Review of The Heat's On

It took three credited screenwriters to come up with this flaccid comedy-musical from Columbia--and not one of them apparently had a sense of humor. Perhaps taking a page from Mae West's real-life tangles with the censors, the bawdy, naughty comedienne is toned way down here in a plot about a musical stage performer who finds herself stuck in a bomb and blames her manager; he gets a bright idea and has the show raided for indecency to drum up business, but the gag goes too far and the show is closed for good. At this point, the foolish scenarists practically lose track of Mae, which is the most indecent thing about the picture! She pops up intermittently, talking on the phone or sitting idly in the theater, but all her charm and smarm has been extinguished (she retired from films for twenty-seven years after this). The manager weasels show money out of a good-natured schnook and puts on a new revue (a nice wholesome one)--and even gets West back in the spotlight--but it's too late. The movie has collapsed around everyone like an exhausted house of cards. *1/2 from ****