Talky mystery that never really gels. Events concern an ocean liner being tested for remote control. Since a successful test will revolutionize warships and naval warfare, the test is being done in secret. Nonetheless, an unnamed foreign power gets wind of the experiment and gets an undercover agent aboard. But which of the many characters is it, and how many will be murdered before the end.
Cheapo Monogram is constrained to film inside cramped ship-board sets, though oddly we never see the supposed water below. And since there's little action or pacing, the narrative fails to crystallize plot potential. Events tend to meander rather than build. I suspect the problem lies with trying to cram too much of the Wallace novel onto the screen On the other hand, the reveal did surprise me, while showing a good twist on the usual. Too bad that imagination didn't extend to directing and lighting.
Though Beery headlines--probably for marquee reasons--he has little screen time. Instead, rotund Maxwell carries the plot as a self-appointed sleuth. I guess the aged Tilbury is supposed to be comedy relief, likely because lanky Jerry Stewart proves so inept. Too bad her over-acting hits more of a sour note than a funny bone.
Anyway, I didn't dislike the results as much as many others. Still, it's an easily forgettable entry among that decade's slew of cheap whodunnits.
Cheapo Monogram is constrained to film inside cramped ship-board sets, though oddly we never see the supposed water below. And since there's little action or pacing, the narrative fails to crystallize plot potential. Events tend to meander rather than build. I suspect the problem lies with trying to cram too much of the Wallace novel onto the screen On the other hand, the reveal did surprise me, while showing a good twist on the usual. Too bad that imagination didn't extend to directing and lighting.
Though Beery headlines--probably for marquee reasons--he has little screen time. Instead, rotund Maxwell carries the plot as a self-appointed sleuth. I guess the aged Tilbury is supposed to be comedy relief, likely because lanky Jerry Stewart proves so inept. Too bad her over-acting hits more of a sour note than a funny bone.
Anyway, I didn't dislike the results as much as many others. Still, it's an easily forgettable entry among that decade's slew of cheap whodunnits.