There is no shortage of action at the outset of 'The Man who Died Twice', even if the clapped out jalopy in which T. J. (Don Megowan) plunges to his death, is clearly different from the sleek, modern car he's seen driving moments earlier. Maybe Republic's budget didn't stretch beyond wrecking anything other than a wreck.
Immediately afterwards, a man falls from T. J.'s balcony, shots are fired, whilst his widow (Vera Ralston) falls into a swoon and passes out. Ralston is oblivious to the reality that a cache of highly sought after drugs is stashed in her apartment. In fact she drifts through most of the movie ensconced in her own bubble of blissful oblivion, answering 'I don't know' to every question. Had anyone ventured to prod, 'Do you know ANYTHING?' she would still have responded with, 'I don't know!'
There is nothing intrinsically WRONG with 'The Man who Died Twice', but as the movie continues, there is a seen it, heard it, bought the tee-shirt vibe to much of the narrative. The drugs, which certain people will stop at nothing to lay their mitts on, the looming threat of......The Syndicate (yawn), T. J.'s brother (Rod Cameron), who just happens to be a cop, appearing on the scene and his target, two sluggish, slack-stomached heavies, who resort to venting violence against an elderly lady and her pet cat, to prove that they haven't lost their touch.
The movie muddles and meanders to the distinct slosh of water being trodden. Like grizzled prog-rockers digging in for some extensive soloing, which may have been ground breaking at the turn of the '70's, but sounds tedious and over indulgent today, film noir, like almost anything else, had its time, place and sell-by date. Thanks to astute directors and imaginative writers, the genre provided some of cinema's greatest moments, over more years than we had any right to expect, but as the 1950's drew to a close, there was barely a dead horse left to flog.
Immediately afterwards, a man falls from T. J.'s balcony, shots are fired, whilst his widow (Vera Ralston) falls into a swoon and passes out. Ralston is oblivious to the reality that a cache of highly sought after drugs is stashed in her apartment. In fact she drifts through most of the movie ensconced in her own bubble of blissful oblivion, answering 'I don't know' to every question. Had anyone ventured to prod, 'Do you know ANYTHING?' she would still have responded with, 'I don't know!'
There is nothing intrinsically WRONG with 'The Man who Died Twice', but as the movie continues, there is a seen it, heard it, bought the tee-shirt vibe to much of the narrative. The drugs, which certain people will stop at nothing to lay their mitts on, the looming threat of......The Syndicate (yawn), T. J.'s brother (Rod Cameron), who just happens to be a cop, appearing on the scene and his target, two sluggish, slack-stomached heavies, who resort to venting violence against an elderly lady and her pet cat, to prove that they haven't lost their touch.
The movie muddles and meanders to the distinct slosh of water being trodden. Like grizzled prog-rockers digging in for some extensive soloing, which may have been ground breaking at the turn of the '70's, but sounds tedious and over indulgent today, film noir, like almost anything else, had its time, place and sell-by date. Thanks to astute directors and imaginative writers, the genre provided some of cinema's greatest moments, over more years than we had any right to expect, but as the 1950's drew to a close, there was barely a dead horse left to flog.