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I'm not sure if "Laura" truly qualifies as a film noir, although it certainly looks the part. If anything, it is a bridge between the standard romantic dramas of the '30s and '40s and the far darker truly noir films, such as "Double Indemnity," in which the main characters are either weak, desperate, or truly evil.

Tierney, here, is luminous as always, but hardly unsympathetic. And Andrews is your basic Dick Tracy -- colorless, but solid and honest. It's no surprise then that Webb walks off with the film, but his character is significant in other ways. Outwardly fey, Waldo is a variation on the stock "gay" Hollywood character seen at a time when homosexuality was hinted at but never really acknowledged. He insists he loves Laura, but there appears to be no actual love affair. He chooses her clothes and hairstyles, shows her off on his arm, but never seems to have any real physical contact with her. (The visual clue is his apartment, filled with pretty things that no one is allowed to touch, although Waldo will gladly tell you how expensive they are.) His scenes with Andrews become far more complex in this context, particularly when he discusses the case with the detective from his bath. Their verbal sparring continues throughout the film, and Webb makes frequent remarks about why women find Andrews' type so alluring, while they reject more "refined" males of taste and breeding. But Webb's Waldo, despite the refinement, is a catty and cruel little monster, a man who writes of love, but has none in his life. Unlike David Wayne's comic sissy in "Adam's Rib," who repeatedly proclaims his love and adoration for Katharine Hepburn's Amanda, Webb's Waldo has an edge so vile that we fear him, and, because of that, can accept him as a suspect.

The film is also notable for Vincent Price's performance as a needy boy-toy who is manlier than Webb, but still sexually vague, indecisive and weak. Viewers unaccustomed to seeing Price in such roles may think he was miscast. Perhaps he was, but he seems to be doing precisely what he was supposed to do, giving Laura another worldly but inappropriate suitor.

The plot, predictable or not, is great fun; a bit of a whodunit with a psychological edge. The score is legendary, and like the painting Andrews falls in love with, the music gives the film its haunting quality, particularly at those moments when we segue into another flashback.

There's a bit of inscrutability in most of Tierney's performances, which makes her perfect for this role. We rarely know what she's thinking, or precisely how she feels about the other characters. And because of this, her flashbacks provide few clues as to why anyone would want to murder her.

There are a few other suspects, of course, including the great Judith Anderson, and there's even a smart little cocktail party where you can look them over one more time. As for who really did kill Laura -- well, good luck with that one.

I saw a screening of this film before it opened, to prepare for an interview with Ellen Burstyn. Nothing I had heard about it prepared me for what I saw. In fact, when the lights came up, a man sitting next to me (with a thick French accent) said 'Why would anyone make a film like this?' Although the characters in the film aren't particularly likable, it's hard not to feel for them as drugs (street and prescription) take over their lives, and plunge each of them into their own private hell. The split-screen gimmicks and altered film speeds work perfectly here --all contributing to the visual assault that, by film's end, leaves you feeling battered and crushed. The plot is minimal, but the performances are wrenching and (pardon the cliché) not for the squeamish. Watching Burstyn's descent is terrifying, something akin to seeing your favorite aunt being tortured, and wishing you could reach into the screen and help her. Wayans is amazing, a total surprise. And Leto and Connolly are also first-rate. If this flick doesn't leave you frightened and shaken, nothing will.