Distributed by
Columbia Pictures and produced by Stanley Kramer, this thriller was
directed by Edward Dmytryk. It is based on the Oscar-nominated story
by Edna and Edward Anhalt and concerns mental illness and the
authorities arguing how best to deal with a serial killer in San
Francisco. Why he kills is rather quickly explained in cliched form,
but finding him is the difficult part. The film opens with
descriptive text against a black screen to explain the serious
subject matter that will unfold.
Beginning at the very end of the Forties, Arthur Franz had the distinction of never being uncredited. The versatile, under-the-radar actor had numerous supporting and lead film roles to his credit, despite being cast in some "poverty row" productions. But it may be his frequent exposure on television that most remember him as "what's his name." He does a fine job here as a nervously sweating and sensitive individual who is an uncomfortable liar. He owns this movie. He is desperate to have someone help stop his obsession with killing women. A few do treat him badly, or he is irritated by the flirty type. He apparently does not want to get caught, though, because he has opportunities to surrender himself but does not. Hence, the eighty-eight-minute running time.
Heading up the
investigation are Adolphe Menjou, surely not far from retirement, and
radio's Gerald Mohr. They have a certain on-screen chemistry that
helps support the film. Mohr's low-key performance is a welcome
change from his typical smirking characters. Richard Kiley is
excellent in his second film as a psychology professor. For such a
tall actress, Marie Windsor has probably her shortest role ever.
After making his delivery, she asks Franz to take a favorite dress
back to the dry cleaners. When it is ready for delivery the next day,
she will not be able to ever wear it again. This is the first
incident where he might have given himself up by taking the delivery
to the police, then getting the help he needs. Instead, he shreds the
dress in anger.
In an effort to
punish himself for his despicable acts, Franz holds his hand on a
circular, electric oven burner. The doctors know he did not
accidentally do this, considering the severity of the burn. One
suggests they keep him there for observation. But a series of
emergencies delays those plans. Franz is upset that he was released so
quickly. He will only get attention after making the headlines again.
Kiley suggests to a “myopic four” confronting the mayor that
these people should be locked up—if you can find them—on their
first offense to keep them off the streets or to get the mental help
they need. If only everyone were in support. The arrogant dunderheads
in the room disagree and take the easy route by blaming the police
for doing nothing.
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Leading up to
the climax, Franz is on a rooftop and about to shoot another
brunette. He breaks down instead. Spotted by a painter high up on an
industrial chimney, he tries to get people street-level to notice the
shooter. He even tosses a gallon of white paint, “exploding” it
on the street below. No one sued the paint company for getting a spot
of paint on their shoes. I digress. Franz cannot understand why he is
being harassed. His "angry rifle" turns to the soon-to-be
slumping painter. He runs back to his apartment, wanting to get
caught on his own terms. Alive. It is a calm ending as police enter
his apartment to find Franz hugging his rifle vertically as the
camera slowly zooms in on his face and a weeping eye.
Note: During fake phone call pauses, listening to the "other side," almost everyone says, "What?" at some point. Not very realistic, yet often done, with apparently a bad connection or the person should see a hearing specialist. Another item of note is the silly filler scene in a precinct lineup in an effort to identify the serial killer. The detective questioning the suspects seemed to enjoy humiliating them to the humorous delight of the officers in attendance. There are lots of familiar B-movie faces in this film, many in uncredited roles. One such is Byron Foulger, the perennial jittery weasel, one of those questioned.
