Almost borders on good. In fact, it goes into that territory intermittently, especially the first half when the understated, underused, talented Richard Basehart demonstrates quite well how an obsession can drive a guy to murder. (It doesn't help his case that the little woman who easily drives him there, is played by none other than the tramp of all time, a snarling, vicious-eyed and tongued Audrey Totter, who could hold a steady sneer and snarl like no body's business.) Both cops, Barry Sullivan (better than usual) and William Conrad are broader than they ought to have been, thereby becoming more unrealistic with each line of dialogue. They were playing both ends so tightly against the middle that they wound up with both ends loose. Lloyd Gough, a miserable bully, played the kind of guy anyone in his right mind would want to knock off, and feel no woe about it. Cyd Charrise wore no dancing shoes and played her part guilelessly, a little too much so. Somewhere down the line, after Basehart began to hold his murderous passion at bay, the film wandered away from what might have been a more exciting film. The detectives were absurd, the hero was idiotically obsessed, suffering the slings and arrows of Audrey Totter whose duplicity couldn't fool anyone except her husband. Audrey Totter should have been a bigger star, if, for nothing else - and there was much more - than her wonderful face. Tom D'Andrea is the nice guy soda jerk whose presence in any film was always a sweet touch. All in all, an almost good (but not bad) movie.
