- Sorry, Wrong Number is a terrifically dark film noir in which every character has something to hide. Its nominal protagonist, Leona Stevenson (Barbara Stanwyck), is an invalid who suffers from a heart condition that proves to be more of a mental problem. Leona uses her poor health to keep her blue-collar husband Henry (Burt Lancaster) on a short leash, although that's not enough to disrupt the illicit drug smuggling ring he operates with a gentle chemist (Harold Vermilyea) and a rough mobster (William Conrad). Henry's old flame Sally (Ann Richards) spies on her husband (Leif Erickson), a lawyer who is secretly investigating Henry, and even Leona's wealthy father (Ed Begley) is quite the schemer when it comes to the family business. By being merely negligent, Leona's doctor (Wendell Corey) may well be the most noble character in this film.
- But the audience only discovers these many interesting details in flashback (and double-flashback!) since the real story is that the bed-ridden Leona has overheard a murder plot through a crossed telephone line. The unidentified culprits plan on killing an unnamed woman in Manhattan at 11:15 that night and even have a plan for dealing with her open bedroom window. Hey, I wonder if it is anything like the open window in Leona's bedroom? In any case, the house servants took the night off, Henry is nowhere to be found, and the police are too busy babysitting to look into such a vague threat. It is in the process of seeking help that Leona begins to unravel the many mysterious and fascinating threads surrounding her life.
- In many ways, Sorry, Wrong Number feels like a cross between Dial M for Murder and Rear Window, despite preceding both films by six years. Although there isn't much humor to be found and Hitchcock never would have permitted the film's resolutely grim ending, it's easy to imagine the director being attracted to the film's central gimmicks of phoned-in revelations, multiple narrators, and real-time anticipation of the approaching 11:15 train. The film's actual director, Anatole Litvak, proves surprisingly adept at moving camera work, following dancers around the floor and even backing out of Leona's bedroom before descending to the yard below. The story, adapted from a radio play by Lucille Fletcher, is gripping, and Stanwyck and Lancaster earn the usual high marks. It's definitely not the feel-good movie of the year, but isn't that part of what makes it great?
