This is a very clever and engaging mystery. A wealthy man is murdered, the body is found in a room where the door is locked from the inside, and there are no fewer than 7 suspects; his brother, business associate, secretary, ex-girlfriend, cook, niece, and niece's boyfriend. Each of them resented the victim for different reasons. His death is almost ruled a suicide but Philo Vance knows better. The case only grows more complicated as additional clues are discovered.
William Powell isn't Nick Charles here so don't expect him to act like it. Although there are some flashes of wit, he's playing it straight and serious as the dogged (hey, that's a pun!) detective. He solves the case without drinking a single martini. Myrna Loy is nowhere to be seen but Asta does have a cameo at the dog show.
The direction, by Michael Curtiz, elevates this above the level of a B-movie. There isn't one moment wasted in this taut, little who-dunnit. It zips right along, as scenes transition with whip pans, wipes, and quick dissolves. There's a lot more camera movement than I generally recall seeing in early 1930s films. Scenes that might be filmed in a pedestrian manner, in less capable hands, are enhanced by thoughtfully composed shots. A POV shot through a keyhole zooms into the room. A shot of some men talking is made more interesting by being framed through a car window. A shot of the outside of a window of one character's house tilts up and then pans to the action in the window of another character's apt., etc.
Since Powell is so serious here, the comic-relief comes in the form of portly Detective Heath and irritable Dr. Doremus, the M.E. The doctor, who keeps getting dragged away from meals or out of bed to consult on the case, gets most of the good lines. When a second murder victim is discovered he quips, "Well, there are too many people in the world anyway." His, "I'm a doctor, not a magician," and, "I'm a doctor, not a detective," call to mind Star Trek's Dr. McCoy.
Vance actually does a couple of things in the last scene that would be considered unethical today but, hey, they work to suss out the killer so...Go, Philo!
Now I need to find a door with a barrel bolt and a keyhole...
William Powell isn't Nick Charles here so don't expect him to act like it. Although there are some flashes of wit, he's playing it straight and serious as the dogged (hey, that's a pun!) detective. He solves the case without drinking a single martini. Myrna Loy is nowhere to be seen but Asta does have a cameo at the dog show.
The direction, by Michael Curtiz, elevates this above the level of a B-movie. There isn't one moment wasted in this taut, little who-dunnit. It zips right along, as scenes transition with whip pans, wipes, and quick dissolves. There's a lot more camera movement than I generally recall seeing in early 1930s films. Scenes that might be filmed in a pedestrian manner, in less capable hands, are enhanced by thoughtfully composed shots. A POV shot through a keyhole zooms into the room. A shot of some men talking is made more interesting by being framed through a car window. A shot of the outside of a window of one character's house tilts up and then pans to the action in the window of another character's apt., etc.
Since Powell is so serious here, the comic-relief comes in the form of portly Detective Heath and irritable Dr. Doremus, the M.E. The doctor, who keeps getting dragged away from meals or out of bed to consult on the case, gets most of the good lines. When a second murder victim is discovered he quips, "Well, there are too many people in the world anyway." His, "I'm a doctor, not a magician," and, "I'm a doctor, not a detective," call to mind Star Trek's Dr. McCoy.
Vance actually does a couple of things in the last scene that would be considered unethical today but, hey, they work to suss out the killer so...Go, Philo!
Now I need to find a door with a barrel bolt and a keyhole...