It never transcends its stock western template, and the home-video treatment is correspondingly unremarkable.
There’s an ugly sexist undercurrent to The Star that keeps it from being enjoyable even on a camp level.
Stuart Heisler’s film is a threadbare, bargain-basement Sunset Boulevard.
It’s always a good idea to check your brakes before trucking down twisty, down-sloped hills.
The film is a bleak portrait of post-WWII despair, corrupt capitalism, and idealistic disillusionment.