The intoxicating background of a 200-proof, Ansco-color Paris, some superior acting, and a thrilling interpretation of George Simenon's inscrutable Inspector Maigret, place "The Man on the Eiffel Tower" among Hollywood's best all-time mysteries.

Charles Laughton as Maigret is as French as 40 million aperatifs. He more than lives up to the reputation of the French police in tracking down the murderer of an aging and wealthy American matron, while winning the undivided support of the audience for his faith in the innocence of suspect number one (whom you know is guiltless all the way). But in balancing the scales of justice, Maigret nearly meets his match in a manic-depressive named Radek, the actual culprit, who is more than competently portrayed by Franchot Tone.

Burgess Meredith, who is responsible for the fine direction of the film, plays Heurtin, the accused innocent. As a myopic knife-grinder who is hopelessly implicated in the murder by circumstantial evidence, Meredith deftly characterizes a pathetic little man who complicates Maigret's plans by his desperate search for revenge.

Radek, the man who did it all, makes no effort to avoid Maigret, who soon develops a strong suspicion that he is the actual killer. But since Maigret has no evidence whatsoever, Radek revels in taunting the inspector by all but admitting the murder. Radek, meanwhile, has collected 1,000,000 francs for the job from the impatient heir of the now disemboweled murder victim. You see plenty of Paris in the daytime from the top of the Eiffel tower; now you see fully as much of it at night, as the camera and Maigret follow Radek on a tour of all the local hotspots while he generously unloads his ill-gotten loot. The movie's best scene takes place in one of these lush Pigalle bistros, as a dozen ambulant violinsts toy with Radek's ambivalent emotions.

Early in the film, as Maigret suffers Radek's taunts at the Eiffel Tower restaurant, you get the upsetting impression that Radek would like to do nothing better than hurl himself from the tower to show his scorn for humanity. Despite numerous old Hollywood traditions, Radek does not jump, thereby supplying one of the film's pleasantest surprises. He comes breathlessly close, however, in a series of amazing shots that will make you wonder whether or not Tone and Meredith actually did clamber all over this maze of girders. How Maigret bloodlessly outwits Radek proves a vastly satisfying way of rounding out these two-hours of tense action.

Captured in the full colors of Ansco film, the narcotic spell of Paris nicely complements Tone's interpretation of Radek's manic-depressive states. The photography, under actor-director Meredith's sensitive eye, is responsive to the moods of both the man and the city.

Robert Hutton is suitably obnoxious as the scheming young American heir, Patricia Roc is beautiful as his wife, and Jean Wallace is striking as his--ah--mistress. Laughton does no acting in the movie; he is Maigret in every characteristic--from the nervous twitch of his pipe to the walrus moustache that guards his mouth from all liquors save beer.

Also on the same bill of fare, Keith's Memorial is experimenting with a polyglot ordeal of short subjects briskly tabbed a "variety hour." Avoid this immediately after eating.