The only original screenplay from L.A. crime novelist Raymond Chandler came out of an unfinished novel he was stuck on. Coaxed by producer John Houseman, with Paramount in a rush for an Alan Ladd feature before he resumed military service, it had to come together fast. But Chandler’s writer’s block returned before the third act, and he only managed to get it done by working from home with the aid of copyists, studio couriers and constant, heavy boozing.* With a Hollywood backstory this good, you wish the film were its equal. It’s not, much heavy lifting needed to get this story up on its feet. But once war vet Alan Ladd’s unfaithful wife is killed and he goes on the lam after a meet-cute/pick-up with Veronica Lake (she picks him up!), and the cops start investigating a host of tasty suspects, the film grows too entertaining to nitpick. George Marshall’s direction treads along at a somber, unvarying pace, but that atmospheric title seems to cast a lucky spell on all the implausible doings. William Bendix, as Ladd’s army bud with a metal plate in his head & explosive tendencies has a field day as a murder suspect so obvious you just know he couldn’t have done it. (Apparently, Chandler wanted him for it, but ran into objections from the real U.S. Army.)
READ ALL ABOUT IT: *The hair-raising behind-the-scenes story of the production, with Chandler risking the bottle in order to finish on time, is neatly covered in FRONT & CENTER, second in John Houseman’s three-part auto-bio.
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