Somewhat misplaced title since the main violence in this film is the furious scraping sound of the bottom of the Noir Alley barrel. In other words, "Violence" is so bad that even Eddie's intro and outro sucked. And speaking of the Noir Alley host, he warned us in the intro that the movie was odoriferous but that we might find it of interest as an anti domestic Fascist commentary. Which is a bit like saying that a 1948 Treasury Department press conference is a prescient anti inflation indicator. There's really nothing about it that rises above the trash can lid level other than, perhaps, Peter Whitney's study in sadistic arrested development (strange that Eddie, who is usually good at picking the few good bits in a dull candy box, fails to mention Whitney's performance). The rest of the acting runs the gamut from amusingly cliche (Sheldon Leonard's Brooklyn gunsel) to hole in the screen (Nancy Coleman's spunky but amnesiac reporter). Cinematography, directorial pacing and scene setting are non existent while the dialogue is as flat as a papadum. C minus.