Robert Wagner was lucky to be a film star, really - he had boy next door looks and was under contract to a studio, 20th Century Fox, who needed a juvenile they could groom as the next Tyrone Power, so they gave him a lot of chances, but he could never carry a film, as proved by this thriller.
You can say "the material is crap" but a real star can carry a crap thriller - like Alan Ladd, or William Holden or John Wayne or Burt Lancaster. Wagner's too lightweight, too young, and child looking - for all the cigarettes he smokes and cynical dialogue he spits out. (It's a different matter on TV where Wagner is a star.)
This was based on a novel by John Marquand which was originally a Mr Moto novel. There's no Moto in the film, which is a shame as it would've given the movie some kick. It does have location shooting in Japan - something very common in the 50s (eg House of Bamboo, Sayonara).
Wagner is never convincing as a US agent investigating an attempt to assassinate the US High Commissioner (who, conveniently, really really doesn't seem to care someone is after him). There's a pointless set up where Wagner's ID is held off, a bunch of mediocre investigation scenes, an unconvincing rivalry with fellow agent Ken Scott (even more beige than Wagner), a whimpy romance with receptionist Joan Collins (torn between two men and not really essential for story).
The most effective bit is a plot where a Japanese agent is killed and Wagner discovers he has a ten year old daughter and can't bring himself to tell her that dad's dead. Hokey, sure, but actually moving (because the girl doesn't have anyone).
I also quite liked the end where Wagner has to pretend to be a photographer to get to the flame in time to stop the assassination - then chucks the explosive away. It is pretty to look at, and there is some novelty in watching Wagner so miscast.
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