1/10
The play's not the thing.
2 December 2023
Warning: Spoilers
Casting James Kirkwood as a heartbreaking playboy makes about as much sense as putting Walter Brennan, Henry Jones or Fred Clark in the lead. This is the type of film that comes off as really bad parody, like something "The Carol Burnett Show" might have done to indicate how ridiculous the concept is. In the first scene, he comes to see kept mistress Josephine Dunn to tell her that he'd taking his bank account elsewhere, and she throws herself onto the couch in tears, so melodramatically that I'm surprised that the couch didn't break.

Later on, there's a party aboard a yacht where Dunn shows up to meet the younger woman (Linda Watkins) he dumped her for, and they all act like they're old friends. At Kirkwood's country estate (the only elegant thing in the film), Watkins decides that she's had enough of his nonsense and announces that she's divorcing him, resulting in a disturbing moment when he introduces her to his choice of pet, a pond full of snapping alligators that he indicates could end up having her for lunch if he chose to get rid of her that way.

Reed Howes is also part of the main plot as the observer who came to both Dunn and Watkin's defense, adding another suspect to the inevitable murder at this drunken orgy like shindig. This is hideously laughable melodrama with bad performances all around, but it's so audacious that like a bad accident, you can't look away. So many things that would be forbidden on screen only a year later are utilized, and as an overdone painting with too many colors and ugly themes. Kirkwood may not have a mustache, but he's the biggest mustache twirler outside of Dick Dasterdly and Snidely Whiplash, and an even worse actor whose mannerisms are from the Tod Slaughter school of emoting.
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