Pushover

Novak's gestures, glances, and inflections expand passing moments to symphonic proportions, and MacMurray's studied neutrality exudes existential weariness.

Viewed strictly on its own, as it should be, this modest Columbia melodrama is a creditable job for about half the time.

Marked by a visual claustrophobia that nicely matches MacMurray's increasingly hemmed-in situation.

It's the sort of thing that has often been done before, but usually with less competence than in this hard-boiled little suspense yarn.