Most harry popkins are benign. The same can be said of the film:
Interesting score by some new guy from Russia:
The film concerns mysterious Jeff, who meets a nice lass from Minnesota on a train. This picture adquately sums up the electrical connection, the charismatic magnetism these two possess:
Marcus Welby meets Mrs. Cary Grant. We soon learn Jeff is a Troubled Man - his fiancee was killed in a car crash for which he blames himself, and he has both dizzy spells and bouts of depression. Which means we’re going to spend the whole damn movie wondering whether he killed his fiance, doesn’t it.
Our first mystery: the new girl in town, who lives next to Jeff's modern coastal home, catches Jeff about to do something horrible:
Apparently she has X-Ray Eyes, and can see the shape of a gun through a horse’s skull. Next, his dog is found wounded. Also, his flowers are dying. Jeff suspects a Hispanic servant, but well, you know:
Is Jeff crazy? Is someone trying to make him think he's crazy to ruin his architectural practice? Or is he PARANOID, and hence HOMICIDAL?
The movie is a remake of "Rebecca," really - a modern version with modern settings, padded with yards and yards of the usual post-war “psychology.” Jeff’s problem might be . . . PARANOIA! The word is used with great confidence by people who read it in a story in Collier’s a year ago, and consider themselves to be quite “up” on trends in mental medicine.
If it’s “Rebecca,” you ask, where’s Mandelay? Here - the whitest, crispest, most Frank-Lloyd-Wrighty Mandelay there ever was.
These could be shots from a low-budget sequel to “Things to Come.”
But if it's Mandelay, you say, shouldn't it burn at the end?