Terence Young’s Triple Cross is a slow-paced, loosely plotted excursion into the Spy business. One or two competent performances struggle to its surface, tread water briefly and sink. It’s hard to fix the blame (…). Some of the trouble can be traced to the dialog. One gets the curious impression that the characters aren’t really talking to one another, or in any event aren’t listening. Lines drop out of a clear sky with no reference to what was just said. Characters speak almost at random, as if someone had gone through the script removing every fourth line. It’s uncanny. — Roger Ebert