Somewhere in the Night

Synopsis: During the World War II, a soldier is hit by a grenade that deforms his face and leaves him with amnesia. Sometime later, he is recovered and learns that his name is George Taylor and he is discharged from the army. He finds a letter written by a man called Larry Cravat that would be his pal and he goes to Los Angeles to seek out Larry Cravat to find his identity. He goes to a bank, a hotel, a Turkish bath and a night-club following leads. He is beaten up by Hubert, the henchman of Anzelmo that dumps him at the front door of the singer Christy Smith that works in a night-club. George tells his story to her and Christy decides to help him. She calls her boss and friend Mel Phillips that schedules a lunch with his friend Police Lt. Donald Kendall and Christy. They learn that Larry Cravat was a private investigator that somehow received US$ 2 million three years ago from Germany from a Nazi that was immediately deceased. Then George receives a tip to go to the Terminal Dock where he meets
Production: Twentieth Century Fox
Rotten Tomatoes:
110 min

Somebody turned on a light.

It's a faraway light...

but I don't have to be alone

in the dark anymore.

My head hurts.

Somebody's here with me.

Easy. Lie still.

Tell him it hurts.

Why can't I talk?

Doc, look at me.

Look at me hard.

See it in my eyes.

I need somebody.

It hurts me.

Help me.

He came to a little while ago.

Seems to be in a lot of pain.

He'd be letting you know it, too,

if his jaw weren't bandaged so tightly.

Let's control the pain. Quarter grain M.S.

every four hours, more often if necessary.

- Yes, sir.

- What's happened to me?

What am I doing here...

when I don't even know

where I am?

- Is he gonna be all right, Doc?

- Taylor? Every chance in the world.

It was a pretty tough

job though.

- He must have been right on top

of that grenade when it blew.

- He was.

- How's he gonna be, Doc?

- In time, as good as ever.

That's good enough. Nothing but

clean sheets from here on in, Taylor.

- You're gonna be okay now.

- Taylor. Who's Taylor?

So he's okay now.

So what?

What about me?

What about me?

I don't know my name.

You. Talk to me. Act like I was alive,

notjust somebody with eyes and no name.

Think of a name.


Think of another name.

There must be other names.

Taylor. No.

Taylor. No.

Taylor. Taylor.





Good morning.

Good morning.

It is one too. One of Honolulu's

finest summer mornings.

Why not take a look at it?

Come on. Try.

See that tree? There's one just like it

outside my window back home.

I'll bet there's one

you remember too.

The doctor said that you're to

sit up for a while today.

Your jaw's knitting


The wires will come out

in a day or two.

When you get tired,

rap on the nightstand.

It won't be long

before you'll be able to call for me.

I'll bet that'll be

a relief.

I'll call all right. I'll yell.

I'll want to know why

they call me George Taylor.

Who's George Taylor,

and who am I?

For all I know,

that's the first tree I ever saw.

Still, that's what it is.

That's what I call it.

They call me Taylor.

So for all I know, I am Taylor.

I've gotta take time, work on it.

Time to think. Hard.

Now I'm tired.

Where's the nurse?

The nightstand, rap on it.

What's that? A wallet.

Must be my wallet.

Yeah. There I am again.

That's me all right.

Good old George Taylor.

How have you been, George?

"These are

my last words to you.

"That's why I write them. So that I can

always be sure that these were my last.

"But I despise you now,

and the memory of you.

"But I'm ashamed

for having loved you.

"And I shall pray

as long as I live...

"for someone or something

to hurt and destroy you-

"make you want to die...

as you have me."

Who writes letters like this?

Who do they write them to?

Men they despise,

whose memories they despise.

The memory I haven't got.

Won't be long, and I'll have to talk.

Think fast. Now they only know my name.

If I tell 'em I don't remember,

they'll backtrack.

They'll dig up that memory

and throw it in my face.

I've forgotten that man. Somebody's praying

for him to be hurt and want to die.

I won't let them know I can't remember.

I won't let them dig him up!

Taylor, George W.

Hello, Taylor.

Sit down.

You're now in the process of being separated

from the armed forces of the United States.

You feel you have a right to know answers

to a lot of questions...

about yourself

and how you'll fit into civilian life.

Those questions need not necessarily

be restricted to the G.I. Bill of Rights...

employment, insurance

and such.

Oh, by the way.

Before I forget.

Your seabag,

it's been located.

- Any change in your civilian address?

- My civilian address.

I could ask one of the boys

to drop it off.

I'll, uh-

Maybe I'd better pick it up myself.

Well, why wait around? It might be

this afternoon, it might be a couple of days.

I imagine you'll be wanting to

get back to Los Angeles.

We could have it

delivered to the, uh...

Martin Hotel.

Will you be going back there?

Martin Hotel.

In Los Angeles. Yes.

I'll be going back there.

Can you give me

some information?

- That depends.

- A man named George Taylor

lived here three years ago.

It must have been in January. Did he give

an address he had before he came here?

Or did he leave

a forwarding address?

- We're not supposed to-

- It's kind of important.


Summer, 1942.

January, 1943.

"T," "T," "T."


- Did you say George Taylor?

- Yes.

Afraid you have the wrong hotel, son.

There's no George Taylor in our books.

Well, maybe it was November

or February.

This runs through from July to July,

and there's no George Taylor.

I'm sorry, son.

What's the matter?

Aren't you feeling all right?

Yeah. I... I guess

I just made a mistake.

I thought, uh-Well, I see you got

the Purple Heart, and I thought that maybe-

No, no. It's okay.

- I don't suppose you've got a vacancy, have you?

- We're all filled.

- Always one or two.

- Thank you.

Our, uh- Our bellboys

are all out of the army...

but they still ain't convinced

they won't get jobs as bank presidents.

- It's, uh, 618, straight ahead

as you get off the elevator.

- Thank you.

And, uh, I'm sorry about

not finding your friend.

Yeah. This is it all right.

That'll be 13.60

storage charges.

Three years and seven months

it's been laying here.

Another five months,

and it'd have been sold for the charges.

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Howard Dimsdale

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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