course, movie buffs will spot a plot line from Hitchcock's Shadow of a Doubt and actors from Mildred Pierce. In fact, the film as a whole appears cobbled together from each of these betters. However, the main trouble is that director Florey and/or the screenplay fail to generate the kind of suspense the movie depends upon. Thus we get a slack series of developments instead of a driven series once Emerson knows Scott's planning to kill her. As a result, the movie's dark psychological core is dissipated instead of concentrated. Also, the climax is dissipated by having Scott stand around talking instead of more plausibly (and suspensefully) menacing Emerson for poisoning him. Even the final chase scene is drained by an unexpected abruptness, as other reviewers have noted.
Too bad, because Scott's Ronnie Mason is one of the most cold-blooded schemers in noir annals. His duel of wits with psychologist DeCamp is, I think, the movie's best scene—both unusually well written and expertly performed. But whose idea was it to cast the handsome ex-Tarzan Bruce Bennett as a timid-soul chemist. Not only are those shrinking traits beyond his range as an actor, but his sheer athletic presence shouts miscasting even louder. My guess is producers wanted someone impressive for leading lady Emerson to fall back on. Still the movie does have Scott, an interesting actor whose early movie career was fascinating, before apparently being diverted into TV by a rafting accident. He certainly had a different look for the time. With sharp features and dagger-like moustache, he's perfect as a certified scoundrel. On the other hand, his sympathetic sharecropper in Renoir's The Southerner (1945) and hapless whipping boy in Flamingo Road (1949) demonstrate a surprising versatility. Anyway, it's too bad that this movie fails to live up to its many promising elements, despite the generous comments from other reviewers.
Too bad, because Scott's Ronnie Mason is one of the most cold-blooded schemers in noir annals. His duel of wits with psychologist DeCamp is, I think, the movie's best scene—both unusually well written and expertly performed. But whose idea was it to cast the handsome ex-Tarzan Bruce Bennett as a timid-soul chemist. Not only are those shrinking traits beyond his range as an actor, but his sheer athletic presence shouts miscasting even louder. My guess is producers wanted someone impressive for leading lady Emerson to fall back on. Still the movie does have Scott, an interesting actor whose early movie career was fascinating, before apparently being diverted into TV by a rafting accident. He certainly had a different look for the time. With sharp features and dagger-like moustache, he's perfect as a certified scoundrel. On the other hand, his sympathetic sharecropper in Renoir's The Southerner (1945) and hapless whipping boy in Flamingo Road (1949) demonstrate a surprising versatility. Anyway, it's too bad that this movie fails to live up to its many promising elements, despite the generous comments from other reviewers.