Johnny Eager wants to be film noir, but MGM wraps it in so much studio gloss that it never feels real—just rigid and flat. Robert Taylor—matinée idol, not mobster—is miscast as the titular sociopath, and everything about the film feels over-polished and a bit too pleased with itself. It’s noir in theory, not in tone. The story’s decent (a fake crime, blackmail, and a doomed love affair) but buried under overwritten and over-explained dialogue, languid pacing, and a romance with Lana Turner that never quite convinces.
Van Heflin steals every scene as Johnny’s boozy conscience—witty, weird, and alive—and appears to be acting in a much scrappier, better film, absolutely deserving his Oscar.
This is noir without grit, crime without chaos—more matinée showcase than moral struggle. A stylish misfire, but a misfire all the same.