In just the first scene the noir schmuck, an ex-GI back from the war, is wistfully looking at a man frying bacon behind a shopwindow, looks down, where —lo— in a sardonic twist of noir fate, he discovers a wallet full of money. Being a straight-up guy, he shows up at the mobster's place in Miami to return it, where he's promptly hired as a driver, falls for the unhappy wife, and elopes with her to Havana, the place of desire.
It's a dreamy setup worthy of the most profound noir, but the movie outright fails — the acting is stiff, the romance is forced, the pace is lethargic, the camera is uninteresting. We simply have second- grade talent doing poverty row work for a quick pay.
But even botched Woolrich is something, and this one's just so bizarre.
The narrator, our GI schmuck, suffers such intense anxiety (possibly related to the war, as often in noir). Midway through the narration breaks down and re-arranges the world. This is preceded by his very own death following a very murky chase through Havana, another deeply noirish twist. Anyway, it turns out that he was never in Havana, though he has the two tickets in his pocket.
We have obvious hallucination but the weirdest thing is as follows: 'when' the hallucination starts is undefinable and the ensuing 'real' story picks up from some point in it and culminates in another previously hallucinated moment in Havana. It's strange, because nothing is really done with it. But as clear explication of noir—as with Woolrich's Fear in the Night, almost too clear for my taste—this is straight to the point.
Noir Meter: 3/4