Filmed at Universal Studios using whatever studio contract photographers happened to be available on the day, this movie is a mess, thanks largely to the producer's decision to jazz up the script with ill-advised slapstick.
Admittedly the original Mayer scenario was no great shakes. The plot was a Hollywood stand-by that was even being used at that very moment by M-G-M's It's a Wonderful World. In the Metro movie, however, the comedy was most adroitly integrated into the murder-and-suspense plot. Here it is not. Worse still, the slapstick is both way overplayed and incompetently directed. Only George Chandler manages to make something of his scenes. Girardot is a bore (admittedly his material is not only mighty thin but exhaustively spun out), while Catlett and Prouty adopt a similar ruse by shouting and screaming to absolutely no effect whateverexcept to bore audiences silly. A pity, because the murder plot seemed promising enough before it suddenly switched to lowbrow slanging matches between Prouty and Catlett, and the equivalent of pie-in-the-face, courtesy of Vince Barnett.
By the time Girardot makes his belated entrance, the audience is well and truly fed up with the movie. At this stage, not even Clark Gable could rescue the script, but Alan Marshal makes little effort other than to keep smiling blithely away, while Miss Sten is content to pose for soft, gossamer close-up after soft, gossamer close-up. Unfortunately, that's not enough. The acting honors, such as they are, are easily stolen by Leonid Kinsky of all people!
Admittedly the original Mayer scenario was no great shakes. The plot was a Hollywood stand-by that was even being used at that very moment by M-G-M's It's a Wonderful World. In the Metro movie, however, the comedy was most adroitly integrated into the murder-and-suspense plot. Here it is not. Worse still, the slapstick is both way overplayed and incompetently directed. Only George Chandler manages to make something of his scenes. Girardot is a bore (admittedly his material is not only mighty thin but exhaustively spun out), while Catlett and Prouty adopt a similar ruse by shouting and screaming to absolutely no effect whateverexcept to bore audiences silly. A pity, because the murder plot seemed promising enough before it suddenly switched to lowbrow slanging matches between Prouty and Catlett, and the equivalent of pie-in-the-face, courtesy of Vince Barnett.
By the time Girardot makes his belated entrance, the audience is well and truly fed up with the movie. At this stage, not even Clark Gable could rescue the script, but Alan Marshal makes little effort other than to keep smiling blithely away, while Miss Sten is content to pose for soft, gossamer close-up after soft, gossamer close-up. Unfortunately, that's not enough. The acting honors, such as they are, are easily stolen by Leonid Kinsky of all people!