An excellent technicolor noir in which Gene Tierney plays a murderous, jealous psychotic who makes life hell for her novelist husband, a decent Cornel Wilde. I will say, in his defense, that I might marry Gene Tierney even if I knew in advance (spoiler warning) that she was going to drown my polio-stricken little brother, and hurl herself down the stairs to miscarry her unborn child.
It's a gorgeous film, bouncing between Taos, New Mexico and northern Maine, building a steadily-progressing aura of dread. The film falters toward the end, during a courtroom scene with a histrionic Vincent Price. And while John Stahl does a nice job directing, it's hard to not imagine what Hitchcock might have done with this material.
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