The quality you're likely to remember after viewing The Big Knife is how claustrophobic it is. It's pacing is sacrificed to a uniform texture of dialog. It's talky in the extreme. Modern viewers will feel every point has been made (and then some) but the movie will still not move on, or do the viewer a favor and change the scenery. It's very inert. At the 45 min mark I was sure I had watched two very slow hours. My beleaguered response was, "Good God, where is this going?" It feels like Odets was paid by the word...<br /><br />This is a good place to note the decline of drama from it's high point in the 40s through the conceit-laden projects of the 50s and 60s until actual filmic merit was rediscovered in the 70s, only to vanish again. Here we get show-offy, conventional, emotional outbursts from Steiger, Lupino et al. and camera moves pre-arranged to meet over-practiced blocking. This is due to the rise of the Method; the regrettable trend of sacrificing every other merit of film, to grant actors their most selfish wishes. "Great acting," ho-hum, has killed thought in movies.<br /><br />Jack Palance's forehead & pompadour retract and thrust forward every time he reacts to something. It's disturbing.<br /><br />This is awfully boring stuff.