Two Seconds

As John Allen, a condemned murderer, is led to the electric chair, a witness asks the prison warden how long it takes for the condemned to die. > “A strongly built man like John Allen? It’ll take two seconds” and the witness adds, “That’ll be the longest two seconds of his life.” As the switch is flipped, the camera pulls back from the chair and the story unfolds in a series of flashbacks that reveal the choices, temptations, and betrayals that led to this fateful moment.

John works as a riveter alongside his friend and flatmate Bud Clark, earning about $62.50 a week—a surprisingly high wage that Bud jokes is “more than a college professor.” Bud is engaged to be married and tries to set John up for a night out, but John is wary of Bud’s matchmaking schemes, which often involve introducing him to women Bud calls “firewagons.” One evening, after Bud wins $38 on horse racing, the two men head out, and John quickly spots that one of Bud’s picks is bringing along a woman who seems like trouble. He leaves the group and ends up at a Taxi dance hall, where he meets the alluring dancer Shirley Day.

What begins as flirtation quickly spirals into a troubling dynamic. Shirley presents herself as educated and aspirational, claiming she wants a different life and that she’s in the hall to support sick parents back on a farm in Idaho, though her stories feel uneasy to John. He is drawn to the idea of a shared future—a lecture, a conversation about the world—but Shirley’s world soon proves more chaotic than cultured. After a tense night, she escorts John to a speakeasy, where alcohol is served in teapots to mask Prohibition. When John protests, Shirley insists they continue, mocking his discomfort and coaxing him toward a night of intoxication. The substance of the evening shifts from romance to drunken cynicism, and their bond becomes more transactional than tender.

Back at John’s apartment, the two weave a brittle marriage under a shroud of deception. Shirley bribes a Justice of the Peace to legalize their union, even as John staggers through the ceremony with a teacup still clinging to his finger—a symbol of bootleg liquor and, later, of betrayal. The landlady and a calculating circle of allies press for money, and Lizzie, the building’s cleaning lady Dorothea Wolbert, warns that consequences loom if debts aren’t paid. Shirley flaunts the new status, suggesting that marriage gives her leverage and access to resources that she claims she deserves.

As the months pass, Bud’s earlier warnings echo in John’s ears. The pair argue about Shirley’s influence, and Bud’s suspicions become sharper—he accuses Shirley of pulling John into a life of deceit, moving from one man to another with a practiced ease. The couple’s finances tighten, and John’s mental state frays under the weight of guilt and fear. A kindly doctor, Harry Beresford, is called in and diagnoses John’s problem as psychological rather than purely physical, offering a tonic that does little to steady the roiling currents in John’s mind.

Shirley, hungry for status, presses John toward risk and displays a willingness to bend reality to fit her needs. She even enlists the help of Tony, a slick dance hall owner, and uses money from the dance hall’s world to fuel her acquisitions. The situation grows more unstable as Shirley tries to recruit Bud’s former partner, Annie, to a job at the hall, a move that further complicates John’s sense of loyalty and protection. The apartment becomes a pressure chamber, and the money he wins from Tony’s bookie network—Bookie, the horse-racing bookie—offers a dangerous path to ease debts that may never truly be paid.

In a decisive moment, John confronts Shirley and her world with a brutal clarity. He takes a portion of the winnings and confronts Shirley’s duplicity, handing money to Tony and accusing Shirley of turning him into a liability. The film tightens into a single grim image: John, driven by a mixture of rage, fear, and heartbreak, becomes capable of violent action. He shoots Shirley multiple times as Tony flees in terror, a stark turn from the man who once spoke of lectures and promises.

The courtroom becomes John’s final stage. In a harrowing allocution, he laments that he might have sought a defense of insanity but chose another path, pleading with the court in a broken, almost feverish cadence: “It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair to let a rat live and kill a man! It isn’t reasonable! It don’t make sense! I won’t let you do it!” The judge, faced with a man who has found a terrible logic in his own downfall, explains that insanity could have been raised as a defense, but the path chosen leads to a sentence of death.

Throughout the film, the characters maneuver in a world where trust is scarce and violence hides in plain sight. The Warden, portrayed by Berton Churchill, embodies the cold procedural reality of capital punishment, while the other figures—ranging from the stern Judge Frederick Burton to the pragmatic Prison Doctor Edward McWade—underscore the film’s unflinching look at guilt, responsibility, and the costs of a life spiraling out of control.

In the end, the old life—the camaraderie of the riveters, Bud’s ideals, and the fragile dream of Shirley’s “education”—collapses under the weight of choices made in a single night of desire and desperation. The execution is set, the motive is clear, and the film closes on a note that is bleak in its honesty: justice is swift, and a man’s fate can hinge on the smallest decisions, the strongest emotions, and the perilous lure of a life that seems easier than the truth.

Last Updated: October 09, 2025 at 12:38