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Unexpectedly terrific, black as night drama from a director responsible for several installments in the racially offensive franchises of Charlie Chan and Mr. Moto. The cinematography is dark, brooding and painterly in the best way; its rendering of a foggy, damp, post-blitz London feels like a time warp back to a version of the Victorian area that just happens to be populated by noir-era hoods and thugs. Lancaster is brilliant—his capacity for on screen physical pain is fascinating. Joan Fontaine is aces too in a role that’s an inversion of a femme fatale; a woman who somehow, without hectoring, without falling victim to anything, still manages to point to true north for both characters. A superb, under-appreciated bit of post-War angst.
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