Lupe Vélez proves that a Mexican playing a Native American of the United States isn't necessarily any less insulting than a white American taking the part. Here, Vélez doesn't even dress the part--wearing traditional Mexican clothes. To a degree, I would overlook the racism inherit in "The Squaw Man" melodrama--cloaked in the selling point of miscegenation--if there were anything more to the picture. Cecil B. DeMille was shot at while making the 1914 version of the hackneyed stage soap opera, and this time he lost his job. If anyone finds the 1918 version, I'll pass. Why did DeMille bother? In 1914, he was learning the craft; by 1931, he was a competent filmmaker, who had since surrendered his ambitions for artistic innovation in favor of lowbrow commercialism. I suppose, then, that it made sense for DeMille to try a talkie remake of his first box-office success. The plot is slightly more coherent this outing, but remains very contrived. The acting and dialogue are atrocious.
(There's also a scene where Vélez undresses.)
(There's also a scene where Vélez undresses.)