Frankenheimer’s neo-noir feels like a hand of cards nobody really wanted to play. The kidnap-blackmail setup has the makings of a lean thriller, and he shoots the LA grime with real conviction. Roy Scheider is quietly compelling, and Ann-Margret is frankly better than the film deserves; a few more scenes between them might have been the ace this needed.
But 52 Pick-Up mostly just shrugs. The sleaze lands heavily rather than edgily, several sequences curdle into outright misogyny, and there’s little wit or plot ingenuity to compensate. The film keeps confusing ugliness with edge. Elmore Leonard adapted his own novel, which makes the flat dialogue even stranger. You keep waiting for the clever play that never comes.
Grimly watchable, mind. More a chore than a thriller.