With a title like that - and with Mae Clarke best remembered today as a punchbag for Jimmie Cagney - one approaches this film expecting gritty lowlife drama. This expectation is reinforced by an extremely atmospheric opening sequence (which makes excellent use of tracking shots and realistic sound), seemingly shot in a genuine department store, with store detective Lee Phelps pursuing Miss Clarke as she heads for the exit after a customer loudly accuses her of picking his pocket. She ends up going to jail after the manager of a different store, Ralph Bellamy, refuses her pleas for mercy for a different offence (Bellamy's explanation that "the store's rule has always been to prosecute, our insurance company insists upon it" carries the hint that the brutal, unyielding capitalist system bears some of the blame for her plight); and her time in jail culminates in a superbly staged sequence set in the prison workshop when she demonstrates neither for the first or last time her adroitness as a manipulator by deliberating starting a fire and then 'heroically' turning an extinguisher on it.
The film's title and her journey through the lower depths can in retrospect be seen as Depression-era window dressing serving as a prologue to the vengeful game of marital cat-&-mouse Clarke then begins at the expense of the hapless Bellamy when she emerges from prison, which comprises the rest of the film. Five years earlier with a racier title implying sexual rather than criminal intrigue this story could easily have been a vehicle for the likes of Norma Shearer, with both the many preposterous plot contrivances resembling those of a silent film, and Clarke's chic boyish haircut reinforcing her resemblance to a silent film heroine. Aided by elegant photography by the great Joseph August, Eddie Cline so deftly handles both the early action & drama and the later scenes of sexual tension that it may after all be worth investigating his filmography beyond the vehicles for W.C.Fields with which his name is associated.
A charming cameo by Ferdinand Gottschalk as Bellamy's boss deserves particular mention in a uniformly good cast; and Mae Clarke here turns in a real star performance displaying a wide emotional range as well as a rapport with Bellamy. Unfortunately she was on the very brink of a precipitous fall from grace resulting from the double-whammy of a nervous breakdown brought on by overwork in June 1932, followed by a car accident the month 'Parole Girl' was released in March 1933 in which her jaw was broken. She thus well exemplifies that lost generation whose work continues to surprise and delight discoverers of pre-Code Hollywood.
The film's title and her journey through the lower depths can in retrospect be seen as Depression-era window dressing serving as a prologue to the vengeful game of marital cat-&-mouse Clarke then begins at the expense of the hapless Bellamy when she emerges from prison, which comprises the rest of the film. Five years earlier with a racier title implying sexual rather than criminal intrigue this story could easily have been a vehicle for the likes of Norma Shearer, with both the many preposterous plot contrivances resembling those of a silent film, and Clarke's chic boyish haircut reinforcing her resemblance to a silent film heroine. Aided by elegant photography by the great Joseph August, Eddie Cline so deftly handles both the early action & drama and the later scenes of sexual tension that it may after all be worth investigating his filmography beyond the vehicles for W.C.Fields with which his name is associated.
A charming cameo by Ferdinand Gottschalk as Bellamy's boss deserves particular mention in a uniformly good cast; and Mae Clarke here turns in a real star performance displaying a wide emotional range as well as a rapport with Bellamy. Unfortunately she was on the very brink of a precipitous fall from grace resulting from the double-whammy of a nervous breakdown brought on by overwork in June 1932, followed by a car accident the month 'Parole Girl' was released in March 1933 in which her jaw was broken. She thus well exemplifies that lost generation whose work continues to surprise and delight discoverers of pre-Code Hollywood.