A lot of talent is wasted in this turgid misfire. At this point in his career, director Howard W. Koch had proved himself an efficient overseer of crime dramas-- Big House USA; Shield for Murder et al. Here however his usual expert pacing dissolves into a number of static, uninvolving scenes with way too much dialogue for a slasher film.
Then too, note the lack of reaction when suspect Frankie backs into a log-cutting machine. The sheriff (John Dehner) and his deputy merely stand there expressionless, with no help from the director, after observing what is presumably a very gory accident. My guess is that Koch took one look at the script and decided to walk through the rest.
In fact, the real problem is the script, which is about as confusing as a whodunit gets. Note the five-minute explanation Dehner has to deliver in order to tie-up loose ends in the movie's last scene. Not only is his solution as complicated as a problem in higher math, but I suspect the audience has long since lost interest, anyway. Not helping either is Ron Randell's teeth-clenching attempt to play the role of a mordantly depressed cripple. But then, who could bring off all that goofy sarcasm that the script sticks in his mouth.
The real crime is not using such ace performers as Marie Windsor and Anne Bancroft to better effect, especially Windsor whose role could have been filled by a dozen lesser actresses. Note also how sexpot Mamie Van Doren's one big high-cleavage scene is highlighted. No doubt that one showed up on all the promotion posters during the age of the busty blonde. Also wasted is the spectacularly scenic landscape around Kanab, Utah, where the movie was filmed. Instead, the action only leaves the nondescript resort grounds once, to go to the lumber mill.
In fact the whole production seems a curious affair-- almost like a bunch of Hollywood types suddenly found themselves at the same Southwestern resort and decided to shoot a movie, typing up the script each night after a heavy cocktail hour. Anyhow, whatever the backstory, the resulting film amounts to a plodding and talky misfire that likely never got closer than the farthest drive-in from town.
