Fritz Lang's last Hollywood film is a savage indictment of the complacency of American justice. A writer is obsessed with the idea that an entirely innocent man could be sent to the chair - and he sets out to prove his theory when a showgirl is mysteriously found dead. A classic.

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A superbly crafted melodrama, even if it never manages to top the moody montage with which it opens - moon scudding behind clouds, rubber dripping from a tree, coolies dozing in the compound, a startled cockatoo - as a shot rings out, a man staggers out onto the verandah, and Davis follows to empty her gun grimly into his body. The contrivance evident in Maugham's play during the investigation and trial that follow is kept firmly at bay by Wyler's technical expertise and terrific performances, n find out more...