All right, it creaks a bit, now, and suffers from the staginess which afflicted many if not most British films of this period, but the Agatha Christie plot (with a strong family resemblance to that other hyper-theatrical melodrama, "Gaslight") is gripping, and the necessary claustrophobic atmosphere is established and maintained -- with help from the excellent score from a very youthful Benjamin Britten (I have, by the way, never come across a reference to this early effort in any Britten biography; it is unmentioned in the long article in Grove's Dictionary). Most of all, it's worth seeing for the terrifying performance by Basil Rathbone, which again reminds us what an accomplished and versatile actor was all-but obliterated in his later absorption into Sherlock Holmes. No goalie-mask, no retractile steel claws, no camera-tricks, he scares the pants off you using only an actor's equipment, and you'll never forget his portrayal of a psychotic, obsessive Bluebeard.
