Has there been a better jump-cut than the one from Marie Windsor vigorously filing her nails to a railway engine's going full pelt along the track?
This is but one of the many delights of the seventy minutes which find her - a gangster's widowed moll - aboard a train in the company of policeman Charles McGraw who is there to protect her from mobsters hellbent on preventing her from testifying before a Grand Jury and producing a list of top-notch firms implicated in widespread slayings and corruption.
A train always heightens drama, and there is no higher one than this masterpiece, directed by Richard Fleisher (whose memoirs are a fascinating read).
One could quote some of the fast and salty dialogue but it is better springing from the lips of the cast than this keyboard. A treat in store - however many times you watch it.
Seventy-one minutes, one train and apparently nowhere on Earth Charles McGraw can stand without looking like he’s about to arrest somebody. The Narrow Margin is what happens when a B-movie refuses to waste a single foot of track.
Richard Fleischer keeps recycling the same corridors and compartments, and somehow makes each one shrink a little more. Someone just squeezing past you in a carriage turns weirdly alarming — I found myself flinching at people opening doors. McGraw’s voice sounds quarried out of a mountain, pure gravel. Marie Windsor turns up looking like she’s wandered in from Central Casting wearing a sign reading NOIR WOMAN: TROUBLE, then spends the whole film gleefully justifying it.
The plot needs a couple of lucky coincidences, and it loses a little pressure once the big reveal lands. At barely over an hour, though, Fleischer never gives any of that enough room to matter.
Cheap ticket, first-class suspense — and Charles McGraw’s scowl alone looks load-bearing.