Neither of tonight's films, despite their star casts, were box-office draws; perhaps they were too artistically good to be true, but more likely they were too true to be thought good. This one, a moody, stylish melodrama about police corruption on the Mexican border (filmed in Venice, CA), is steeped in despair for life's hypocritical compromises (with well placed touches of real evil) and like The Lady from Shanghai it works by countering our expectations. A seedy, bloated Welles somehow attracts more sympathy than the driven, tight-lipped, too-good cop Charlton Heston and his good wife Janet Leigh, who find themselves enmeshed in the corruption they ostensibly oppose. The film marks the end of Welles' Hollywood career and that also, sadly, symbolized the approaching end of the Golden Age of black-and-white, for here was a director whose whole approach to filmmaking, with his striking angles and expressionist lighting, represented an epiphany of black-and-white, and of noir. And who really was "some kind of a man."