Laura

As an example of advanced arrogance there is none to beat Clifton Webb. He sneers with such patent grandeur that, in Laura, one would never suspect that just before he had been a partially aging, and totally opened a career for him that found its peak in the now Waldo Lydekker, raconteur, bonvivant and egomaniac, opened a career for hom that found its peak in the now legendary Lynn Belvedere.

In Laura it is a developing Webb that holds one's interest. Watching him learn to set his sneering lip just so, arch a well-trimmed eye-brow at a studied angle, and tinge his voice with the exact tone of what passes for atrophying scorn, provides an interesting two hours. In the context of a middling good detective story, the early Webb is irrestible.

The bargain package includes not only this spectacle of a character in the making, but some really rare Vincent Price. His hulking form minces about as he plays a repellent playboy and he does very well by his part. Posturing, he simpers to the tough detective by way of explaining an erratic alibi, "I'm the unconventional type."

In this casual thriller, Dana Andrews, Gent Tierney and Judith Anderson are the other points of interest. Andrews proves he's a hard-bitten detective type by chewing gum, and Miss Tierney struggles with valor to live up to her role as the world's sweetest girl. Miss Anderson, being an almost hallowed institution of American drama, is beyond criticism, since everything she does is more or less perfect.

The film has its suspense and even a modicum of mystery, and surely more than a fair share of good, snappy lines. But what most distinguishes it are the fantastic creations of Messrs. Price and Webb. They, much more than the much-heralded theme song, are the haunting quality of Laura.