For the uninitiated, Mrs. Henry Stevenson is an invalid who is confined to her bed. Her husband, who was supposed to be home hours ago, has yet to show. In trying to get him on the telephone (this was the age when operators still did all the work for you), she is crossed into another conversation between two men who are planning to kill a woman at 11:15 that night. Having a heart condition, this upsets Mrs. Stevenson ("Leona" in the film; radio did not give her a first name) and she tries several things to notify authorities.

Due to her highstrung manner and short temper, she doesn't get much anywhere and the night passes on as she spends all her time on the telephone. All the time, 11:15 is getting closer...

Barbara Stanwyck was nominated for an Oscar for her performance in Sorry, Wrong Number (the radio play also made a star of Agnes Moorehead), and it certainly is a tour de force with her in practically every scene. Lucille Fletcher's expansion of her storyline is superb, with more and more details given as pieces of the puzzle unfold with each new telephone conversation, told through flashbacks (and flashbacks within flashbacks). In fact, my only problem with the script is that it makes the husband sympathetic (probably because he is played by Burt Lancaster), whereas we had no inkling of the motives of the husband in the radio version (other than that his wife is a shrill shrew, of course).

Comic relief is also added (particularly in the police station) to little effect and the whole enterprise is simply missing something. Although I can't think of one specific thing that is wrong, the whole film just doesn't gel somehow. It's a good watch, I assure you, but I can only conjecture as to how it has attained its "classic" status. I think it must lie in the fact that it stars Barbara Stanwyck and Burt Lancaster and that Stanwyck gives a complex bravura performance.

But despite all this, I can't imagine ever wanting to see Sorry, Wrong Number again. The similarities to the radio show are there, and it's faithful, but the rest -- even with all the intrigue about gangsters and stolen money -- just seems like so much filler. I'll stick with radio.

According to legend, director Anatole Litvak gave Stanwyck the option of shooting her demanding emotional scenes with the telephone in segments spaced throughout the production schedule, or filming them all at once and in sequence. Stanwyck, ever the perfectionist, chose the latter course and spent almost two weeks on the climactic bedroom set, each morning having to work herself back into the state of terror and anxiety in which she had ended the prior day's scenes. Stanwyck always maintained that her hair started to gray during this time period, and sure enough!, alert viewers will note that tiny wisps of silver begin to show up in the actress' hair by the end of the movie. Stanwyck's consummate professionalism ultimately paid off handsomely; despite the weakness of the screenplay adaptation, her characterization is among her best, and she received her fourth Oscar nomination as Best Actress in a Leading Role for her amazingly raw and gritty performance.

The DVD presentation of this nail-biter is adequate at best. The original film elements are splendidly well-preserved, as anyone who has seen the movie on cable TV or VHS cassette can attest. But at the beginning of the DVD, a stray hair shows up at the bottom of the screen, goes away, and then reappears thoughout the credits. This is inexcusable in this day and age of digital restoration; the film deserves a cleaner, crisper transfer. The only extra feature is the film's Original Theatrical Trailer, which apparently was taken from a British source, since it carries an "Unsuitable for Children" warning. Despite its flaws, the DVD presentation is still worth a look, if only to see the supremely talented Stanwyck at the top of her game.