Minor film noir in which a routine home hostage situation is employed to a really strange effect. John Garfield plays a sociopathic cop killer from the slums of Los Angeles who takes refuge in the apartment of a docile stranger (Shelley Winters) and her compliant family, as the police dragnet tightens its grip on the streets below.
The narrative focuses on the utterly loathsome fugitive more than the traumatised hostages. Given his ostentatiously unloving mother (Gladys George) it's possible we are even expected to sympathise... Except he's such a creepy, narcissistic weasel that it's impossible. And the family's attempt to defend themselves is so wretched it's frustrating.
Maybe there's another way of seeing this. All the main players on this picture were being persecuted by Senator McCarthy's witch hunt on alleged communists. It's not too difficult to imagine the menacing, cowardly criminal as a stand-in for HUAC, and the peaceful, innocent family as its victims. Tenuous, perhaps, but it's the only way the film works.
It's a difficult watch either way. The hostage scenario only succeeds if we empathise with the captive family, but the inexperienced (and blacklisted) John Berry gives all the light to his star. This now seems most significant as Garfield's last performance before his premature death and for its uncredited script by Dalton Trumbo, one of the Hollywood Ten.