Often spoken of in hushed, reverend tones by Film Noir fanatics, it's surprising that this taut little thriller WITHOUT WARNING apparently slipped off the movie map for five decades, considering the popularity of similar films from the same genre in the '40s and '50s, against which it more than holds its own.

Though not as wild as Robert Aldrich's KISS ME DEADLY or as classy as Hitchcock's SHADOW OF A DOUBT, this no-nonsense exercise by Arnold Laven (who also handled directing duties on dozens of TV series from "Gunsmoke" to "The A-Team") is an excellent case study of the psycho-killer profile/police procedural story that audiences gobbled up back in the day - complete with tight scripting, hard-boiled dialogue, moody photography, smog-shrouded L.A. locations (many of which are long gone, or at least completely unrecognizable today), pompous "Greek Chorus" voice-over narration, cool cars, some smokin' dames (and by smokin', I mean several packs a day), and flashes of wry humor... all capped off with a suave, tormented villain who's evil enough to generate real chills, but with just enough charm to garner sympathy... well, maybe.

The murderous rogue in this story is the intense and creepy Carl Martin, played by the intense and creepy Adam Williams (THE BIG HEAT). Carl is a brooding young gardener who moonlights as a sex-crazed serial killer, compelled to take his shiny pruning shears outside of the flowerbed for a little impromptu after-hours surgery on any unfortunate blonde floozy who supposedly reminds him of his unfaithful ex-wife... and lonely Janet Leigh-lite Jane (Meg Randall), an acquaintance of Carl's whose soldier husband is stationed overseas, may be next in line. Hot on his trail, of course, is intrepid homicide detective Pete Hamilton (Edward Binns), whose enthusiastic problem-solving skills make him the antithesis of the sullen, hard-bitten gumshoes we're used to seeing in flicks like this.

Not content to merely search for telltale clues, Hamilton and his team decide to recruit a few fearless dames as bleach-blonde bait, strategically placing them at various seedy L.A. watering holes, hoping to draw the killer out of hiding. You can probably imagine - as this is not exactly a new wrinkle in the cop-vs-psycho material, even for 1952 - this particular strategy is not quite as effective as it probably seemed in the planning stage. Nevertheless, Carl's almost supernatural skill at dodging the fuzz in the nick of time eventually wears out - since as we all know, the bad guy never manages to sleaze his way out of this kind of picture without a heap of regret and the requisite blaze of gunfire. I guess they'll never learn.

In light of the insane popularity of police procedural TV shows utilizing the latest 21st-century gadgetry, it's interesting to see how effectively the genre was carried off in the low-tech, hard-boiled era - at least in the hands of the more capable pulp novelists and filmmakers of the period. The nuts and bolts of the investigation, as well as the forensic specialists involved, are seen just as crucial to the plot as the streetwise detectives working the case, which struck me as kind of unique to the whole noir vibe. Another highlight: the chief lab tech, far from being a utility character, has some of the best lines in the film... and brews a wicked cuppa java in an Erlenmeyer flask! Another effective touch is the brief, odd friendship that forms between Carl and a little girl named Carmelita, whose broken doll he attempts to repair - kinda ironic, considering his penchant for cutting flesh-and-blood females to bits.

The folks at Dark Sky Films have lovingly restored this long-lost classic (part of their "Lost Noir" series) from a fine-looking print - remarkably so, after 50-plus years locked away in Universal's vaults - and the results are impressive. Formatted full-frame on standard TVs (the accepted ratio for "flat" 35mm of that period), there is very little noticeable print damage (a tiny frame skip here and there, some smudginess in the opening reel) and the high-contrast cinematography comes across with remarkable clarity. The mono soundtrack is equally clear, with very little distortion.

Unfortunately, extras are limited to a simple photo gallery and a garish, pulpy animated menu, but even a bare-bones release of this slick, entertaining thriller is worth the modest price. It's always a pleasure to see a forgotten gem resurface for a new audience to appreciate, and fans of the pulp thriller's golden age should have plenty cause to rejoice.

In summary, everything that is cool about this movie can be summed up in a visual motif that also serves as one of the crucial clues on the killer's trail: lipstick traces on unfiltered cigarettes. Ah, these foolish things...