This William Powell and Kay Francis vehicle is far from perfect, but it has its moments, and their star power made it worth the 65-minute run time. Powell plays a star defense attorney in New York who drives the District Attorney crazy with his ability to win cases. Francis plays the woman who has been his lover for months, but wants marriage, something that he tells her isn't for him. A third man (Scott Kolk) presses her hard to throw Powell over and marry him, something she's reluctantly willing to do, but an auto accident suddenly has the guy on trial, and Powell representing him. Emotions are entangled with the deception about what actually happened, which makes for a contrived but interesting drama. It's also notable for its production quality relative to other films in 1930, in the early days of talkies.
Kay Francis is luminous with her cool demeanor and beautiful outfits, and the fact that she's undamaged as an individual for having had pre-marital sex was certainly only possible pre-Code. On the other hand, it was a sign of the times that both of the men who are romantically attached to her are quite committed to saving her reputation, and willing to sacrifice themselves to do so. A woman staying out all night and having sex was one thing (not that any of the latter is remotely shown, mind you), but the scandal of it becoming publicly known was another. And, one could argue that the situation she finds herself in and the film's ultimate resolution is a morality tale of sorts.
Similarly, the 'lawyer for the defense' aspect of this film carried with it a mixed message, because it's not really about an attorney upholding one of the most sacred aspects of a democracy, the right to representation in a fair trial, it's about a slick lawyer willfully getting men he knows are criminals off, and drinking heavily in his spare time so that he can live with himself. In one scene, a couple of guys he's defended steal his car, but then return it after realizing that he's the owner. In another scene, he admits to the D. A. that if he himself were to be sent away, the crime rate would go down, the implication being that more perpetrators would be getting locked up. And then of course, there's the insinuation of jury tampering early on during a fiery speech from the D. A., one which Powell coolly dismisses, but then later actually commits, albeit out of love. There is a healthy amount of pre-Code, Depression-era cynicism to the justice system here, but there's also a conservative message about the need to be tough on crime and an implication of immorality in defense attorneys, one which was fascinating in its ambiguity, but also rather annoying.
For his part, after some cheesy courtroom dramatics with a vial supposedly containing nitroglycerine, William Powell has several fine scenes which show off his acting ability. Watch his face as he examines the ring during a trial and understands what it means, or his irritation at a pub owner who knows there's a warrant out for his arrest. It's a simple little film, but he elevated it by getting everything he could out of his scenes, all of which build to a touching, wonderful finish. If you're a Powell or Francis fan, the film is worth seeing for its ending alone.
Kay Francis is luminous with her cool demeanor and beautiful outfits, and the fact that she's undamaged as an individual for having had pre-marital sex was certainly only possible pre-Code. On the other hand, it was a sign of the times that both of the men who are romantically attached to her are quite committed to saving her reputation, and willing to sacrifice themselves to do so. A woman staying out all night and having sex was one thing (not that any of the latter is remotely shown, mind you), but the scandal of it becoming publicly known was another. And, one could argue that the situation she finds herself in and the film's ultimate resolution is a morality tale of sorts.
Similarly, the 'lawyer for the defense' aspect of this film carried with it a mixed message, because it's not really about an attorney upholding one of the most sacred aspects of a democracy, the right to representation in a fair trial, it's about a slick lawyer willfully getting men he knows are criminals off, and drinking heavily in his spare time so that he can live with himself. In one scene, a couple of guys he's defended steal his car, but then return it after realizing that he's the owner. In another scene, he admits to the D. A. that if he himself were to be sent away, the crime rate would go down, the implication being that more perpetrators would be getting locked up. And then of course, there's the insinuation of jury tampering early on during a fiery speech from the D. A., one which Powell coolly dismisses, but then later actually commits, albeit out of love. There is a healthy amount of pre-Code, Depression-era cynicism to the justice system here, but there's also a conservative message about the need to be tough on crime and an implication of immorality in defense attorneys, one which was fascinating in its ambiguity, but also rather annoying.
For his part, after some cheesy courtroom dramatics with a vial supposedly containing nitroglycerine, William Powell has several fine scenes which show off his acting ability. Watch his face as he examines the ring during a trial and understands what it means, or his irritation at a pub owner who knows there's a warrant out for his arrest. It's a simple little film, but he elevated it by getting everything he could out of his scenes, all of which build to a touching, wonderful finish. If you're a Powell or Francis fan, the film is worth seeing for its ending alone.