The real excitements in this semi-documentary crime story are not Hitchcock's fancy stylistic inventions (the camera drawing ferris-wheel circles around the hero's dizzy head, or following the fellow through an entranceway as he pretends to slam an invisible door behind him), but rather they are the life-sized re-creations of banal big-city life: Henry Fonda's mousey Stork Club musician who endures a series of personal humiliations with his heart in his throat and his tongue tied; Harold J. Stone's gracious, generous police officer ("This looks bad for you, Manny, very bad, but I want to give you every opportunity..."); and Anthony Quayle's earnest but unpracticed defense attorney, whose plodding cross-examination technique provokes one juror, probably spoiled by reading the latest scintillating Perry Mason case, to stand up in the jury box and protest, "Do we have to listen to this, Your Honor?" (1957) — Duncan Shepherd
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