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The trajectory is from a Kansas City flower truck to a labyrinthine Mexican resort, along the way emerges a shifting welter of hoods and heroes. Out of engineering school, out of the war and out of jail, the patsy (John Payne) in the perfect crime ("cop-proof and stool pigeon-proof"), just a deliveryman to take the fall for an armored car robbery. Released with a glib apology after pummeling interrogations, he seeks justice or, at least, revenge. A similar bitterness informs the capo (Preston Foster), a veteran cop with a plan for turning a forced retirement into a righteous paycheck by busting the caper he himself orchestrated. The rounding-up of the henchmen shows Phil Karlson's hand with some deft sketching—Jack Elam's nicotine-stained stubble, Lee Van Cleef's oily beak and dandy bow tie, sunglasses nailed to Neville Brand's slablike mug, vivid details veiled during the hold-up. Fishing and gambling are the metaphors, the boat with the loot is the final arena. "What's so lucky about being dead?" The Asphalt Jungle for the first half and Treasure of the Sierra Madre for the second, Karlson outdoes Huston in brutality with meaty, clammy faces in jousting close-ups. Pursuit in the underground Tijuana casino, switcheroo at the airport, cutthroats stewing at the tourist trap while the mastermind swells around in khakis and avuncular pipe. The aspiring lawyer from back home (Coleen Gray) and the siren at the souvenir stand (Dona Drake), feminine voices in the macho maelstrom, questioning and teasing. All a matter of bait, says the ex-flatfoot who finds caustic common ground with the ex-soldier on his trail, bullish forgotten men bent on getting back at the system. "Hey, I know a sure cure for a nosebleed: A cold knife in the middle of the back!" With Mario Siletti, Howard Negley, and Carleton Young. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |