This would be okay as a typical 30's women's picture had their been better continuity and less information left out which perplexes the audience. It is the story of a glamorous matron (Verree Teasdale) cool finds herself involved in murder through the advances made at her through the lecherous actor Ricardo Cortez. She feins shock upon learning he was murdered but then tells inspector C. Aubrey Smith that she had been seeing him on the sly, a complete lie because the audience had been lead to believe that she loathed him.
She's the wife of a retired diplomat (Lionel Atwill) and the mother of the young Anita Louise who is fascinated by a notorious piece of music called "The Firebird" which her mother considers immoral although it doesn't sound any different than many classical pieces. There's also Cortez's bothersome ex-wife, Dorothy Tree, an annoyed neighbor (Etienne Girardot), a slew of female servants and the theater staff of the play he's in, tired of putting up with his nonsense.
While this starts off fine, after a while, it becomes so ridiculously convoluted that you begin to roll your eyes with each lie that comes out of Teasdale's mouth, so far out there that it can only frustrate the audience. It's all done in a very good looking way, the typical Warner Brothers gloss from its A unit, but a desperate attempt to outdo the types of serious (and much better) melodramas that Ruth Chatterton and Kay Francis were making at the time.
Then there's the dauchsund who is not given billing (while Asta is) as well as the white cockatoo who appeared in a number of Warner Brothers films at the time. Teasdale is one of my favorite actors whom nobody has really heard of, but she's defeated by the weak script. It's nice to see Atwill in a different type of part outside of insane villains, and Girardot is very funny. But this is more smoky than fiery, and the result is a huge smell of sulphur.
She's the wife of a retired diplomat (Lionel Atwill) and the mother of the young Anita Louise who is fascinated by a notorious piece of music called "The Firebird" which her mother considers immoral although it doesn't sound any different than many classical pieces. There's also Cortez's bothersome ex-wife, Dorothy Tree, an annoyed neighbor (Etienne Girardot), a slew of female servants and the theater staff of the play he's in, tired of putting up with his nonsense.
While this starts off fine, after a while, it becomes so ridiculously convoluted that you begin to roll your eyes with each lie that comes out of Teasdale's mouth, so far out there that it can only frustrate the audience. It's all done in a very good looking way, the typical Warner Brothers gloss from its A unit, but a desperate attempt to outdo the types of serious (and much better) melodramas that Ruth Chatterton and Kay Francis were making at the time.
Then there's the dauchsund who is not given billing (while Asta is) as well as the white cockatoo who appeared in a number of Warner Brothers films at the time. Teasdale is one of my favorite actors whom nobody has really heard of, but she's defeated by the weak script. It's nice to see Atwill in a different type of part outside of insane villains, and Girardot is very funny. But this is more smoky than fiery, and the result is a huge smell of sulphur.