Touch of Evil is a gigantic, ruthless bore for the first half, making no effort to have an engaging hook: a murder mystery about a case where the victims or the crime itself don’t actually matter. The main story about a detective jurisdiction dispute lacks fire when Orson Welles’s jabs are minor and ignored by Charlton Heston until a boiling point of conflict comes out of leftfield and grave accusations are thrown to escalate things. The remainder is pretty good, and the final line is one of the best in film history.