D.O.A.

The biggest, and most immediate, flaw with this movie is its star: Edmond O’Brien simply isn’t handsome enough to come across as anything more than a schlub. So you spend most of the first reel wondering why that chick dotes on him so much—its not like he seems to deserve it for his character—and why he is immediately accepted as the life of the literal party next door. Then he learns he’s been poisoned, and the race is on, and from then on the action really begins and the lead’s flaws gradually don’t matter anymore. In other words, it takes a while for this flick to get going, but eventually it grows more engaging and carries the viewer through to its ultimate—and, indeed, preordained—destination. The plot seems kind of flimsy, like it’s a matter of faith that the thin thread that connects O’Brien’s character Bigelow to a distant crime is enough to set all this in motion, but the action scenes, as well as the views of 1940s San Francisco and Los Angeles, make up for the lack of compelling plot points. I don’t think this one really deserves its reputation as a film noir classic (many better movies leap to mind), but for a bit of old time entertainment for a night in front of the tube, it does enough to satisfy. It stays barely alive just long enough to make it worth watching.