It opens with a prisoner being hanged, dissolves to footsteps through a night-time forest, to a baby crying in the shadow of a dangling toy, to a brawl in which a gang of kids smears mud on the face of an age-mate, to a brutal fist fight between two grown men, with each blow landing with a loud THWACK on the snot locker of the other, ending with somebody's head being bashed in repeatedly with a rock. Lloyd Bridges is on screen for about 50 seconds before he becomes a corpse. Ditto, Harry Carey Jr. The sequence ends with the mangling of a borrowed car and its occupants. Don't worry, though. There's no blood. We Americans don't like violence.
Gail Russell is not only beautiful and sexy, with her mane of wavy black hair and pale eyes framed by dark lashes. She's girlishly breathless and vulnerable, in real life as well as on the screen. Her character here is candid without being insulting. She's tender, empathic, nurturant, devoted to the man she loves, filled with principle and virtue, flawless in fact, just like my ex wife.
But, if you ask me, she has poor taste in men. First she's hooked up with the barbaric Bridges and then, when he's hors de combat, she falls for Dane Clark, a guy whose demeanor always suggests a pustule about to pop, on top of which he's not much of an actor. The romance between Russell and Clark just doesn't click. Warners had tried setting him up as a replacement for Humphrey Bogart. What a laugh. Clark was most at home in ensembles, as in "Destination Tokyo." Speaking of amusement, the only time Dane Clark smiles in the entire movie is when he picks up a puppy and snuggles it. That suggests that inside that terrifying exterior he's really cotton candy. The only friend he has is an avuncular old black man who lives in a dilapidated bungalow on the edge of the water.
Well, the question that plagues Clark is that he's a murderer in a small Virginia tidewater town and the perceptive sheriff (a nicely measured performance by Allyn Joslin) comes to suspect him. Should he run away, now that he's a murderer like his old man? Or, since it was Bridges who threw the first stone, should Clark turn himself in and plead self defense? It was produced by the notorious bonehead and cheat, Herbert J. Yates, at Republic Pictures. That means low budget. The art director has done what he could to suggest a Southern swamp but it's all obviously studio bound. But Russell's photography is very good, and the director isn't afraid to take some chances. The silhouettes, the sometimes hallucinatory dissolves, the tendency of the camera to linger on the hands of a conversant, twisting a handkerchief, tend to give the images a dreamy quality.
None of that is enough to lift the movie out of the doldrums, though. It's a routine melodrama with psychological overtones. The plot is pretty sloppy. What's the deal with the knife that Clark left at the scene of the crime (a public place) and that is found later by the deaf-mute and retarded Harry Morgan? Or Henry Morgan. He couldn't seem to make up his mind about his name. He should have simply called himself H. H. Morgan. At any rate, he has the most startling moment on the screen, when Clark begins to strangle him and Morgan, without resisting, raises his eyes to the roof and opens his mouth wide, like a fish's, in a silent howl.
Best exchange in the movie. Sheriff: "All I know is that there's a lot more to a human being than what you cut up down at the morgue." Coroner: "Not when they're dead."
Gail Russell is not only beautiful and sexy, with her mane of wavy black hair and pale eyes framed by dark lashes. She's girlishly breathless and vulnerable, in real life as well as on the screen. Her character here is candid without being insulting. She's tender, empathic, nurturant, devoted to the man she loves, filled with principle and virtue, flawless in fact, just like my ex wife.
But, if you ask me, she has poor taste in men. First she's hooked up with the barbaric Bridges and then, when he's hors de combat, she falls for Dane Clark, a guy whose demeanor always suggests a pustule about to pop, on top of which he's not much of an actor. The romance between Russell and Clark just doesn't click. Warners had tried setting him up as a replacement for Humphrey Bogart. What a laugh. Clark was most at home in ensembles, as in "Destination Tokyo." Speaking of amusement, the only time Dane Clark smiles in the entire movie is when he picks up a puppy and snuggles it. That suggests that inside that terrifying exterior he's really cotton candy. The only friend he has is an avuncular old black man who lives in a dilapidated bungalow on the edge of the water.
Well, the question that plagues Clark is that he's a murderer in a small Virginia tidewater town and the perceptive sheriff (a nicely measured performance by Allyn Joslin) comes to suspect him. Should he run away, now that he's a murderer like his old man? Or, since it was Bridges who threw the first stone, should Clark turn himself in and plead self defense? It was produced by the notorious bonehead and cheat, Herbert J. Yates, at Republic Pictures. That means low budget. The art director has done what he could to suggest a Southern swamp but it's all obviously studio bound. But Russell's photography is very good, and the director isn't afraid to take some chances. The silhouettes, the sometimes hallucinatory dissolves, the tendency of the camera to linger on the hands of a conversant, twisting a handkerchief, tend to give the images a dreamy quality.
None of that is enough to lift the movie out of the doldrums, though. It's a routine melodrama with psychological overtones. The plot is pretty sloppy. What's the deal with the knife that Clark left at the scene of the crime (a public place) and that is found later by the deaf-mute and retarded Harry Morgan? Or Henry Morgan. He couldn't seem to make up his mind about his name. He should have simply called himself H. H. Morgan. At any rate, he has the most startling moment on the screen, when Clark begins to strangle him and Morgan, without resisting, raises his eyes to the roof and opens his mouth wide, like a fish's, in a silent howl.
Best exchange in the movie. Sheriff: "All I know is that there's a lot more to a human being than what you cut up down at the morgue." Coroner: "Not when they're dead."