Fun to see early Sinatra in what may or may not be thinly-veiled version of his own reputed Mob-driven rise to fame, especially when miscast Shelley Winters is along for ride as female love interest (of sorts).
But story just doesn't hang together: A singer who's lucky to land third- rate club bookings readily agrees to give shrewd promoter half of all his future earnings in perpetuity (huh?)--then, when he becomes wildly successful almost overnight, attempts to welsh on the deal. (So who's the real bad guy in this deal?) Then, when singer refuses to play ball, promoter tries to murder him. (Again, where's the logic? Why kill the goose laying golden eggs, if all you've really got to do is threaten to break his wings?)
If this starred anyone but Sinatra (who sings a handful of standards), nobody would give this a second look. . .except maybe B movie insomniacs and fans of Shelley Winters' brand of Honey Baked histrionics.
But story just doesn't hang together: A singer who's lucky to land third- rate club bookings readily agrees to give shrewd promoter half of all his future earnings in perpetuity (huh?)--then, when he becomes wildly successful almost overnight, attempts to welsh on the deal. (So who's the real bad guy in this deal?) Then, when singer refuses to play ball, promoter tries to murder him. (Again, where's the logic? Why kill the goose laying golden eggs, if all you've really got to do is threaten to break his wings?)
If this starred anyone but Sinatra (who sings a handful of standards), nobody would give this a second look. . .except maybe B movie insomniacs and fans of Shelley Winters' brand of Honey Baked histrionics.