The rare Orson Welles film to turn a profit during its theatrical run, this is also his least favorite work due to constant studio meddling. The Stranger is more mainstream and digestible than most of his films, with a short running time and direct, hand-holding plot that leaves nothing for interpretation. In many ways that's refreshing, as Welles was often a candidate for getting caught up in himself and indulging in long, dry elaborations on non-central themes. Here we get just a taste of that, in one fantastic dinner table diatribe on the mentality of a Nazi, which benefits from both its brevity and special status as the flick's only real soapbox moment.

The plot would have been greatly improved with a bit more ambiguity, though, as it spells everything out in the first act and sits back to watch the pieces fall naturally into place. That left me with a bland taste in my mouth and a starved imagination, dancing with visions of blown potential. Orson never shot an ugly picture, and this is no exception: it's a gorgeous example of extreme noir contrast and creative cinematography. A pity the base, predictable plot doesn't live up to the expectations.