text: Essentially a undistinguished B-movie that mysteriously is directed by one of the golden era's major talents, Fritz Lang. Even with the stellar names of Lang, Walter Pidgeon, Joan Bennett and George Sanders, be prepared for a ludicrous storyline, bad acting, patently phony sets and miscasting. For transparency sake, I have to admit I am an ardent non-admirer of Walter Pidgeon, who was lucky to have found a niche at the artificial dream-factory of MGM, and somehow worked in secondary roles, supporting Greer Garson and others. He is wildly miscast, acting in a chipper, '30s-Ray Milland madcap comedy tone, in a role where his life is in danger, and he is in hiding. Joan Bennett's cockney accent is excessive, but her lacquered hair, perfect makeup and classy outfit belies a street-wise Cockney slum-girl. George Sanders is incapable of bad acting, but disappears after the preposterous opening finds Pidgeon somehow pretending to shoot Adolph Hitler. Surprising for Fritz Lang is the unevenness of tone. I found the film wavered uneasily between occasional moments of suspense-thriller surrounded by light-hearted comedic interplay. Hitchcock totally reversed the ratio, using comic relief to occasionally pace the suspense. There is a reason this film is unknown. It didn't serve or propel anybody's career or reputation, and is forgotten because it's a surprisingly bad film from such a pedigreed group.