A slovenly John Garfield tarnishes the rosy glow radiated by this chick flick when he drifts in midway through (like a Noir-character in an Andy Hardy comedy) to provide a welcome antidote to all the nonsense about sisters sharing clothes and gently dissing their old man. This was supposed to be a little something for Michael Curtiz to do between The Adventures of Robin Hood and Angels with Dirty Faces, but he turned it into a box office hit and made a star out of Garfield.
Review of Four Daughters
