An intriguing but often ridiculous comic mystery, with Brian Aherne a smart aleck pulp crime writer and Loretta Young his lovely wife; they move into a basement apartment (formerly a speakeasy), and it soon becomes clear that all the other tenants in their building have something to hide.
Young screams a few times too many, and the movie feels longer than it really is when some intended touches of humor become grating: at one seemingly key point, the narrative even pauses for that old routine where a husband attempts to make dinner while the missus is busy/away. (It’s so wrongheaded that you laugh at the absurdity of the scene’s placement rather than at the actual gags.) That said, nice black-and-white photography, with no shortage of moody, shadowy atmospherics in the first and last half hours. Between this, Scarlet Street, and The Seventh Victim, Greenwich Village must have seemed a very sinister place to 1940s audiences.