The rap on Kent Smith was that he was duller than dried cement. Probably that's why he was cast here as the emotionally repressed doctor. The doc is so colorless and unemotional in the early scenes, we see why wife Lucy (DeCamp) has withdrawn into her own bubble. Then too, his household appears to run on the proverbial dime, with only daughter Bunny (Hendrix) showing any real spark. Of course, all of this is necessary background to his eventual transformation once he meets sexpot Prentiss (Sheridan). From dutiful husband to reluctant philanderer to obsessed lover and finally to repentant criminal, Smith brings off the stages in low-key effective fashion, and I expect more than a few married spouses left the theater unsettled by what they had seen lurking under the doctor's calm exterior.
All in all, it's a grim little film, depicting a civilized man's descent into emotional darkness. I'm not sure why it's titled after Prentiss since the doctor is for all intents and purposes the main character. But Sheridan does get to show a lot of leg and mature appeal, although her character seems not very plausible once the doc becomes a burden. Someone called the movie a "woman's noir", and with its soap-operish overtones, the description seems to fit. Then too, noirish elements surface in those dark entrapment scenes, especially in the hotel room, (but why do they have separate rooms after they've run away together?). And especially noirish is heart patient Walter's existential lament amidst the big city-- if he dies, he wonders, who would know or care. The scene passes quickly, but is chillingly revealing.
The movie's underrated, probably because of Smith and the unrelentingly grim atmosphere. I just wish someone had scrubbed Alda's smarmy nightclub owner. He's totally unbelievable and compromises what could have been a memorably atmospheric very last shot. Nonetheless, it's an engrossing little morality tale, as long as you're not feeling too depressed.
