An ex-GI (Humphrey Bogart) passing through Florida stops to see the family, who own a hotel in the Florida keys, of a deceased soldier he served with in WWII. When he arrives he finds the hotel taken over by a gangster (Edward G. Robinson) and his thugs. Based on a play by Maxwell Anderson, the director John Huston along with his co-screenwriter Richard Brooks pretty much dump Anderson's pretentious play written in blank verse and whipped up a tense and atmospheric thriller with the extra added suspense of a powerful hurricane approaching. It's a well crafted example of what the well oiled Warners machine could churn out at its best. It helps that the film is heavy on Star power and Robinson steals the picture from Bogart, he positively makes your skin crawl. Alas, Lauren Bacall was already starting to show her limitations as an actress. As a slinky femme fatale she was fine but when playing regular women, she's dull. Fortunately there's Claire Trevor in one of those showy performances that win Oscars (and she did) as Robinson's boozed up mistress. With Lionel Barrymore (hammy as usual but it works here), Thomas Gomez, Marc Lawrence and Jay Silverheels.
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