Dan Turner, a New York City private detective, is hired to investigate a case involving “Ziggy” Cranston, a rich California playboy and the owner of a national-radio network, who is being blackmailed for $50,000 by a gangster, he thinks, who claims he can prove Cranston murdered a nightclub singer. Cranston gets tagged with another murder, and Turner has to get involved in several gunfights and sessions with lovely femme-fatales while figuring out who killed who.
This will have to go down as the “Plan Nine from Outer Space” of film noir. Some of memorable lines include “Thats not marshmallows coming out of that gun” and “Take that mitt off your mutt” and “I hope you get your hope.” In the very long fight scenes, the good guy always keeps his hat on. In what must be a first, a man passes out by simply being pushed into a swimming pool. As expected, the plot is nearly impossible to follow, but it won’t matter as the film is a total gas from start to finish.
The production values are very cheesy, the director seemed like he was in a hurry to get home for supper, and the actors were definitely in the C level of film. The story was fairly mundane; a Hollywood big shot is getting blackmailed; so who cares? There really is no protagonist in the film. The private investigator is every cliche you have ever heard from a 40s PI. And the “hot number” who is featured on the poster was the ugliest woman I ever saw featured as a starlet. Other than that, the film is watchable, if you have nothing to do for an hour.