The Big Knife, a movie about the dark side of the Hollywood motion picture industry, is ironically far more like a filmed play than a film itself. Apart from a few very brief expository scenes, all of the action takes place in the living room of the film's hero, played by Jack Palance. He's a movie actor who wants out of his contract with his studio because of the lack of redeeming qualities in the films they put out. His on again, off again wife (Ida Lupino) is also fed up with the studio, not to mention her husband's philandering ways. Unfortunately for them both, the head of the studio (Rod Steiger) is a real bastard. He has blackmail material to force the increasingly tortured actor to sign a new contract. But it's only a matter of time before he pushes the man too far.<br /><br />This film is not, I repeat NOT, a film noir. Rather, it's an exceptionally theatrical sitting-room melodrama. The plot proceeds at a snail's pace, and is so intricate and confusing that it is in violent disharmony with the static setting and carefully contrived blocking of the actual scenes. The acting is overwrought in the extreme, and veers sharply between out and out histrionics and softer, but no less unsubtle, soliloquies that are obviously meant to be poignant but come across as pretentious twaddle, especially in the hands of the woefully miscast Palance. Aldrich was obviously going all out for a stylized "something" here, but I doubt even he knew what it was, and certainly the audience never does.<br /><br />I think the main lesson here is that films and plays are very different mediums. What might have worked in a play did not come across as even remotely natural or plausible on film. The result? A big waste of time. There's little to enjoy here.