Reviews

Seven years before Howard Hawks had the idea to do "The Front Page" with a woman as a reporter, practically the same idea crops up in this fast-paced pre-code look at journalism. William Gargan is good in the Grant role (Lee Tracy at that time would have been better), a cynical semi-corrupt newsreel reporter, and Frances Dee is wide-eyed and acceptable but she'll make you miss Rosalind Russell. At least you have Ralph Bellamy in the Ralph Bellamy role. Gargan and Dee trade quips and try to outfox each other on the way to the inevitable conclusion. Some nice pre-code elements: Gargan tells Dee about a girl he knew that had a cold and she instantly snaps back, "yeah, I know, she kept you up all night." Wallace Ford plays his role as Gargan's drunken friend at full-stagger and there's lots of illicit booze ("that bottle cost me $50!" proclaims Gargan's boss and Bellamy calms his wife with "a taste of moon".) Nice shading on the usual black-and-white of our heroes as Gargan causes a suicide and Dee tricks a woman into a possibly lethal confession. The criminals also seem entertaining even as they remain dangerous. With a better, more "A" cast, this film could have been very, very good. And don't miss Robert Benchley in a fine comic cameo providing a radio commentary for a beauty pageant.

1933 seemed to be a great year for satires ("Duck Soup" for instance) and this one fits in well even though it is about the obsession with contract bridge. The tone is like a humorous piece from The New Yorker, appropriate, since the film begins with the "Goings On About Town" page of that magazine. The only thing odd is the casting. Made a few years later William Powell and Myrna Loy would have been perfect. However, after 1934, you wouldn't have had adultery handled in such a sophisticated fashion, the young and beautiful Loretta Young in some shear and slinky outfits, or a group of prostitutes listening to a bridge contest on radio. Even if you know nothing about bridge, you may still want to check out a rare example of Hollywood satire.

Cecil's brother, William DeMille only directed one film after this one. After seeing Passion Flower, it's a wonder they let him do that one. Extremely old fashioned material made with no verve. With the exception of some lame Zasu Pitts comedy, all the performances are wooden and trite, even the usually interesting Bickford and Francis. The only moment of interest is a technical where Bickford and Francis have a discussion on a very windy hillside and the sound appears to be recorded on site. It would difficult with modern microphones, much less what they had in 1930. But it's not enough to make anyone want to sit through this rubbish.