Strikingly designed and photographed melodrama about racial tensions in America, one of only a handful of major studio films to show Americans being swept up in Nazi propaganda and connecting with it. A black psychiatric doctor recalls to his colleague a case from the 1940s which he almost gave up on, that of a racist and Jew-hating prisoner entangled in hate-mongering. The narrative is laden with flashbacks, but they are very stylishly presented, and director Hubert Cornfield (who also co-wrote the screenplay with S. Lee Pogostin, from Robert Lindner's short story) keeps the tension prickly and unsettling. Pugnacious Bobby Darin does a lot of spouting off as the racist, though his angry words (coming strictly from his character's point of view) are provocative; he needles doctor Sidney Poitier, literally getting under his skin, yet we can see he's a liar who won't listen to reason--or learn anything long-lasting from his sessions. So what is the point of all this? Is it that you shouldn't give up on somebody, even though you realize you're not going to break through to them, that they'll be just as rotten now as they were a year ago? As an actors' piece, the film is a worthwhile showcase for two terrific performers. As a think-piece, it certainly has the courage of its convictions. As an entertainment, it's a crackpot venture. **1/2 from ****
Review of Pressure Point
