Bette Davis shoots once. Then five more times as she walks down the steps of her home, an outpost in the jungle. Killing the man who betrayed her is the only reason she is alive at that moment. Lights spills out from the front door into the night. It is an extraordinary scene.
It is the opening that sets the mood, the import of this woman’s nature. She is certain that retribution must exist, and it is hers to render. There is no remorse. Not then. Perhaps not at all.
What does drive her is to keep her act of passion from the knowledge of her husband, and her calculation of how to do this fascinates the colonial detective assigned to the case.
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