Thanks to cinematographer Lee Garmes this film has an appropriate for 1945 Hollywood noir-ish look, but, oh ye gods! Is the story and mood one long lugubrious slog, with every overwrought, humorless key on the amnesia scale being played to consummate, meldodramatic idiocy by director William Dieterle and scenarist Ayn Rand, the latter of whom is taking a holiday from praising capitalism to, instead, wallow in schmaltz. The players pretty much follow Dieterle/ Rand rather than Garmes with Jennifer Jones equating memory loss with infantilism and thus speaking in a breathless, girlish sing song throughout, a piece of annoyance which, naturally, got her an Oscar nomination. Joseph Cotten is, as usual, more restrained but his stubborn refusal to even attempt a British accent since he's, well, playing a friggin Brit, is also a bit on the irksome side. The supporting cast of actual Brits speaking in actual British accents fare better, especially Anne Richards (who was to have the lead role until David Selznick pushed his girl friend in front of her), Gladys Cooper and Cecil Kelloway. Give it a generous C plus, mostly for Garmes.
PS...Also notable is Victor Young's score which, although overdone like everything in this movie, is also, at times, beautiful.
PS...Also notable is Victor Young's score which, although overdone like everything in this movie, is also, at times, beautiful.