3.8/10
Senior Film Conservator

A definitive 3.8/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Finger Prints remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you have a soft spot for grainy, early-30s crime pictures where everyone speaks like they’re reading a telegram, sure. It’s snappy. If you need color, nuance, or a plot that isn't basically a straight line, skip it. This isn't exactly high art, but it’s got a certain rhythm to it.
The whole thing feels like it was filmed in a basement, but in a good way. The lighting is harsh and the shadows are basically just black paint. There’s this one scene where a door opens and it sounds like a literal gunshot, which probably wasn't the intention, but it kept me awake.
William L. Thorne does that thing where he looks like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that’s missing half the pieces. It’s charming, I guess. He doesn't have the gravity of a lead, but he’s perfectly fine for what the script demands.
It’s not as polished as something like The Black Book, but it’s got less pretense, too. Sometimes I prefer a movie that just wants to tell you who the bad guy is and get the credits rolling before I finish my coffee.
There is a moment near the middle where the tension just evaporates because someone starts explaining the smuggling route on a map. I think I checked my watch twice during that monologue. It drags, then it snaps back to life, then it ends so abruptly I thought my internet connection dropped.
Honestly? It’s a relic. It’s dusty and it creaks. But it doesn't try to be anything other than a workday movie for a 1931 audience. I respect that.
Next time I want a fix of this era, I might revisit Not Guilty instead, just to see if the pacing feels any less frantic. But for a rainy afternoon, Finger Prints fits the bill. Just don't expect to remember the villain's name by tomorrow morning. 🕵️♂️