"Slightly" scarlet is hardly the case, what with Rhonda Fleming as the good sister and Arlene Dahl as the bad one, both with flaming-red hair, the brightest color in every scene. Both go for John Payne, but he understandably prefers Fleming, who is only dull, to Dahl, a psychopathic nympho who gives a ludicrously inept performance. She's like a hyper-active teenager doing what she thinks is sexy, wriggling and jiggling and pouting and bouncing, though she's got far less to work with than Fleming, whose enormous bosom, in a Fifties nose-cone brassiere, nearly puts a man's eyes out when she suddenly stands up.
Payne is, as always likable, but too much so for a part in which he is supposed to be a hardened criminal. He was the least convincing of the musical stars and light comedians of the Thirties and Forties who later turned to film noir. Nor is the plot any great shakes--Payne ousts a gang boss and takes over his mob until the boss heads back to town. Though the mob leader has to disappear overnight, Payne somehow has no trouble gaining access to his money and getting all his employees to fall into line.
Throughout the picture, which takes place mainly in three houses, the players seem lost in the wall-to-wall acreage, with living rooms the size of Madison Square Garden. The cars are absurdly big too, gas guzzlers half a block long that dwarf the driver and passengers.
All in all, not the greatest showcase for the charm and taste of the Fifties.
Payne is, as always likable, but too much so for a part in which he is supposed to be a hardened criminal. He was the least convincing of the musical stars and light comedians of the Thirties and Forties who later turned to film noir. Nor is the plot any great shakes--Payne ousts a gang boss and takes over his mob until the boss heads back to town. Though the mob leader has to disappear overnight, Payne somehow has no trouble gaining access to his money and getting all his employees to fall into line.
Throughout the picture, which takes place mainly in three houses, the players seem lost in the wall-to-wall acreage, with living rooms the size of Madison Square Garden. The cars are absurdly big too, gas guzzlers half a block long that dwarf the driver and passengers.
All in all, not the greatest showcase for the charm and taste of the Fifties.