A complicated murder trial is argued and decided in record time--just over an hour--in this RKO potboiler, leavened by the presence of Edna May Oliver, harrumphing and lip-pursing with her characteristic panache. But jeez, if this is American justice, I fear for the court system. As the most influential juror, Ms. Oliver decides the defendant (Jill Esmond, then married to Laurence Olivier, and employing a sturdy French accent) is innocent because her "women's intuition" tells her so. And the other jurors--including an annoying Ken Murray as a real estate tycoon, a more annoying Roscoe Ates stuttering, and Cora Witherspoon as a dowdy miss we're supposed to dislike because she wears a man's suit--come around to her side of thinking for the tritest reasons: they like her, or they like each other, or they're offended by something some other opposing juror said, or something about the defendant reminds them of someone they love. I've been on juries, and at least we were a little more analytical than that. The panel finally retires to the scene of the crime, where a highly contrived finish (including a hidden sliding wall, borrowed from RKO's horror department) leads them to the right verdict, uttered over the closing credits. It's a cheap-looking little movie, abundant in juror stereotypes; only Guinn Williams, unbilled, as a blue-collar garage mechanic, creates anything like a real person.
Review of Ladies of the Jury
