Humphrey Bogart and Barbara Stanwyck play interestingly against type as psychologically troubled artist Gerry Carroll and his fragile second wife, Sally. The problem isn't the acting or (in my opinion) the casting, but the clunky script. In the opening scene, Sally accidentally learns that new flame Gerry is married when (*clears throat for comic effect*) a letter to "Mrs. Carroll" falls out of his pocket. Swearing to never see Gerry again, Sally runs off into the rain, only to turn up married to Gerry three scenes later, after wife number one is dead. From there, the turns of plot become ever more convenient and clichéd, and yet somehow less logical at the same time. The script both swills in extraneous information and leaves too much unexplained, and the film overall is like a clothesline, with the plot points hung on awkwardly at predictable intervals.
But if there were ever two stars that could save bad material, it was Bogart and Stanwyck. Bogie made the choppy, incoherent character Gerry come out to more than the sum of his parts. And Stany, rest her soul, did her best in everything, from Preston Sturges literary tour de force *The Lady Eve* to the string of nickel westerns she did in the '50s. This pairing deserved a better vehicle, but it's fun to watch even so.