Gregory Peck stars as a great white photographer Harry Street who got an infected scratch while in the dark part of darkest Africa. He lays with his leg rotting away, hoping the guide gets back with an airplane or truck to get him to a hospital before he drops dead or it's at least too late to save the leg.

In the meantime he whines & kvetches about life & tells his rightly disinterested wife Helen (Susan Hayward) flash-back tales of miserable youth marred by never-believed illusions & the woman he loved more than his crappy-ass wife Helen, despite that Cynthia (Ava Gardner) seems mainly to have been the one who gave him the whiny lessons.

The film was a big enough success in its day but why that would be is beyond me. I guess there are some devoted fans of whinging out there. Even with a promising cast it is so bad that it now makes perfect sense Ernest Hemmingway committed suicide, by way of apologizing to his public.

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