I wonder what audiences of the day thought when first laying eyes on Walter Jack Palance (Blackie). Certainly he looks like no one else of the time, that skull-like face, flattened nose, and elongated body-- even now he remains an unsettling presence. And what could be more appropriate than his emergence out of those dingy New Orleans slums that appear to fester like the plague Blackie is loosing on the city. I'm just sorry he didn't have more scenes.
The movie itself is very skillfully assembled the morgue's black humor, the Widmark- Douglas interplay, the un-touristy locations, the battles among officialsall are woven into a tensely realistic thriller with a menace unlike others of the time. Even Widmark's domestic scenes that put a woman (Bel Geddes) on the marquee manage not to be too disruptive. Director Kazan certainly shows his aptitude for helming a studio (Fox) product, no matter how he may have felt about the commercial aspect.
Widmark does a solid low-key job as the public health officer. But my money is on the one- and-only Zero Mostel. Was there ever a sweatier performer who could squeal louder or get pushed around more than the bulky fall guy (e.g. The Enforcer, 1950). That scene with Mostel, where Palance argues with Mostel's shrewish wife (Liswood), is a gem of frantic subservience as Mostel tries to pacify each like some berserk pinball. Too bad he lost so many years to the blacklist. (I wonder if it was the voluble Kazan who named him.)
But it's not only the professionals that add color. The locals add both character and authenticity, especially the two Asian guys interviewed by the cops. That whole scene has an improvised air, as if Kazan recognized their potential and fashioned a nifty little scene on the spot. Then too, that colorful hiring hall with all the deck hands is pure inspiration. And what about those flea-bitten coffee shops that have me running to the nearest Denny's.
Anyway, the movie is still a well-staged, riveting thriller with an apocalyptic air that oddly foreshadows many of today's mega-hits.

There was a great film to be made about Steve Biko. Sadly this wasn't it. Denzel Washington - never the most flexible of actors - is totally unable to convey the great charisma that Biko had. Attenborough's big crowd scenes are laughable. The Soweto massacre wasn't like this, three neat lines of children ( some doing cartwheels!) marching happily into the guns of the soldiers. With Biko dead the film rapidly descends into farce. If the struggle against Apartheid was anything it was a black people's struggle yet somehow we are all supposed to be gripped by the escape of a white man and his family. I'm sure Donald Woods was a decent man and he would be the first to say that Biko was important while he wasn't. Penelope Wilton's accent is pure Hampshire and she seems completely unaware that she is in South Africa at all. at all. The Wood's family dog gets more lines than the black maid. As the family make their escape one the women I saw the film with - incidentally one of only about a dozen black people in a large, full cinema - whispered "This is like the sound of music." She had a point.
Overall this is a film by a well-intentioned if somewhat inept white liberal about a radical black people's struggle. And really South Africa needs well-intentioned white liberals like it needs a hole in the head.