A spectacular aerial nightscape of Los Angeles opens Nocturne, finally gliding down over a cliffside house and zooming right into the living room. There, a playboy songwriter sits at the piano while giving the brush-off to the latest in his string of lady friends. (She's veiled in black, but get a load of her instep.) A shot rings out....
Nocturne has a great, hard look; coupled with a nice feel for its milieu (piano bars, courtyard apartments, photography and movie studios), it adds up to one of the more vivid L.A. movies, especially when the dry winds rattle the leaves and stir up the rubbish. If in the end Nocturne doesn't quite redeem its promise, it's not for want of trying.
Part of its problem lies in its star, George Raft, as the police detective assigned the case. A 40ish bachelor who lives with Mom (scene-stealing Mabel Paige), he has a sharp eye for willing women, including his suspects. No one ever mistook Raft for a great actor, but sometimes he fits, sometimes he doesn't. Here he's so-so, a smart-mouthed Dapper Dan who leaks not a clue as to why he's always in hot water for insubordination and excessive force (it would have been a terrific Dick Powell part).
Raft's sleuthing takes him through the dead man's stable of exes (all of whom, for reasons that stay unexplained, he used to call `Dolores'). Among them Raft meets up with a sister act: hard-boiled brunette Lynn Bari and sweet blonde Virginia Huston, who sings in a night spot where Joseph Pevney (later to direct Shakedown, Meet Danny Wilson and Female On The Beach) entertains from a rolling piano, muscled from table to table by big, dumb Bernard Hoffman. But Raft keeps following false leads and encountering dead ends....
One of the chief pleasures of film noir must also be counted among its drawbacks: all too often, there's a lot more style than sense. With Nocturne, that's hard to overlook, so it falls just short of being a classic installment in the noir cycle.
