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The movie effectively ignites with Corey's murderous jailbreak. A model prisoner, a trustee and within touching distance of parole, his violently erratic actions indicative of a man in a seriously disturbed mental state.

Previously, the mild mannered bank teller, an unlikely have-a-go hero, was the inside man during an ambitious bank job. The accidental killing of his wife, by Joseph Cotten, as police closed in and an ensuing hefty jail sentence landed him with plenty of opportunities for axe grinding.

Bullied, derided and nicknamed 'Foggy' by senior officers throughout his years of inactive service, due to poor eyesight and a befuddled disposition. Behind the wall of meek lies a festering internal rage, which sporadically explodes into bouts of brutal, remorseless violence, driven by an insatiable lust for revenge. Evading road blocks and committing a couple more murders just for good measure, Corey is soon at large in the city. With a full on eye for an eye mentality, his target is Cotten's wife, lovely Rhonda Fleming.

With the detective set up as bait, Fleming is assigned the easiest job in the world: Go into hiding at a friend's house, keep her nut down, stay out of sight and above all do NOT leave the building. At all costs, avoid being visible in public. Can she do it? You decide!

What ought to be taut and suspenseful, grows ever more contrived, even tiresome as the action draws towards its conclusion. Bud Boetticher directed several superior Randolph Scott westerns, but the innately offbeat nature of Corey's character aside, 'Killer' is a fairly routine, only spottily absorbing picture.

Firmly advise a headstrong young man NOT to do something and it's the very thing he WILL do! The vast, unexplored Okefenokee swamp, teeming with alligators and the venomous cottonmouth snake, is a top of the range no - go area, but despite father (Walter Huston's} stern warning Dana Andrews ventures deep, deep into the unknown, searching for his lost 'doag', the aptly named 'Trouble'. Deeper and deeper, punting gives way to wading, until he finally squelches upon long gone escaped convict, Walter Brennan. A solitary fugitive and a potential threat, until he convinces Andrews of his innocence.

Having lived for several years in such hostile surroundings, Brennan looks surprisingly well groomed. One might have realistically anticipated, in view of his lifestyle, a Ben Gunn meets The Mothers of Invention scale of unkempt dishevelment. Whilst the secret of his longevity gives an already mysterious tale an otherworldly slant.

Andrews' regular forays into the swamp, a cultivated friendship with Brennan's misfit daughter (Ann Baxter) and an occasional slip of the tongue arouse suspicions from the townsfolk, quickly escalating into serious allegations, leaving Andrews desperately seeking a means to silence the alligators!

The movie abounds with a number of unusual, offbeat characters. Sassy Virginia Gilmore is the other woman, big, bad, boisterous brothers Ward Bond and Guinn Williams are never short of a sarcastic riposte for Andrews, Eugene Pallette is the rotund sheriff with the unmistakable croak and when sneaky, slippery, geetar toting John Carradine has remarked for the fourth time that he's 'just passin' by', is there something innately insidious about him? Or is he simply the world's most boring man?

Not quite western, not quite noir, or even noir western. There may be a couple of Wallys heading the cast, but Swamp Water's eerily enigmatic qualities are simply captivating. It's a genre jumping gem, an arcanely addictive movie, that just kinda sucks you in.

Peppered by gunfire, daring pilot, George Raft evades the bullets to undertake his twilight flight. Having made a miraculous landing in swirling mist, it comes to light that the brave, brazen flyer is deeply involved in black market activities.

Not best pleased at being in the cockpit of a crate full of bullet holes, the bold, brash Raft demands a meeting with the boss, the MR BIG of the organization, who turns out to be MISS BIG, June Havoc. With his foot firmly in the door, passions start to ignite and a tacky, showy affair begins, leaving those close to Havoc seriously underwhelmed.

Raft's unseemly dismissal from the armed forces rears its ugly head when the sister of one of his deceased crew (Helena Carter) befriends him, forewarning her with, "I'm a bottle with a label....says poison." Another blast from Raft's past is old buddy, Tom Tully, now a journalist, fervently striving to expose black market corruption and its devastating impact on ordinary people, ravaged by off the scale inflation, meagre diets and the very real threat of starvation.

Take away the unusual setting and you have a formulaic, identikit noir: The cynical loner, complicit with a corrupt lifestyle, the femme fatale, the dutiful girl, the bully boy syndicate and even the title song trundled out during a night club scene. A generous Len Goodman se-ven, for a steadily maintained tempo, decent entertainment value and a couple of surprises. It's an enjoyable movie. Raft clearly enjoyed breaking a chair over Marvin Miller's head, though whether the experience was appreciated in equal measure by Miller...or the chair is open to question.