Foreign Intrigue is a fascinating curio for the connoisseur of cinematic byways. No classic, it’s mainly a talky and derivative tale as generic as its title. Yet it’s very well done: a continual pleasure to the eye, shot in various locales of mid-‘50s Europe with creamy colors and elegant camera moves by Bertil Palmgren, always tilting upwards or downwards at its actors amid Maurice Petri’s beautiful production design, edited with quaint and pretty transitional swipes, and at all times anchored by Robert Mitchum’s cagey authority as he wanders the shadowy streets between dalliances with the decorative seductiveness of Ingrid Thulin and Geneviève Page as the good/bad female opposites in his life.
The opening sequence, set on a lavish Riviera estate, unfolds to the strains of a romantic “Foreign Intrigue Concerto” by Charles Norman. The aging lord of the manor (Jean Galland) brings a red carnation inside and promptly has a heart attack in his library. His press agent, Dave Bishop (Robert Mitchum), discovers the dying man and, out of curiosity and cussedness, embarks on a trail across Europe to learn the secrets of his employer’s fortune and mysterious past, which may have something to do with blackmailing wealthy industrialists.