There is a scarifying nightmare undercurrent to this postwar thriller that makes it a cut or two above the average. Pat O'Brien is an art curator who gets involved with some unsavory highbrow types, and suffers what may be either a mental breakdown, a train wreck, or both. It was directed by the very able Irving Reis, though Eddie Dmytryk or Robert Siodmak might have handled the suspense scenes somewhat better. John Paxton, who often worked with Dmytryk, co-authored the script. There are a couple of Orson Welles-Mercury alumni in the cast (Ray Collins, Erskine Sanford). O'Brien is oddly cast, and very good in his emotional scenes, though I might have liked this better had Dick Powell played the lead. Claire Trevor is solid as the romantic love interest, yet Gloria Grahame would have done just as nicely. Herbert Marshall plays what had become by this time a Walter Slezak part. The movie is in other words good but could have used a little more fine-tuning and slight adjustments in casting. As it stands it's okay. The payoff isn't nearly as good as the build-up, unfortunately, but there are two lengthy scenes involving O'Brien on a late night train that would have done Lang or Hitchcock proud.
