Reviews

"Crime Without Passion" was a movie with a wonderful plot. If only the movie had one major character I liked then it would've been so much better. Lee Gentry, Carmen Brown, and Katy Costello all ranged from despicable to forgettable.

Lee Gentry (played by Claude Rains) was the main character. He was a Clarence Darrow type attorney. Like Darrow he gave long-winded closing arguments, he won cases that were sure losers, and he even referred to himself as the "Champion of the Damned." Clarence Darrow was known as the "Attorney for the Damned." Also like Darrow, Gentry's weakness was women. He wasn't satisfied with just one.

The two women in Gentry's life were Carmen Brown (played by Margo) and Katy Costello (played by Whitney Bourne). Katy told Gentry that he'd better cut off his relationship with Carmen or she was walking. Gentry was such a coward and a user that he couldn't simply break up with Carmen, he had to conjure up an entire scenario to make it seem like he was leaving her because she was seeing another man.

Carmen was the type of woman who was not easy to get rid of, and the perception was that Gentry was the reason. He loved to talk and his lawyer mind was so sharp he could convince her that night was day and day was night. So, even though Carmen was miserable when she was with Gentry, she also couldn't do without him.

Gentry thought he had made a clean break from Carmen until she called him and threatened to kill herself. He went over to her place to presumably stop her, but he only further inflamed her. Then, in movie fashion, there was a fight for a gun and Carmen was shot. Gentry wiped down everything and began formulating an alibi. From that point on he was in full self-preservation mode. Gentry went from being in control of everything and everyone to being out of control.

I liked the storyline and how the events unfolded in "Crime Without Passion," I just didn't like Gentry, and he dominated the film. He was so pompous, underhanded, and insulting that I just wanted to punch a hole in his face. Yeah, he may have gotten his just desserts in the end, but I still had to suffer through too much of him for too long.

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After two very good Shirley Temple starred movies, I've come across a dud. I always thought that Shirley Temple could do no wrong. I believed that there was no script she couldn't bring to life, and no movie that she couldn't shine in. I hate to say that "Now and Forever" produced a script that even the adorable Shirley Temple couldn't save. It was more adult themed than the other two I watched and far more sappy.

"Now and Forever" starred Gary Cooper, Carole Lombard, and Shirley Temple. I think Gary Cooper is a stiff, but Carole Lombard and Shirley Temple are more than enough to sneak a Gary Cooper by unnoticed.

Gary Cooper played Jerry Day, a small-time hustler who did small cons and grifts just to get by. Accompanying him was his wife, Toni Day (Carole Lombard). The two had spent three years together bouncing from place to place, staying ahead of bill collectors and the law.

Unbeknownst to Toni, Jerry had a daughter: Penelope 'Penny' Day (Shirley Temple). Her mother had passed away and she lived with Jerry's ex-inlaws. Jerry saw the opportunity to cash in on his estranged daughter. He would allow his BIL, James Higginson (Gilbert Emery), to adopt Penny for $75,000. Toni didn't like that idea at all, but Jerry was going to go forward with it anyway until he spent a little time with Penny. There was no way he could give up someone so tiny and cute, so he decided that he'd raise her.

With a small child in the mix Toni wanted Jerry to go straight. It wouldn't be fair to Penny for him to be lying, cheating, and stealing while raising a daughter. He generally kept that promise until things got too tight. With that he decided to steal Mrs. Crane's (Charlotte Granville) necklace to fence it. Jerry hadn't planned on stealing Mrs. Crane's necklace, the opportunity just presented itself.

She was throwing a party for Penny at her mansion when Jerry saw the expensive jewelry just laying on her dresser. When he took it he hid the necklace in Penny's teddy bear. Mrs. Crane noticed the necklace was missing at some point during the party and phoned the police. When the police came over to search all of Mrs. Crane's guests (even the children), they found nothing.

It was at this point that the movie became overly sappy.

Jerry was putting Penny to bed for the night when she said that if she were the detective she would simply ask, "Mr. Day, did you steal the necklace? And you must answer."

Jerry just gave an, "Oh," as in "Wow. That's pretty forward."

Penny replied with, "Well?" to show that she was really questioning him.

"Well what dear?" Jerry asked, hoping that she wasn't wanting a real answer to her question.

"Well. You must answer. Did you steal that necklace?" Penny doubled down, not letting the matter go. At this point I thought the writers were really pushing it for a six-year-old's behavior.

"No, I didn't steal it," Jerry answered shakily.

"Honor bright?" Penny asked.

"Honor bright" was a term she got from her late mother that amounted to a deep oath or promise. If the questioner believed that the answerer may not have been telling the truth, then "honor bright" was a way to ascertain that.

"Ha ha. You're a funny one," Jerry answered evasively and began to walk out. He didn't want to be pinned down with "honor bright," and if he was getting up to leave, then she, as a child, should recognize that the conversation was over.

Not so this child.

"No! You must answer! That's the whole point!" Penny snapped.

Now she was deadly serious. Far more serious than any six-year-old should be about a matter unless she really believed her father stole the necklace. If she did believe he may have stolen the necklace it brings up another matter: why would she believe such a thing? Jerry hadn't done anything to give her the impression he was a thief. I can't imagine suspecting my mom or dad of stealing something so valuable when I was five or six, especially when there were so many other people in the house who could've stolen it.

Once more she asked, "Honor bright?" to which Jerry responded, "Honor bright," thereby satisfying the junior detective.

Later, after Jerry left, Penny found the necklace in her teddy bear and she was devastated. She was so utterly crushed she cried all night and into the next morning. She was inconsolable and I couldn't help but think, "Really!? You're bawling your eyes out that much because you believe your dad lied to you about a necklace? You really just jumped from totally believing your dad to disbelieving him that quickly?" It was so sappy. I tend to give Shirley Temple a lot of leeway with her characters' behavior because she's so adorable, but I couldn't this time.

When she told Toni why she was crying, Toni took the wrap for the necklace being in the teddy bear, but it was clear now what Jerry had to do. He had to get the necklace back. At this point he had to get it back to save his relationship with Toni who was going to leave him for lying; his relationship with Penny was now safe since she believed that Toni was the thief.

Naturally, he got the necklace back and all was right with the world, but the whole thing left me disappointed. The writers really forced this one. It was a good message and all that, but I've seen afterschool specials with more tact and less sap. Shirley Temple still reigns as the cutest kid, but they didn't do her any favors with this script.

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"Woman in the Dark" was too much like "Straight is the Way" (1934) and it was too contrived. For reference, in "Straight is the Way," Franchot Tone played an ex-con who had to mind his P's and Q's to keep from going back to prison, except trouble found him. The main progenitor of the trouble was a woman (played by Gladys George).

In "Woman in the Dark," John Bradley (Ralph Bellamy) is an ex-con who served time for manslaughter. He had punched a man who fell and hit his head and died. He was advised to keep his anger in check and stay out of fights if he wanted to avoid being a recidivist.

He traveled back to Denton, N. Y., a small city where he could largely stay away from problems. But, as expected, problems found him.

The first problem was the sheriff's daughter Helen Grant (Nell O'Day). She was a bothersome young woman who had a crush on John. Just her being there was a problem for him because the sheriff was sure to be on his butt if he knew his daughter was with him.

The second problem was Louise Loring (Fay Wray). She stumbled to his doorstep in the middle of a storm bringing her drama with her. Her drama came in the form of Tony Robson (Melvyn Douglas), a rich playboy of nebulous means but considerable influence. He wanted Louise back and he would play dirty to get her back.

Louise was not quite a prostitute, but far from a wife--to borrow from the clean version of the rap song "Dopeman" by NWA. Louise was pretty much bought and paid for by Robson so she had to be his woman. She didn't want to be, but he tricked her into taking large sums of money from him which meant that she was indebted to him.

Now Louise was in John's home trying to flee Robson. It couldn't have been a worse situation for John. He had openly stated that women were nothing but trouble. His first prison stint was due to Helen and his chivalry. He had a jaded outlook on women--which was a sure sign that he was going to fall in love with one.

When Tony Robson and his underling, Conroy (Reed Brown Jr.), came to John's place (the second time), Conroy shot Louise's dog which was trying to protect her. The dog was merely barking, it hadn't lunged at anyone.

I think we can all agree that a warrantless dog killer is a bad guy. Well, John slugged Conroy as payment for his deed.

This is where it got a little too contrived.

Conroy, after being punched by John, fell and hit his head on the brick fireplace. My thoughts were, "You can't be serious. AGAIN!" First of all, deaths in that manner were common in the 30's. I know I've seen at least a few other movies in which a guy was punched, fell, hit his head and died. I can only think of "The Life of Jimmy Dolan" (1933), but I know I've seen it in other movies as well.

Second of all, what are the chances that John would kill TWO people by punching them? It was too coincidental.

In this case Conroy didn't die, but the next time we saw him he was bandaged up and near death. John's newest nemesis, Robson (the guy who wanted Louise), swore a warrant out for John Bradley's arrest to get rid of him. So, just like that, after being home only a day or two, John was a fugitive. How he was going to be cleared of this crime was all that was pending.

Everything ended neatly enough. John and Louise became romantically involved although we were spared the oaths of undying love after one night of knowing each other. Louise then did what she had to do to absolve John of any wrongdoing (including going back to Robson which caused the classic misunderstanding scene). That led everyone back to Robson's place where they found a conscious Conroy who told the cops that it was Robson who'd tried to kill him, not John. Even with the happy ending, I didn't find the movie compelling enough to care. Fay Wray just didn't do it for me, and nor did Ralph Bellamy for that matter. This movie lacked any life or pizzazz. Everyone went through the motions and said their lines then the movie ended.

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"Lady by Choice" stars two fabulous females from the early-30's--May Robson and Carole Lombard--however they couldn't quite save this one. The movie was on one story arc then jumped the tracks to another arc which ended with the woman-forgoing-wealth-to-prove-she-loves-the-man cliche.

It began as a feel good story. An old drunkard named Patricia Patterson (May Robson) was sent to an old folks home to keep her and society safe from her drunkenness. She would enter the life of Alabam Lee (Carole Lombard) when Alabam adopted Patty as a publicity stunt. Everyone has heard of adults adopting children, but who ever heard of adults adopting parents? It was shaping up to be a heartwarming story of two women being there for each other and providing the other with what she didn't have--a mother for Alabam and a daughter for Patty.

Then they introduced a romance.

A romance, regardless of how tender, sweet, and loveable, was going to ruin the movie. What I thought was going to be more like "Whom the Gods Destroy" in which a man helps his son without telling him he's his father, wound up being more like a common romance of that era. I wasn't expecting it to be about Patty being Alabam's real mom, I was just hoping that the two could be instrumental in each other's lives without it detouring to a romance. In other words; "Whom the Gods Destroy" was about a man helping his son achieve his dreams without the introduction of a love interest, while "Lady by Choice" was about a woman initially helping her assumed daughter try to achieve a dream, but then morphed into the woman (Patty) helping her assumed daughter get the man she loved as though that were a more appropriate dream.

Alabam had gone broke and needed money. She tried to do it Patty's way by working hard at becoming a legitimate entertainer and not an erotic dancer, but she couldn't make it. She dared not go back to her crooked manager, Kendall (Arthur Hohl), and she wasn't going to act or shake a tail feather for the money. She was going to find a wealthy man to dig gold from. For that she eyed Johnny Mills (Roger Pryor), a nice lawyer who treated Patty like she was his own mother.

Alabam had Johnny wrapped around her little finger. Eventually, as was expected, she had a change of heart. She legitimately fell in love with Johnny and wanted to marry him, however there were forces that wanted to keep them apart. Johnny's mother and Patty wanted to keep the gold digging Alabam away from Johnny. What they didn't know was that Alabam was truly in love with Johnny, but the ball to separate them had already been put in motion. The two women had gotten Judge Daly (Walter Connolly) involved. He had a suspended sentence on Alabam in his back pocket that he could wield over her to get her to leave Johnny alone.

The trite thing I didn't like about this romance was something they did a lot back then. For a woman to show she's truly good and that she's truly in love she has to forgo any wealth. That means she has to opt to marry the man even if he is or is going to be broke (e.g. Cut off from his inheritance or allowance, lost his job, stock market crash, etc.) or she has to return any gifts she may have received from another man. Both actions prove she's in love and worthy of marriage and happiness. It's a tired play that 1930's Hollywood kept rerunning.

Essentially the woman has to torture herself to prove her worth. It doesn't matter how myopic, narrow minded, naive, pollyanna, or misguided the man may be, everything falls on the woman. She has to prove her worth. The guy could've been pursuing her like a bloodhound, but somehow it will always turn around to her having to prove that she's worthy of his love.

One of the most common methods is for her to prove that she doesn't want his wealth (or even her own wealth in some cases) because that seems to have been the biggest knock on women of that era. I've seen it in "The Easiest Way," "The Girl from Missouri," "Gambling Lady," "Shopworn," "You Can't Buy Everything," and so many other movies. They all involved women twisting themselves into knots to prove they weren't gold diggers. In all cases the light would be seen and the two would be brought harmoniously together. If you've seen it once you've seen it a thousand times. It sucked to see "Lady By Choice" turn into the same kind of movie.

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Early Hollywood was infatuated with sin and ladies. So many movie titles had "sin" or "lady" in them. In fact, one of my favorite movies was "Lady for a Day" (1933). Conversely, one of my least favorite movies was "Ladies of Leisure" (1930). "A Lost Lady" is going to end up ranking somewhere near the bottom.

"A Lost Lady" was essentially about a woman of questionable emotional intelligence who makes one relationship mistake after another and makes herself the heel of the movie. I know that's not what the synopsis says, but that's what I witnessed.

The movie began with Marian Ormsby (Barbara Stanwyck) engaged to Ned Montgomery (Phillip Reed), a man she was deeply in love with. At their own engagement party a strange man entered their home and asked Montgomery if he'd been seeing his wife. The man then produced a cigarette case and asked Montgomery if it was his, to which he replied in the negative.

Marian had a few options here. A.) She could've been perceptive, realized that the strange man was a threat, and stayed quiet. B.) She could've been perceptive, realized that the strange man was a threat, and also denied that the cigarette case was her fiance's. C.) She could've blurted out to her fiance, "This is your cigarette case. It's the one I gave you."

She chose C and her fiance was summarily shot and killed by the stranger. I know what you're saying: "How was that her fault?" and I'm not saying it was. I'm just establishing her low social IQ and what was her first relationship. She was totally in love with a philanderer AND she inadvertently helped get him killed. In other words, Marian was quite daft.

That was Marian's first relationship.

Marian was so lost and depressed that she withdrew from society. She withdrew to her cabin in the woods somewhere on the California coastline. While walking in the woods one day she fell and injured her leg. A man named Forrester (Frank Morgan, best known as the Wizard from "The Wizard of Oz") picked her up and carried her back to her cottage. This would be the beginning of her second relationship.

Forrester was entranced by Marian even though she gave him no reason to be. She was dour and pessimistic, but all he saw was her beauty and helplessness. He remained in her company until he helped heal her leg and her psyche. By the time she was fully healthy he was in love with her, but she was not in love with him. He proposed to her and she initially rejected it on the basis that she was not in love with him.

As he was about to leave her life forever she stopped him.

"Wait," Marian said. "I'm going to be afraid without you." Marian was showing her selfishness, her lack of self-confidence, as well as her short-sightedness. Instead of letting Forrester go and perhaps finding a woman who would reciprocate his love, she opted to marry him to be... nice? I think she was just using Forrester emotionally. She believed that she would never love again, so being with Forrester was just as good as being with anyone else. She may as well use Forrester to comfort her and keep her company, except no one knows if or when they'll fall in love. If she fell in love with Forrester over time, then it all works out. If she fell in love with another guy--"Sorry Forrester, your time is up."

"You know I don't love you," she told Forrester, then added "I could never love anyone again."

I've heard these words before from both men and women on-screen who'd lost a lover. They're nothing but foreshadowing. No matter how deeply depressed and sorrowful they may be because of their lost lover, they invariably fall in love again.

Forrester didn't care about that at all. Another movie mistake. The man who marries a woman who doesn't love him will lose her soon enough.

"We'll have a unique kind of marriage. One that has never been done before. We'll leave the word love out entirely and substitute the word honesty," he offered, grasping at anything that would get her to marry him.

"Well what kind of life will that be for you?" Marian asked, knowing that it wouldn't be fair to him to be in an asynchronous relationship.

"I'll be incredibly happy," Forrester answered.

When someone wants a thing badly enough he doesn't care what the conditions are. In his mind he'll be happy no matter what, so long as he has that thing.

The two married and were happy. Well, Forrester was over the moon and Marian was satisfied.

While she was married to Forrester there came relationship number three. This one was a blip on the radar. This one was also asynchronous and I believe Marian handled it poorly.

Neil (Lyle Talbot), Forrester's junior partner in his law firm, was in love with Marian. Because he was a gentleman he confided in her that he was leaving the firm and the area in order to get away from her. At the very least, he didn't want to be around her; she was too much of a temptation. He loved her too much and he didn't dare covet Forrester's wife.

Again, Barbara showed her lack of sense. After Neil poured his heart out to her and said how he couldn't stand it, her response was, "I think you're a darling and it's been grand fun, but why spoil it?" as if he could control his loving her. Or as if saying that he loved her spoiled her blissful ignorance of his true feelings whenever they were together.

Neil said, "But Marian I can't go on seeing you." He meant it in the literal sense. They weren't seeing each other romantically. He didn't want to torture himself by quite literally seeing her.

Barbara's response was daft. "Oh yes you can," she responded. "Remember that marvelous old line?" she continued, " 'Their friendship rotted into love.' Now we can't let that happen to ours can we?"

Again she showed her emotional vacuity by telling a man to dismiss his feelings and keep hanging around. All she was doing was creating an awkward and tense situation. He was trying to do the right thing and she was minimizing his dilemma.

In this case it all worked out wonderfully. Neil smiled and somehow kept his feelings in check while Forrester laughed off the fact that his law partner was in love with his wife. It was a jolly triangle. Relationship number three was taken care of, even if it was handled clumsily. But then came relationship number four.

Man number four (played by Ricardo Cortez) was a man every man wanted to be and a man every woman wanted. He was strong, handsome, wealthy, bold, assertive, and took what he wanted. He made an emergency landing in his plane right in Marian's garden. The very fact he was a pilot added to his overall ruggedness and attractiveness. He got out of his plane and blithely apologized. Marian was furious. Ellinger (Ricardo Cortez) laughed it off then grabbed her and kissed her. It was chauvinistic, presumptive, and overstepping his boundaries, but in the 30's it was called being a man.

Marian pulled away and slapped him. She knew her role very well. She was expected to have such a reaction regardless if she appreciated the kiss or not. She was a lady and she was married. She skulked away from her garden upset. Or was she? We could tell that that man and that kiss remained on her mind.

It was more Hollywood relationship guidance for men. And we wonder how we got a hashtag MeToo movement.

Ellinger made himself a persistent presence. He wasn't going to let Marian forget him. When her husband,Forrester, had to go away on business and Marian begged to go with him I knew there was a problem. Whenever a woman tells her S. O. not to go somewhere or asks if she can go with him, it means she doesn't trust herself to be left alone (for reference see "The Key" (1934) or "He Was Her Man" (1934)).

Forrester went on his business trip without Marian anyway, leaving her alone to fight against Ellinger's advances. Perhaps if Forrester had known WHY she wanted to accompany him, he would've unhesitatingly taken her with him, but she kept her waverings hidden.

After Forrester was gone she let Ellinger into her home under the weakest of pretexts (she had to be a good hostess) and he continued to work on her everyday. His charm worked and she fell for him full stop. She got so sloppy and inconsiderate that she was sitting in his lap in her own yard. I know servants are meaningless peons who rich people don't have to hide anything from, but still, she was a society dame. Where was her sense of decorum and concern with appearances? She could at least respect his house.

She didn't have to marry Forrester, but she did. She claimed that she was afraid to be without him even though she didn't love him. Now that she'd found love, she was ready to throw Forrester overboard which was genuinely unfair. It was as if Forrester was simply a placeholder until she could find love again. He just filled a void. And even though she didn't love him, she did owe him fidelity. She took the vows and she was trampling all over them the whole time Forrester was out of town.

A fourth relationship Marian handled poorly.

When Forrester came back home she sorrowfully broke the news to him. You would've thought she was the most tormented woman in the world. The way she sobbed over her predicament was enough to make anyone roll their eyes.

The news was so damaging to Forrester he quite literally had a heart attack. I guess he truly believed he'd won her heart. What began as a tenuous relationship was broken by a suave, swashbuckling young man, and Forrester wasn't ready.

So we had two sufferers which would turn into three. Marian was suffering because she was torn between love and allegiance. Forrester was suffering because he lost the love of his life. Ellinger was suffering because Marian told him that she couldn't run off with him under the circumstances. Yes, she loved him, but she owed her life to Forrester, so she had to stick by him.

The movie would end with Forrester and Marian renewing their commitment.

After watching "Ladies Should Listen" I queued up "Housewife." I had already watched "A Good Dame," "Ladies They Talk About," and "Gold Diggers". I only need to watch "A Woman's Place," "Cook My Meal," and "Woman Shut Up" to get a full understanding of the female role in the 30's.

"Housewife" was too much of a rerun. A struggling married man became successful then had an affair. I can't believe they were still pitching that narrative. Just watch "No Other Woman," "Palooka," "Crooner," or any number of movies from that time period. High society men and mistresses go together like peanut butter and jelly.

William Reynolds (George Brent) was a lowly office manager at an advertising agency. His wife Nan (Ann Dvorak) was a busy and, quite frankly, mistreated housewife. She was expected to fix leaky faucets, handle calls from bill collectors, cook, clean, and raise their son. For such a small family their house was busier than Grand Central Station, which I found a tad hard to believe. A family of three was such a task that they needed a maid, which is another oddity of yesteryear. How in the world did a family that was trying to scrimp and save afford a maid??

Nan happily worked as an overly-taxed housewife while her husband refused to lift a finger. He had no time for such trivialities such as taking care of bills or repairs. He'd been so busy at work he had no energy to help.

At home William was a king. At work he was a servant. His boss, Sam Blake (Robert Barrat), shat on him like he shat on his wife. The implication was that William was simply mimicking his boss while at home. William had had enough of his boss one day when Blake cruelly dismissed him and an idea he had. With his wife's encouragement and the money she saved being a thrifty housewife he struck out on his own. He was going to create a rival ad company that was full of new ideas (aka his wife's ideas).

In little time at all William had a thriving ad company. He and his wife moved from an outhouse to a penthouse. William even had the money and clout to attract Patricia Berkeley (Bette Davis), a premier ad creator. It wasn't much later that the two were carrying on an affair. A trite, rote affair.

This movie was so hamfisted and juvenile with the story that they made William lacking in any kind of discretion or social intelligence. The message was: "Once men get money they lose all of their sense;" which may be true, but I'd expect it to take some time. Who works so hard to build something only to neglect it and what got you there immediately after attaining success? In the case of "Housewife," William did. He got a taste of success and began catting around with Patricia (Bette Davis). He was so shameless with it that he was draped over Patricia in social settings right in front of his wife!! I found that a very forced addition to the movie because if I know one thing about high society of that era it is that appearances are everything. A mistress is fine, but you never flaunt her in public in front of your own spouse. Even if he wasn't society, I'd think he'd have enough shame and decency to spare his wife seeing him making love to another woman. He was so completely stuck on Patricia that he even ignored his biggest client.

Who does that?

William and Nan were headed for divorce. Waiting in the wings were Patricia and Paul Duprey (John Halliday). They would claim each respective rebound. Nan wasn't going to give up William so easily though. She'd helped to get him where he was, so she wasn't OK with allowing Patricia to reap the crop she painstakingly planted, nurtured, and grew. I could understand the sentiment, even if her husband was a scoundrel. It's a precarious predicament to be in. On the one hand, her husband was cheating on her; on the other hand, if she granted him a divorce she'd be giving him and Patricia what they both wanted.

She finally opted for divorce when William accidently ran over his own kid. She didn't want William sticking around out of pity. In divorce court they made up and had a happy reunion while Patricia and Paul had to walk away empty handed.*

In the next scene we see Nan happily proclaiming that she's a housewife as if she'd suffered nothing at all: no humiliation, no anger, no broken heartedness. She rebounded from her husband's cheating and the near collapse of her marriage as though she was happier it survived the trial than upset she had to be dragged through such a trial. It's embarrassing to watch and upsetting as well because I don't know any people like that. I don't know any Nan's or any women like a lot of the Stepford women in many of the 30's movies. Just show more real, authentic women, that's all I ask.

*It's hilariously stupid to see two paramours in court waiting for a divorce to be made final so that they could leave with their prize.

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I'm having a hard time recalling a movie that sank itself so completely by the ending like "The Man with Two Faces" did. This movie was sailing along so smoothly then hit an iceberg that sank the ship and killed everyone onboard. It had everything to do with the way a detective solved the murder of Stanley Vance (Louis Calhern)--if you want to call it "solving" the murder.

The important characters were Damon Wells (Edward G. Robinson), Jessica Wells (Mary Astor), Ben Weston (Ricardo Cortez), and Stanley Vance (Louis Calhern). Ben was a play producer. His main actors were Damon and Jessica Wells, brother and sister. They all had big plans until Jessica's husband, Stanley Vance, showed up out of nowhere. When Stanley entered the home they were all congregated at, the proverbial record stopped playing. Everyone and everything came to a halt and everyone stared--or more accurately they glared at Stanley. It was clear that he was not welcome.

What was stranger was how Jessica, his wife, behaved when she saw him. She became impassive and blank. She started behaving like a robot awaiting specific instructions. From then on it was as if she was hypnotized. Hypnotized to obey none but her husband Stanley. As her brother Damon told Stanley, "Normally, my sister is the most promising young actress in America. But with you around, she turns into a colorless automaton that I wouldn't trust to carry a tray across the stage."

If it was just that Stanley had mind control over his wife, then that would be enough to make him an unlikeable figure, but beyond that he was a horrible person. If Jessica and the world were going to be free of Stanley, someone was going to have to buy him off or bump him off.

Damon opted to bump him off and his plan was ingenious.

Damon made himself up and pretended to be a Frenchman named Jules Chautard, someone interested in buying Jessica's stake in the theater production she was a part of. Stanley took over the negotiating with Chautard because his plan was to take the money and run, except Damon killed him.

Damon murdered Stanley in a hotel room, hid his body in a closet, wiped down everything, and left. The whole city was looking for Jules Chautard when he was just a fictional character.

Damon was totally in the clear except that he left behind a fake mustache. A fake mustache in reality wouldn't mean much of anything, but a detective named Curtis (David Landau) was able to piece together the entire murder from that one fake mustache.

First, he figured that an actor had to have been in that hotel room due to the fake mustache as if no one but actors could access fake mustaches. Second, he was able to recognize and remember that Damon Wells was an actor. Finally, and most improbably, Curtis recalled a role Damon Wells played fifteen years earlier in a small New York theater in which he played a Frenchman. Curtis put all of these tenuously connected things together and built a case on it.

His next move was to present this "evidence" and this theory to Damon. When I thought Damon would laugh in Curtis's face he did the opposite. He all but admitted his guilt. There was nothing to deny because Curtis hadn't made an accusation; all Damon had to do was scoff at the theory, or even brush it off like it was meaningless. Instead, he gave the theory credence by having an terribly worried look. It was a look of worry and surprise that he made such a simple mistake.

That was all Curtis needed. It was such a damper.

Here it is, Damon is supposed to be one of the finest actors in the country and he couldn't act innocent?!? A five-year-old could've acted more innocently than Damon did. What Curtis had was nothing more than a theory. In reality he didn't even have enough to get an arrest warrant. The only physical evidence he had was a fake mustache. Damon could EASILY deny it was his. After that, Curtis had NOTHING. So, for them to wrap up the movie with Curtis confirming his theory was juvenile and it totally ruined the movie.

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If you want to see a girl twist herself into an obsequious pretzel for a guy, then you may want to watch this movie.

Sylvia Sydney plays Lillie Taylor, a good dame who was stranded after her purse was stolen at a circus. She got a helping hand from a petty criminal, and very unrefined Mace Townsley (Fredric March) and she latched onto him like a puppy. He couldn't beat her away with a stick. She was so incomprehensibly stuck on him.

That tends to happen in a lot of these movies from that era. A guy does a simple nicety for a woman and she latches onto him after that. It's almost as if these women, as pretty as they are, have never had a man do one nice thing for them so the moment they receive some nice treatment, mostly just common courtesy, they don't know how to act. They feel like they must be his property from then on if he treated her well.

Lillie Taylor was auditioning to be Mace's doormat. No matter how gruff, disrespectful, or threatening he was, she smiled and desired him even more. I wish I could say that this behavior was anomalous, but it isn't. Lillie Taylor was just one of several women of that era who loved to be treated poorly, and Sylvia Sidney had the perfect face and demeanor for such a role.

Sylvia Sidney has a perpetual look as though she needs love and attention, or she needs a hug. She has such a weak, homely looking face. I can't stand it. I have not seen her in a single movie in which I thought wow Sylvia Sydney is grand here. Or wow Sylvia Sydney is crushing this role. Or wow Sylvia Sydney is really commanding. No, every time I see her I have a thought of wow this woman is so pathetic. So, in this one, she gets treated like dog spit, and turns around and cleans this guy's clothes!! No pride, no self-worth.

And she wasn't even consistent in her sentiments and her behavior. She was off and on, hot and cold. One moment she's being a bugaboo and the next she was giving him the air. I know that that was the character and not Sylvia Sidney, but I've seen her face in too many similar sappy roles. I'm done with her.

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Within the first fifteen minutes I found myself detesting this movie. It was such a stale and overused plot for that era. They shoved damn near every romance trope into this one:

Woman stating she would never marry for love.

Adversarial beginning.

Rich boy, poor girl.

Change of heart.

Misunderstanding leading to break up.

A disapproving family.

The only thing they were missing was a love triangle.

The girl from Missouri in this monstrosity was Eadie Chapman (Jean Harlow). She left her small town to go to New York and marry a millionaire. As she put it, "I realized when I was a girl that the only right thing for a girl to do is get married." So, she would marry a millionaire instead of marrying for love because what would love get her except a bunch of kids in a Brooklyn flat.

Right away it was shaping up to be typical and a tad offensive. How many are the movies in which a person declares that they won't fall in love, won't get married, or won't ever date only to fall in love, get married, and/or date. It's the worst type of foreshadowing.

When Eadie got to New York she joined the chorus line. That was one of the best ways to get close to rich men. The first man in her sights was Frank Cousins (Lewis Stone). Frank Cousins was supposed to be a millionaire, but what she didn't know was that he was flat broke. After he killed himself she moved on to Thomas Randall 'T. R.' Paige (Lionel Barrymore). He was legitimately rich. She hounded him like an uncouth, shameless gold digger would. She showed up everywhere he was. She even traveled to Palm Beach because she found out he was going there.

In Palm Beach she encountered Thomas Paige Jr. (Franchot Tone) and he wanted her badly--so badly that he blackmailed her into a date. He thought he knew what kind of girl she was and he was all over her.

As she was hollering about wanting to marry a rich man he grabbed her and kissed her (standard 30's behavior for a man who desired a woman). I almost feel bad because I'm becoming desensitized to such behavior. There was a time when such a thing shocked me. "How dare he!" I would think. "That's sexual harassment!" But the truth is that what is sexual harassment today was a guy being bold and persistent yesteryear. What is a fireable or jailable offense today was considered commendable in days past. It was a man knowing what he wanted and taking what he wanted. It was all part of the courting game. The woman would either wilt with the kiss or pull away apologetically. If she pulled away apologetically it was simply a sign letting the man know that she wasn't easy, not that she didn't want to be kissed. If she truly didn't want to be kissed she would slap the man and/or storm out. But even a slap and a storm-out wasn't a hard no, it was just a no for now.

Or so Hollywood writers would have you believe.

Junior wouldn't stop his pursuit of Eadie. It escalated to stalking and even false imprisonment. He tried every move he had with her, even buying her a diamond bracelet. He was begging to be taken advantage of so long as he could get the goods. When nothing worked he locked her in his room with himself. Pepe Le Pew was less aggressive. I'm sure a certain R&B artist rhyming with R. Smelly and a certain Hollywood exec rhyming with Starvey Slimesteen would have watched this with great alacrity.

After Eadie huffed and puffed and yelled to be let go he kissed her again. This time he read her right. This kiss was the one to make her wilt. Against her wishes she began to crumble. Then she had to admit: she was in love. I was as shocked as a polar bear seeing snow.

"I love you so much Tom. You can make me cheap and common like a million others, but gee I wish you wouldn't," she pleaded with him. She was now putty in his hands and she only wished that he would treat her with respect, though she carried herself in a most disrespectful manner.

Naturally, he came to his senses. All of the rejecting and rebuffing before meant nothing. It wasn't to be heeded. But when she broke down and expressed her heartfelt love, Tom stopped being predatory and began to love her as well.

There you go ladies. To fight off a rapey dude just tell him how much you love him. You never know, he may love you as well.

This gold digger who found love (and gold) is just too trite. It's a basic and unimaginative premise that was already old in 1934. Rerunning it with Jean Harlow and Franchot Tone didn't make it special.

Jean Harlow is simply a painted face with exaggeratedly blond hair and gauche, just like this movie. Franchot Tone was a plastic playboy who could've been any good looking man. There was nothing unique, compelling, or likable about this flick. I know we're supposed to melt when the unscrupulous person turns good, especially when they fall in love, but the movie never drew me in to begin with. It was another frivolous society flick that tried to dazzle instead of trying to be good.

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First, there was "Here Comes the Navy" (1934) now we have "Come On, Marines!" Both movies were awful, but at least "Here Comes the Navy" had James Cagney and Pat O'Brien.

"Come On, Marines!" was such a scatter-brained movie it was hard to make sense of it. There was a marine aiding a Navy man in his desertion. There was a battle in South America that wasn't explained at all. And there were half-naked white women bathing in the jungles of South America while a war was going on. If that doesn't sound like a mixed up partially erotic dream then maybe you should get your head examined.

A marine named Lucky Davis (Richard Arlen) was set to go to officers training until his plans were upended by a wild woman (played by Grace Bradley). She came to his base and made such a scene that he was withdrawn from consideration for being an officer. He was upset with the woman, but he was furious with the cab driver who brought her there. Spud (Roscoe Karns), the cabbie, brought her to the base specifically so that she would cause a scene and embarrass Lucky.

Lucky's response was to get back at Spud. At this point the movie was shaping up to be just like "Here Comes the Navy" which featured two adult males behaving like children.

When Lucky found Spud driving his cab he shot at the cab. It was a stupid move that was equally dangerous. It should've cost him his freedom, but his punishment was to be sent to the jungles of South America for some unstated mission. Before he departed he forced Spud to join the Marines so that he would have to join him in the jungles.

You see, Spud deserted the Navy and was facing a five year prison sentence if they ever caught up to him. Lucky's payback to Spud wasn't to turn him in to the Navy, but to force him to join the Marines instead.

At this point the movie wasn't that good, but it was watchable. What happened once Lucky and Spud got to South America was incomprehensible.

They were sent to rescue some "kids." When they got to the "kids" they found a group of women giggling and playing in the water. They hardly looked like they were in need of rescuing and the whole scene was out of place like the pope in a pub. I was distracted as my mind tried to make sense of it all. Why were these women referred to as kids? Why were they frolicking in a warzone? Why were they half naked? How was their make-up so flawless?

While my mind tried to rationalize this soft porn plot I was able to make out a budding romance that was as odd as everything else.

The enemy, known as Solano, fired upon the girls and the marines at the watering hole. Lucky ordered everybody to take cover inside a nearby building. One woman, Esther (Ida Lupino), refused to move and it was unclear why. All she had to do was run across the water she was just playing in, but she was obstinate in rejecting Lucky's orders. I could only question her intelligence as there were mortars landing all about her, but she seemed to want to make a point of not obeying Lucky. She was behaving like a spoiled little girl which brought up thoughts of many bad stereotypes of pretty women.

Lucky, instead of saying "suit yourself," and getting to cover, walked through the shallow water and grabbed her while she feebly kicked and screamed. It was a strange and childish scene that made zero sense. I suppose the whole scene was to show his strength and chivalry juxtaposed to the shrill disobedience of pretty young women. Whatever the point of it all, it was repulsive.

There would be another scene in which Lucky picked up a kicking and screaming Esther, and it was even more counter-productive.

While the two were walking they came under fire again. Instead of telling her to run and jump into the wagon, he picked her up, ran with her, and placed her in the wagon while she fought him.

Please tell me how it's faster for a person to pick up an able-bodied adult as opposed to having that adult run herself? They were trying waaaaay too hard to show the command, virtue, and manliness of this Marine.

Eventually, and quite abruptly, they fell in love. I knew that's what they were setting up, but there was no transition at all. It went from fighting to kissing in a matter of one scene. It was like this movie was only budgeted for exactly 70 minutes and making a sensible romance would've taken them over that budget.

"Come On, Marines!" could've sufficed with being mediocre, yet they opted for awful. Was everyone involved under the influence of something? There clearly wasn't a sober individual involved with this project. Maybe they wanted to throw mud on the Marines. If so: mission accomplished.

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There's nothing that can make a person a prisoner quite like their own heart; specifically if they're in love. Should you love a person who reciprocates your love, then you're not in prison at all. But, should you love a person who doesn't reciprocate that love, then you are bound to a near hopeless situation. Even the one being loved is put in an awkward position. As Frances Dee said in the film:

"You can't help it because someone loves you and you don't love them back."

Philip Carey (Leslie Howard) was hopelessly in love with Mildred Rogers (Bette Davis). It wasn't enough that Mildred didn't love him back, Mildred was also a mean woman who played upon Philip's affections. She used and abused him, but nothing was worse than her rejection and subsequent taking up with other men.

Bette Davis played her part so well. She was contemptible; probably one of the more reprehensible female characters of the early-30's, but for whatever reason I liked her. I didn't love her like Philip did, but I liked her character. She was mean, cruel, manipulative, and all that, but she was unapologetically so.

I'll tell you though, it was strange seeing Mildred's decline. That's something very rare. Usually women, who are the object of a good guy's love, pull through. And even if they don't come out ahead, I can't readily think of a woman who looked so beat down by life as Mildred did by the end. I would liken her to Jenny in "Forrest Gump" or worse even. The image of Mildred's lifeless, emaciated body at the end was haunting; especially for 1934. The make up was incredible.

And even though I normally despise women like her, I usually despise even more men like Philip. I'm talking about men so overly given to their weak hearts that they allow themselves to be trampled all over. However, I didn't have any ill-feelings toward Philip. I pitied him more than anything. He could've had so much good and potentially so much happiness if he could only have broken free from Mildred.

Both of them were to be pitied: Mildred for being dragged down by her life choices and Philip for being enslaved by his love for her.

I think I liked "Of Human Bondage" so much simply because it recognized this human condition. So often the boy loves the girl, and the girl loves the boy, they just need to overcome some external obstacles to be together. And even if there is some flaw in the boy or the girl, it's usually something from their past, or a flaw that can be gotten over. "Of Human Bondage" dispensed with the idea that just because a good guy loves a girl she's also good. The heart is not infallible, it's not a detective, and it can't discern good from bad. The heart is a cruel beast and has no rules that it follows, and "Of Human Bondage" showed that very well.

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"Midnight Alibi" was about a gangster in love with his nemesis's sister. It was tantamount to a lightweight "Westside Story."

A gangster named Lance McGowan (Richard Barthelmess) met a pretty girl named Joan Morley (Ann Dvorak) on a boat. The two hit it off really well then went their separate ways once they reached land. Later Lance saw Joan and found out that Joan was Angie Morley's baby sister. That was going to be a huge problem considering Angie (Robert Barrat) was a rival gangster and Lance had just recently ripped off some of Angie's casinos.

One night, when Lance was on the run from Angie's guys, he entered the home of an old lady named Abigail Ardsley (Helen Lowell). Abigail then began to regale Lance of her lost lover some forty-five years earlier. Abigail was an eighteen-year-old young lady of wealth in 1888 and she was in love with her father's clerk (also played by Richard Barthelmess). Abigail's father, Jonathan (Henry O'Neill), was unequivocally opposed to his clerk marrying his daughter. Abigail (the older version) told Lance this story because he looked just like her lost lover.

Lance saw himself like the clerk in the story with his situation with Joan and her brother Angie. Just like the clerk was denied being with his beloved, so was Lance. The only problem with the analogies is that Robert Anders (the clerk) was a clerk while Lance was a gangster. There's a far cry between the two. Jonathan Ardsley kept his daughter away from Robert Anders due to classism. Angie wanted to keep his sister away from Lance because 1.) Lance was a gangster and 2.) he was his rival. Angie had every reason to dislike Lance.

When Abigail told her story about her lost lover, she mentioned that she never spoke to her father again and that she remained single the rest of her life. Maybe that's why she was sixty-three yet looked eighty-three. She remained a lonely old maid for forty-five years because her sweetheart was killed. That's extreme.

We knew that the love between Lance and Joan wouldn't have the same outcome as the love between Abigail and Robert. Robert was shot and killed by Abigail's father when he caught him on his property late at night. We knew that Lance had to unite with Joan because there had to be a happy ending.

Lance did get to unite with Joan thanks to Abigail.

In a very improbable string of events, Lance went to Angie's HQ to talk it out with him about Joan. It was a risky move that was also very dumb considering Angie just tried to kill him the day before. Even if Angie hadn't tried to kill him, he was still risking his neck to meet Angie on his stomping grounds.

Lance boldly walked into Angie's place of business and asked one of his men where Angie was. Like a fool, Angie's man told Lance where he was.

I don't know any gang members who give up their boss's location to his enemy with a simple request. Not only that, no one even frisked him before allowing him to go upstairs to Angie's private office. I've seen better security at Walgreens.

Lance went into Angie's office where Angie plainly said that there was absolutely no way he was going to allow him to see Joan. At the same time one of Lance's men came into the establishment to check on his boss just to make sure he was safe being in Angie's joint alone. And again, Angie's security was so lax that another guy made it up to his private office with no interference.

Right when Angie pulled a gun from his drawer to dispense with the pesky Lance, Lance's man burst through the door and killed Angie. You knew one thing: this was going to make it easier for Lance and Joan to get together. Angie was their single biggest impediment. Even if Joan believed Lance killed her brother, he'd be able to assure her that he didn't and then they could go on to be a happy couple.

Lance was arrested for the murder of Joan's brother. The evidence was pretty damning and he didn't have a sufficient alibi; that was until Abigail strolled into the courthouse defying all legal procedure to be a witness for the defense (Lance). When she walked in it was as if royalty had entered the building. Everyone gasped and gazed and was deferential towards her, even the judge. So, when she said that Lance left her home at midnight (thereby making it impossible for him to have shot Angie), the case was summarily dismissed by the judge for lack of evidence.

So, a lonely old lady perjured herself to protect a guy who looked like her lost lover. It was sappy and it was very deus ex machina. Lance was all but convicted, but when Abigail said that he was at her home when her "clock read twelve," then that's all it took to override all the other testimonies and witnesses.

If our hearts were uneasy because a decent old lady perjured herself for a gangster in love, then she set them at ease a bit later. When Lance paid her a visit and said, "Thanks for everything. I'm only sorry that you had to lie for me."

She responded, "But I didn't. That clock did indicate twelve o'clock when you left. When Robert died in my arms I stopped all the clocks. So for forty-five years it has always been midnight in this house."

How pathetic.

I understand the implication here, but I still think it's pathetic. The implication is that she loved Robert so deeply, and losing him was so tragic that she stopped living. No, she didn't commit suicide, but she stopped the clocks thereby effectively stopping time, and she never moved on with her life--never met another man, never left her home, never did anything. So, for forty-five years she'd been in mourning. If this was a scary movie she'd be La Llorona or some other tormented ghost.

"Midnight Alibi" went for sweet sad romance and I wasn't a fan. Spare me the tragic romance stuff unless you can weave it into a badass story that has some teeth.

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I get it. Women suck at being spies. "Stamboul Quest" was just one more reminder of that. A female spy will only fall in love and fail at her task. For reference see "Mata Hari" (1931), "Dishonored" (1931), and "Operator 13" (1933). I'm gonna play spoiler here and say that the female spy didn't fail at her task, but that's because she was tricked.

"Stamboul Quest" considered itself slick by addressing the elephant in the room right away. Fraulein Doktor (Myrna Loy) was a spy and she made mention of Mata Hari (a female German spy) falling in love with a Russian and subsequently revealing herself. Doktor made sure to openly state, "A woman in love has no secrets from the man she loves," then she later followed that up by stating that she "doesn't mix love with her love making." She even had a little note to herself reminding her not to make the same mistake Mata Hari made. It was nothing but shameless foreshadowing because when she met Douglas Beall (George Brent), a charming, relentless American who was slobbering all over her, she fell in love.

Initially, the American was a mark. She was to find out if he was a spy or not and what he possibly knew; after which she was to go on her mission to Turkey to find out if Ali Bey (C. Henry Gordon) was a British spy or not.

To accomplish the first task she had to play a smitten woman which allowed Douglas (the American) to make love to her and even fall in love with her as he boldly claimed after knowing her for a couple of hours.

She found out nothing significant about him and left his company.

Where she made a mistake was letting him ride in a taxi with her to the train station instead of kicking him out. Next, she entertained him again on the train to Turkey, again, instead of kicking him out of her cabin. She finally put her foot down in the dining car and told him to kick rocks. He walked away like a wounded puppy sure to make all the viewers pity him.

I knew that their saga wasn't over, it was just a matter of how they'd be thrust together again.

It happened when enemy bombs hit near their train. Some civilian passengers got hurt and Douglas went into savior mode. He was carrying, tending, and patching up victims left and right; enough to garner Doktor's admiration and even her.... Love.

So, instead of finding a reason to abandon Douglas somewhere, or send him back to Berlin, she took him along with her to Turkey on her mission. Mind you, we still don't know if he's a spy or not. For all we know he's pouring it on thick because this was a mark he wanted to get close to himself. We just know that Doktor is too weak in the knees at this point regardless of what Douglas is.

She brought him to Turkey under the guise of being her servant. An idiot could've figured out that it was odd for a German woman to have a white American male servant, yet she followed through with the dumb plan because by now feelings had clouded her judgment.

Eventually, she did the irresponsible and the inevitable: she informed Douglas that she was a spy because she loved him and "A woman in love has no secrets from the man she loves." And remember: SHE STILL DOESN'T KNOW WHO OR WHAT DOUGLAS IS. She just knows that he pumped her up with flowery talk and she's now in love with the dude.

As poorly as the movie was going it did tick upwards. Doktor told Douglas that she was going to go through with her meeting with Ali Bey regardless of what that meeting may have yielded (i.e. Sex). As she stated, her country was at war, she had a mission and she was going to complete her mission.

Douglas gave Doktor an ultimatum: leave with him that night or lose him forever. She opted to stay. Truthfully, she didn't have a choice. If she left with Douglas before accomplishing her task, she would've been branded a traitor and executed.

Instead she conceived a brilliant plan to keep her man and out Ali Bey as a British spy.

Ali Bey was the commanding officer of the Turkish army that was supposed to be aligned with the Germans (this is what I gathered). If he was giving over German secrets to the Brits, then the Turks and the Germans certainly wanted to know.

Doktor's plan was to have her sweetheart Douglas detained and set up as a British spy for which he was to be executed. However, she wanted her superior, Herr Von Sturm (Lionel Atwill), to have Douglas switched with a Frenchman who indeed was a spy. The Frenchman would be executed while her beau would be somewhere safe. Only she would know that a Frenchman was being executed while Ali Bey would fully believe that the American was being executed. If she was the German spy Doktor, then Ali Bey would expect her to do everything to halt the execution of her lover. If she was a Brit, then she would allow the execution to go forward with little resistance.

Her plan worked to perfection and Ali Bey gave her intelligence which revealed that he was a British spy. For that he was arrested, then came the cool part.

When Ali Bey was upbraiding Doktor for allowing her own lover to be killed, she smugly stated that it wasn't her American lover, but a Frenchman instead. That's when Herr Von Sturm sadly informed her that it WAS her American lover that was killed.

Oh what an excellent twist.

Then the movie took another twist, but downward.

Upon hearing that, Doktor turned into a puddle of mush. She quite literally went cuckoo and was no more useful to the German military. Herr Von Sturm let on to another German officer that the American wasn't killed, but he wanted Doktor to believe that because there was work to do and a woman in love would be no good. As was stated in the movie "Mata Hari" (1931): "A spy in love is a tool that has outlived its usefulness." The only problem is that Von Sturm didn't expect that a woman who lost her lover would be even less useful. In either case, again, the message is that women can't be spies. They will fall in love and become totally useless.

For all the sentimental viewers, there was no need to worry. Doktor was reunited with Douglas in the end, so you still get your happily-ever-after.

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