Kubrick's second feature is a noir nadir: one ugly, awkward, somniferous crime (void of) drama in the vein of a octogenarian's home come Thanksgiving. Highlights of my lifespan's longest hour include rigid, insipid performances, slapdash editing and a narrative surfeited of immaterial, supererogatory exposition that far exceeds (and inevitably eclipses) a lean and shopworn plot. Only a penultimate scene proves distinctive for its fight sequence, ineptly executed by the standards of exploitation fare. Kubrick's dissatisfaction with his antecedent debut Fear and Desire prompted him to withdraw it from public screenings; had he done likewise with this supreme exercise in tedium, no one save completist enthusiasts of American cinema's most autocratic auteur might vocalize misgivings in concern of its inaccessibility by curtailment.
This picture's theatrical tagline reads: "Her Soft Mouth Was the Road to Sin-Smeared Violence!" Yuck!