- John Cromwell's Dead Reckoning is an entertaining film noir starring Humphrey Bogart as a former paratrooper named Murdock. At the film's start, a badly injured Murdock stumbles into a church so he can tell a priest the tragic story of his best pal, Sergeant Johnny Drake (William Prince). In flashback, we discover that Johnny had it bad for a husky-voiced woman he called "Dusty", but even Murdock can't understand why Johnny hopped a train to avoid receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor. Murdock's only clue to Johnny's whereabouts comes from a quick glance at his Yale pin, which Murdock noticed featured a name other than Johnny Drake. That clue leads Murdock to Gulf City, Florida, which in turn leads him to a morgue that contains the charred remains of his best friend.
- After some sleuthing, Murdock discovers that Johnny must have changed his name to avoid being charged with murder in the death of a man named Chandler. The bartender (George Chandler, no relation) who served as a witness in that case tries to help Murdock, but we get the impression that the bar's owner, Martinelli (Morris Carnovsky), and his hired goon Krause (Marvin Miller) have no interest in dredging up the past. Sure enough, Johnny's love interest Dusty (Lizabeth Scott), who goes by at least three different names in this film, including the former Mrs. Chandler, sings at Martinelli's bar, too. A casual drink with Martinelli lands Murdock in a catatonic state, with the dead bartender in his hotel room and the police lieutenant (Charles Cane) on his way. And you thought jumping out of planes was rough.
- The best parts of Dead Reckoning are surely Bogart's persistant voiceover narration and a really wonderful sequence in which Murdock visualizes passing out in terms of parachuting out of a plane. The rest of the film is enjoyable enough, but often feels like a near miss. I hesitate to criticize actors too strongly, but after seeing this and The Strange Love of Martha Ivers in the same month, I will forever view Lizabeth Scott as a cheap imitation of Lauren Bacall, a contrast made even more obvious by her pairing here with Bogart. (If you think Scott's acting is bad, wait until you see her lip-sync.) The film's writing also falters at times, as when it veers into accidental comedy with the paratrooper-turned-priest, Dusty's many aliases, migrating bodies, Wallace Ford's collection of incendiary devices, and the totally absurd finale. Still, Bogart elevates any film he's in and Miller is a surprisingly memorable heavy, so maybe I should just be thankful that it didn't feature two musical numbers.
