The Return of the Helpless Girl

On Broadway a couple of seasons ago, Wait Until Dark seemed like a wrong number for Playwright Frederick Knott, who once dialed M for Murder. The thriller's screen incarnation gives him a chance to call again. This time he gets through--with a better scenario, set and cast.

A photographer (Ephrem Zimbalist Jr.) and his blind wife (Audrey Hepburn) become the unwitting owners of a dangerous dope-filled doll. Three thugs hoax the husband out of town and then try to coax the heroine into giving up the toy. With mounting anxiety she keeps insisting that she has no idea where it is. To break down her story, the crooks concoct a series of elaborate disguises, posing as old men, young men, policemen and friends.

Eventually, Hepburn realizes that she has allowed herself to become a helpless victim of The Mob--trapped in her apartment, the phone line cut, the neighbors gone, friendless, sightless and alone. Whereupon the most malevolent criminal advances on her, knife in hand. She throws some of her husband's hypo in his face, temporarily blinding him. Then, to provide the great equalizer, she extinguishes every light in the house. Hunter and prey slowly circle each other, waiting in the dark. Suddenly he remembers the one overlooked illumination and opens the refrigerator door . . .

Examined closely, the story is as full of holes as a kitchen colander. Though the housewife has been sightless less than a year, she has already developed incredibly acute hearing and a sixth sense of unseen danger. Several times the gang leaves her alone long enough to call the police, the fire department or the U.S. Cavalry.

Still, Audrey Hepburn's honest, posture-free performance helps to suspend the audience's disbelief. She is immensely aided by the heavies: Jack Weston, Richard Crenna, and Alan Arkin playing his first straight roles--triple portrayals of a Peter Lorre-like psychopathic killer, a white-haired father and his smarmy son. With virtuosity, Hepburn and Arkin collaborate to revive an old theme--The-Helpless-Girl-Against-the-Odds--that has been out of fashion since Dorothy McGuire and Barbara Stanwyck screamed for help in The Spiral Staircase and Sorry, Wrong Number. If Hollywood is still counting money, it ought soon to be back in style.

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