A doctor and a policeman in New Orleans have only 48 hours to locate a killer infected with pneumonic plague.
An effective, and classy, little thriller directed by Elia Kazan that blends documentary realism with a race against time pulpy heartbeat. Set and filmed in and around New Orleans, Panic In The Streets is taken from the story Quarantine, Some Like 'em Cold by Edna and Edward Anhalt who won an Oscar for original story. It also boasts a fine ensemble cast that deliver top rate performances for their director. In turn, Richard Widmark {bringing the method a year before Marlon did for Kazan in A Streetcar Named Desire}, Paul Douglas, Jack Palance (as Walter Jack Palance) & the wonderfully named Zero Mostel, all get sweatily moody as the pursuers chase the pursued to halt the onset of a potential Black Death epidemic.
Where the film scores its main suspense points is with Kazan's astute ability to cut back and forth between the protagonists without altering the flow and mood of the piece. From Widmark's Public Health doctor, with hypodermic needle in hand, running around trying to locate the bad guys so he can do good; to the bad guys themselves who are bemused as to why there is such a wide scale hunt for them; the tension is stacked up to fever breaking point. To which thankfully the final thirty minutes becomes a cracking piece of cinema. With Palance excelling as a nasty villain that ironically puts one in mind of Widmark's own Tommy Udo from Kiss Of Death three years prior.
It's an imaginative and intelligently written story, one that cunningly links rats and criminals to being carriers of disease. A blight on society as it were. It's noirish elements, such as paranoia, blend nicely with its basic procedural thriller being. While some memorable scenes are suitably cloaked by the stifling atmosphere that Kazan has created. Although some of the early character psychologizing threatens to steer the film down some over talky based alleyway, this definitely is a film worth staying with to the end. Not essential film-noir, and maybe not even essential Kazan, but certainly a highly recommended film that begs to be discovered by a new generation of film lovers and reappraised by the old guard who may have missed it back in the day. 7.5/10

Certainly not horrible, but definitely not good.
Cry, The Beloved Country (1995) was directed by Darrell Roodt and written for the screen by Ronald Harwood (Adapted from the 1946 novel by Alan Paton). Starring James Earl Jones and Richard Harris.
The film is about pre-Apartheid South Africa, and the stories of a black man and a white man intertwining. The pious but naive preacher Stephen Kumalo (James Earl Jones) receives a letter from Johannesburg saying that he must come immediately; he later finds that his son has killed a man. The rich farmer/landowner James Jarvis (Richard Harris) finds that his son, a fighter for black rights, was the one killed by Kumalo's son. In this they connect.
I cannot compare it to the 1951 film of the same name, for I have not seen it. Or the 1974 musical titled Lost in the Stars for I have also not seen it; both look better than this one. But Cry Freedom, on the other hand, I have seen; it has a much more urgent air to it, like it actually is trying to say something where the film Cry, The Beloved Country seems to have no idea where it is going. Very "Wishy-washy". I refuse to compare the film to the novel (except that I did enjoy the novel more than I enjoyed the film) because novels and films are two extremely different media and there is no point in trying to transfer directly one to the other or compare them via the same means.
Frankly, this movie blew. Well, I guess it wasn't that bad, --Five-out-of-ten, -- but it wasn't that good either. Both of the leads, both very capable actors pull some of the most wooden performances I have seen with some of the most awkward dialogue in film history (but that can be blamed on he screenwriter, Ronald Harwood, who is also oddly off is game with this film, having also written the sublime The Pianist, and Being Julia). Among other things the point and themes of the novel are lost almost entirely in its transition to film for the third time; there is little, if any, tension with any moment of the film, racially or suspensefully. The music doesn't help. The painfully misplaced and boringly pastoral orchestra tracks really help with this dulling down of the film. One upside is the cinematography, with many rather good or great shots, but unfortunately, this does not help the film too much.
The last, striking words of Alan Paton's novel are displayed in the last moments of the film. It is too bad that they seem to be so disconnected from the film that was just shown. I don't know what Nelson Mandela might have seen in this film.
Thanks for your time.