
Dark and gritty movie based on a true story, surpricingly made by Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone, about a journalist searching the depths of the Irish mobs, and following where the money comes from and to, even up to the upper crusts.
There is something that disturbs me, not storywise or the actors/actresses, it's how it was made, but I just can't pinpoint it.

To use an old cliché, this one kept me on the edge of my seat.
Gregory Peck has lost 2 years, or 2 days, or 2 hours or even less during a blackout. Nobody believes him exept some hoods that is chasing him for some reason he don't get, not even a psychriast believes him, but a private dick does. Those who chases Greg didn't expect Greg trying to find out by himself, so there is something fishy going on, but how? when? what?
Greg and Walter Matthau as the private dick stands out in this, dare I say it, gem.
Quincy Jones soundtrack is soooo smooth and elegant, and good location cinematography of old New York.

Well why not an old western with Joel McCrea and lovely Virginia Mayo.
To be honest Randolph Scott made the better western movies by the late 1950s, so this is just a sit back and enjoy movie for what it is, and nothing wrong with that!
Good old Joel minding his own business suddenly gets shot, and his horse killed, but by who? A Tall Stranger with a fancy rifle and spurs.
What surpriced me was how bloody it was, offcourse ketchup or something similiar, when men faught with knuckles they got bloody in their faces.
This kind of movie is what it is and that's why I enjoyed it.