This movie should be dedicated to Virginia Gregg. I don't care what anybody says. She's Esther, the secretary who tries to prevent detectives Widmark and his partner Guardino from searching the premises of a certain Mr. Castigliano. She's been in lots of movies and TV programs. I counted them, and they add up to one hundred thousand and forty six. She stands out because her roles are always small, stereotyped, and immediately forgettable -- a beacon for all of us.
The sardonic Widmark and the affable Guardino have been surprised by a killer and had their guns taken from them. The killer escapes. They have seventy-two hours to find the miscreant, Ihnat. They wind up chasing leads all over New York city and finally wind up cornering him, not that he's going to give up without the requisite shoot out.
Don Siegel knows how to direct thrillers like this. Four years later he'd come up with "Dirty Harry." He's really quite good in this genre. There are moments you wouldn't expect from a humdrum hack. When the two detectives have been thoroughly chewed out and dismissed for their botch, they return glumly to the precinct and Guardino calls his wife, explaining that he may be late. She complains. Widmark calls HIS wife, Inger Stevens, and she carries on about the new dress she bought for tomorrow night's party. When he hangs up, he and Guardino sit silently at their desks, staring at one another. Nothing is made of that shared understanding. It only lasts a few seconds. But it's an expression of at least a modest directorial talent.
While the two non-commissioned officers struggle through the next few days, we discover that moral mistakes are being made at the top. Fonda is the Police Commissioner, not a nasty character but by the book. He's just found out that his best and oldest friend, Chief James Whitmore is on the tab. But Fonda himself is obeying a hypothetical imperative. He's schtupping somebody else's wife, Susan Clark, a real stunner, on the sly, while pretending to be so principled. In a way, the corruption-at-the-top business is a little distracting, like the Gloucester/Edgar narrative in "King Lear," and I wish this tale had stuck with Widmark and Guardino.
At the same time, Fonda and Whitmore add a layer of irony that adds a bit of ironic texture to what otherwise might be a simple cop story. Widmark sees an old flame too, Sheree North, but he's true to his wife. North unzips her dress with one hand over her shoulder and the other twisted up behind her back. That's a special talent. Men can't do that.
I'm not sure what the moral of the story is, or if there is one. The only character who evolves in an important way is Henry Fond'a police commissioner, who finally compromises when he realizes the world isn't a simple Manichaean one of pure good versus pure evil.
The sardonic Widmark and the affable Guardino have been surprised by a killer and had their guns taken from them. The killer escapes. They have seventy-two hours to find the miscreant, Ihnat. They wind up chasing leads all over New York city and finally wind up cornering him, not that he's going to give up without the requisite shoot out.
Don Siegel knows how to direct thrillers like this. Four years later he'd come up with "Dirty Harry." He's really quite good in this genre. There are moments you wouldn't expect from a humdrum hack. When the two detectives have been thoroughly chewed out and dismissed for their botch, they return glumly to the precinct and Guardino calls his wife, explaining that he may be late. She complains. Widmark calls HIS wife, Inger Stevens, and she carries on about the new dress she bought for tomorrow night's party. When he hangs up, he and Guardino sit silently at their desks, staring at one another. Nothing is made of that shared understanding. It only lasts a few seconds. But it's an expression of at least a modest directorial talent.
While the two non-commissioned officers struggle through the next few days, we discover that moral mistakes are being made at the top. Fonda is the Police Commissioner, not a nasty character but by the book. He's just found out that his best and oldest friend, Chief James Whitmore is on the tab. But Fonda himself is obeying a hypothetical imperative. He's schtupping somebody else's wife, Susan Clark, a real stunner, on the sly, while pretending to be so principled. In a way, the corruption-at-the-top business is a little distracting, like the Gloucester/Edgar narrative in "King Lear," and I wish this tale had stuck with Widmark and Guardino.
At the same time, Fonda and Whitmore add a layer of irony that adds a bit of ironic texture to what otherwise might be a simple cop story. Widmark sees an old flame too, Sheree North, but he's true to his wife. North unzips her dress with one hand over her shoulder and the other twisted up behind her back. That's a special talent. Men can't do that.
I'm not sure what the moral of the story is, or if there is one. The only character who evolves in an important way is Henry Fond'a police commissioner, who finally compromises when he realizes the world isn't a simple Manichaean one of pure good versus pure evil.