Glenn Ford, with his companions James Whitmore and David Wolfe, are employees of the US Treasury Department assigned to the case of "The Big Fellow" who runs "the syndicate", sometimes called "the mob," all of whose members appear to be living beyond their means. Really, Barry Kelley, their consigliere -- I mean their "lawyer" -- files income tax returns on five thousand a year, yet drives a five-thousand dollar Chrysler and lives in a home that Hugh Hefner would envy.
Well, I'll tell you. It's a tough row to hoe. The extortion racket prevails in the city. Eyeball witnesses and their families are threatened. If the threats don't seem to be working, the witnesses die natural deaths full of bullet holes. There are some people involved in the racket, one way or another, who are sympathetic but they're terrified.
By dint of much effort, long hours, intrigue, and one or two dangerous meetings, Ford and his pals crack the case and The Big Fellow and all his employees wind up in the slams.
There's not a great deal of action. That's not a big problem. But the script is rather routine. There is -- how should I put this? -- there is nothing WRONG with Ford. There is no edge to his character. He doesn't smoke, drink, curse, or act rude. He never raises his voice. Ford loves his devoted wife, plans to leave all the schmutz behind him and retire to a farm. He's dedicated and smart but rather a bore. Compare him to Humphrey Bogart's Sam Spade in "The Maltese Falcon." Everything about the film seems pedestrian. Yet it's not a bad movie. It's diverting in a minor way. But it's possible to imagine a hundred ways in which it could have been improved. They could start by dumping the title that reeks of stereotypy since nobody ever goes undercover.
Well, I'll tell you. It's a tough row to hoe. The extortion racket prevails in the city. Eyeball witnesses and their families are threatened. If the threats don't seem to be working, the witnesses die natural deaths full of bullet holes. There are some people involved in the racket, one way or another, who are sympathetic but they're terrified.
By dint of much effort, long hours, intrigue, and one or two dangerous meetings, Ford and his pals crack the case and The Big Fellow and all his employees wind up in the slams.
There's not a great deal of action. That's not a big problem. But the script is rather routine. There is -- how should I put this? -- there is nothing WRONG with Ford. There is no edge to his character. He doesn't smoke, drink, curse, or act rude. He never raises his voice. Ford loves his devoted wife, plans to leave all the schmutz behind him and retire to a farm. He's dedicated and smart but rather a bore. Compare him to Humphrey Bogart's Sam Spade in "The Maltese Falcon." Everything about the film seems pedestrian. Yet it's not a bad movie. It's diverting in a minor way. But it's possible to imagine a hundred ways in which it could have been improved. They could start by dumping the title that reeks of stereotypy since nobody ever goes undercover.