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A nervy burlesque of Hustonian exotic adventures, with Robert Aldrich already showcasing the "hoodlum's touch" necessary to whip up clueless mercenaries and atomic MacGuffins in preparation for Kiss Me Deadly. The protagonist is a fatigued private detective (Dan Duryea), "a combination of beachcomber and soldier of fortune" sneering at the remaining curlicues of classical bravery as they expire in the middle of shoestring mock-ups of Singaporean clutter. His colleague in decaying gallantry is a cut-rate Errol Flynn (Patrick Knowles) waist-deep in international skullduggery, his former flame (Marian Carr) dons Dietrich's top hat and tux and, soft-voiced in a diaphanous gown, is in no mood to be anybody's idea of feminine purity. Old faces, modern anxieties: The crime mastermind (Gene Lockhart) and the kidnapped nuclear egghead (Arthur Shields), power plays among expatriates and colonizers. Thrifty jungles and back alleys, nevertheless a deep-focus density of shadowy grids, veils, smoke and lamps to go with terse notes from Across the Pacific, Casablanca and The Third Man. The noir seeker as seedy scarecrow, slouching at the Golden Poppy nightclub before facing his foes with a grenade in each fist. "There's a joke in there, somewhere." The death of heroism and the rise of amoral free-fire zones, blithely observed by Aldrich as he steps into his own Hollywood no-man's-land. "A witty little film shot under conditions resembling those of a home movie" (Truffaut in The Films of My Life). With Reginald Denny, Nigel Bruce, Keye Luke, Douglass Dumbrille, and Carmen D'Antonio. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |