If you're going to do a movie with multiple flashbacks told from different points of view, the ground covered in those flashbacks better be damned interesting. Such is not the case here. Each witness' version of the events in question becomes progressively more pedestrian until the final one is played for laughs. This is the movie's point, of course, that people would rather believe well-spun myths which confirm their own preconceived notions about human nature than a banal truth that won't conform. All fine and good, but it's a danged self-destructive way to tell a story. Especially when James Wong Howe's apocalyptic visuals (those rain-drenched scenes at the isolated train station are almost Blade Runner-ish in their darkness and despair) are gearing you up from the first moment for some grimly powerful examination of evil.
The sad fact is that Laurence Harvey and Claire Bloom, as the victimized husband and wife at the heart of the film, do not come across as terribly noteworthy or distinctive. You keep waiting for some explosive revelation that might account for the idealistic Parson (played by William Shatner - young and fresh-faced but overly-mannered even then) to be so shattered by the incident that he loses his faith, but no luck. Edward G. Robinson is excellent as the old con artist with no illusions about mankind, while a close to unrecognizable Paul Newman does an entertaining Anthony Quinn impression as the dastardly bandito.
The train station segments are sensational, film-making at its best, but the endless flashbacks are flat and tedious as hell, making this film a uniquely disappointing experience.
