The first time I saw this, years ago, I thought it was a little torpid. At the opening, when private investigator Mark Stevens slaps the dumb hood William Bendix around, why doesn't Bendix fight back? Then there is Stevens' pushy new secretary, Lucille Ball. Are we in for a romance? Now I don't know why I was bored because, on second viewing, it looks pretty good to me. Maybe all those Charlie Chan movies I saw in the interim have led to successive contrast. This is pretty good noir. The plot itself is nothing that you wouldn't find in a B feature detective story, but just about all of the other elements come together. There is a good woman, yes, but there's also a bad woman. And there is stark lighting, location shooting in New York, despair, shadows, intrigue, murder, frame ups, and well-drawn characters.
Where else can you find a line like, "I feel all dead inside. I'm backed up into a dark corner and I don't know who's hitting me." I don't want to get into the plot too deeply because it meanders around quite a lot, like most of these tales. Stevens and Ball are searching for someone who is out to frame Stevens for the murder of a man who had previously framed Stevens for another crime, of which Stevens was innocent. You see what I mean about the plot being tortuous.
But -- plot aside -- the photography by Joe MacDonald is excellent. Whatever criticisms may be made of the old studio system, there were giants in the earth. MacDonald was also responsible for shooting "My Darling Clementine" and "Call Northside 777." Except for a little "Manhattan Serenade" under the credits, there is no overscore. All the music in the film comes from some source -- a nightclub band, somebody practicing the piano. It's what Franz Waxman did for "Rear Window." The dialog is divided into three levels: that spoken by Clifton Webb, the aesthete owner of an art gallery; that spoken by ordinary people like Stevens and Ball; and that spoken by roughnecks like William Bendix.
Webb gets much better lines than in his other pouf roles, including "Laura." Samples: "I detest the dawn. The grass always looks like it's been left out all night." When an elderly lady remarks that a painting "grows on you," Webb's arch riposte is: "My dear, you make it sound like some sort of fungus." Bendix, the thug, is careless in Webb's office and Webb says sharply: "And stop flicking your ashes on my carpet. That's a genuine capuchin." (Webb uses the French pronunciation of "capuchin" and I had to look it up in Wikipedia to find out what the hell he was saying.) Webb's wife -- Cathy Downs, who can't act -- protests that her paramour would never run off with that other lady because he loathed her. "He loathed her rather intimately, I'm afraid."
Level two -- ordinary language -- doesn't get the same number of zingers, but here's a sample. Stevens was convicted of a crime of which he was innocent. Now, someone has left a dead body in his apartment. When he discovers he's been set up yet again, Steven puts his head in his hands and remarks, "I can be framed easier than whistler's mother."
The screenwriters, Dratler and Schoenfeld, don't get a pass for level three, the patois of the underclass. It sounds as if they've been reading twenty-year-old pulp magazines. They over reach and you can hear the creaking of joints as they do: "I need two yards for powder money." That translates as "I need two-hundred dollars to take a powder (ie., get out of town)."
Stevens is surprisingly effective. He's not really very expressive but he does "anxiety" much better than Bogart ever did.
Where else can you find a line like, "I feel all dead inside. I'm backed up into a dark corner and I don't know who's hitting me." I don't want to get into the plot too deeply because it meanders around quite a lot, like most of these tales. Stevens and Ball are searching for someone who is out to frame Stevens for the murder of a man who had previously framed Stevens for another crime, of which Stevens was innocent. You see what I mean about the plot being tortuous.
But -- plot aside -- the photography by Joe MacDonald is excellent. Whatever criticisms may be made of the old studio system, there were giants in the earth. MacDonald was also responsible for shooting "My Darling Clementine" and "Call Northside 777." Except for a little "Manhattan Serenade" under the credits, there is no overscore. All the music in the film comes from some source -- a nightclub band, somebody practicing the piano. It's what Franz Waxman did for "Rear Window." The dialog is divided into three levels: that spoken by Clifton Webb, the aesthete owner of an art gallery; that spoken by ordinary people like Stevens and Ball; and that spoken by roughnecks like William Bendix.
Webb gets much better lines than in his other pouf roles, including "Laura." Samples: "I detest the dawn. The grass always looks like it's been left out all night." When an elderly lady remarks that a painting "grows on you," Webb's arch riposte is: "My dear, you make it sound like some sort of fungus." Bendix, the thug, is careless in Webb's office and Webb says sharply: "And stop flicking your ashes on my carpet. That's a genuine capuchin." (Webb uses the French pronunciation of "capuchin" and I had to look it up in Wikipedia to find out what the hell he was saying.) Webb's wife -- Cathy Downs, who can't act -- protests that her paramour would never run off with that other lady because he loathed her. "He loathed her rather intimately, I'm afraid."
Level two -- ordinary language -- doesn't get the same number of zingers, but here's a sample. Stevens was convicted of a crime of which he was innocent. Now, someone has left a dead body in his apartment. When he discovers he's been set up yet again, Steven puts his head in his hands and remarks, "I can be framed easier than whistler's mother."
The screenwriters, Dratler and Schoenfeld, don't get a pass for level three, the patois of the underclass. It sounds as if they've been reading twenty-year-old pulp magazines. They over reach and you can hear the creaking of joints as they do: "I need two yards for powder money." That translates as "I need two-hundred dollars to take a powder (ie., get out of town)."
Stevens is surprisingly effective. He's not really very expressive but he does "anxiety" much better than Bogart ever did.