In one of those casinos masquerading as an independent European country, the board of directors of the casino decides that Princess Greta Nissen must marry Grand Duke Lionel Barrymore. The princess, however, has already met American William Collier Jr. when she broke out of her ladies seminary to attend a burlesque show, then snuck into his car to hitch a ride back. As a result, she's not pleased with the thought of wedding Barrymore, who is a well-known rake. He is agreeing to marriage only because he owes the casino half a million francs. She secures a promise from Prime Minister (or perhaps Chief Croupier) Marc McDermott that if Barrymore fools around with anyone else, she won't have to marry him. So she puts on a wig, which renders her unrecognizable, to captivate her fiance.
Yes, it's as ridiculous as all that, and it's not helped in the least by gliding over the details, so that there is no clear motivation for anything. Of course it's love at first sight for the ingenues. Of course, she has to get married, and to a libertine, because, we are meant to presume, reasons. And of course, once Miss Nissen puts on a dark wig which is either brunette or red-head, depending on which title you read, it renders her absolutely unrecognizable in a nation where her picture is in every post office and her portrait on every postage stamp, bank note and coin.
Sure. For this, Paramount seems to have borrowed Raoul Walsh from Fox Films. I suspect that they offered it to every director on the lot and he rolled his eyes and announced he had B westerns to direct. I suspect it may have been longer, but they knew they had a stinker on their hands and cut it to the bone, leaving the principal point of interest Miss Nissen in what can only be described as a two-tone performance, as a lively young princess, and as a Parisian demi-monde.
