He may not have been James Dean, but Robert Wagner delivers a career performance in this sorely neglected sleeper from 1956. The first half is a beautifully shaded dance of death as Wagner plots to rid himself of the inconveniently pregnant Joanne Woodward. He's all sincere insincerity from one rendezvous to the next, while she wants desperately to believe, even against all odds. Has there ever been a more cold-hearted manipulator of vulnerable feminine desires. Dory (Woodward) is all whiney expectations, while Wagner conceals ruthless ambition behind a pretty boy mask.
Director Gerd Oswald's staging of the first half is little short of brilliant, and had the filming been in appropriate black and white, a latter day noir classic would have resulted. Notice how subtly Woodward expects to be kissed atop the municipal building, the pinnacle of her girlish dreams, while Bud (Wagner) callously lights a cigarette, defiant of normal expectations. And what a gripping piece of morbid psychopathology is Wagner's slip-sliding through the chemistry lab as he prepares a toxic.potion for his lady love. Maybe in the last analysis, Bud's problem lies with his mother. The fixation is certainly not normal, as she senses in putting off his request for a "date". Yet Bud's social climbing ambitions are made tellingly clear that they are for mom as well as for himself.
Unfortunately, the second half reverts to standard Hollywood convention, the suspense subsiding along with the first-rate mood music. Putting a pipe in the callow Jeffrey Hunter's mouth and making him a college professor amounts to a crippling miscalculation on someone's part. Hunter's simply not the type, nor does he have the gravitas to carry the plot forward. The end result is a hybrid of first-half brilliance and second-half mediocrity. Too bad. The ending is appropriate, however, as the monster truck bears down like the hand of pre-destination that Bud should have taken note of in that literature class. There is a point to Dory's unfortunate life, after all.
