Great title, great cast, okay movie. The tension trips over the exposition in this low-budget dust mite. Underneath all of the talk-talk-talk, this is your regular story of a perfect crime that isn’t so perfect.
Lizard-like Gerald Mohr’s meticulous casino heist goes all kablooey when psycho escaped con Lee Van Cleef steps into the picture with the world’s worst timing. All he wants is his wife, Mamie Van Doren, and a bullet in every man who was ever sweet on her while he was in the joint.
He hasn’t thought much about anything that happens after that. He doesn’t understand that she’s a part of the robbery and that he’s fucking it all up for everybody, including himself. Not that we care much. The characters in this movie don’t have personalities. They only have ties, cigarettes, scowls and fedoras.
Mamie Van Doren actually has the best role as a platinum blonde hour-glass nightclub singer who’s never once a damsel in distress. She’s a beautiful woman who’s used to holding her own around hard men and there’s a little dose of venom in every line she speaks.
What most saves this movie though from its middling script are its fine pulp fiction surfaces. Rural California diners, highways and trailer parks. Smoking guns and gruff faces. No one in this film has any friends. All of their relationships are combative and predatory. I don’t know if I want to spend more than an hour and ten minutes with these people. Lucky for us, busy B-movie director Edward L. Cahn doesn’t have the time or money for anything more than that.