Reviews

Love triangles, high society, tortured lovers: all the stuff I hate wrapped up into one crappy movie.

"The Age of Innocence" is one of those mushy romances that romanticizes infidelity and selfish behavior in the name of love. The movie in which the man tells the woman that conformity is bad, doing what's right is cowardice, and casting aside social mores is freedom.

Newland Archer (John Boles) was engaged to May Welland (Julie Haydon) some time in the late 19th century when engagements lasted a year and people were more innocent. Or as Slick Rick put it: "Once upon a time not long ago when people wore pajamas and lived life slow. When laws were stern and justice stood and people were behavin' like they ought to, good."

That was the era, and Newland and May were so in love. They couldn't wait to tie the knot, but they had to wait because both of them were decent folks not looking to upset the apple cart.

Then along came a bogey. May had a cousin named Ellen (Irene Dunne) who was seeking a divorce from her husband. The way the women in her family spoke it was as if she was looking to have him murdered, divorce was such a no-no. Ellen was the black sheep of the family. She came from Europe where society was more liberal and her behavior reflected it.

Well, wouldn't you know it, Newland fell in love with her. She was such a woman, unlike his fiance who was beholden to familial fealty and social mores. As the slow soundtrack played Newland passionately told Ellen how her lifestyle was much better than that of high society Americans.

"When we say dignity, we mean fear of what others will say. When we say good taste, we mean glossing over the truth. When we say decency, we mean hypocrisy," he said, speaking from his limited scope.

Newland was from society where those words applied, but he spoke like it was a universal truth. And really, I don't believe he believed what was coming out of his mouth. The dude was in love by this point, he was liable to say anything. Things like, "nothing and no one in the world matters but you."

Get outta here with that. The sh-t people say when they're drooling over someone. It is so sappy and so hyperbolic. They're all trying to say how much they "love" the other person, but seeking new and inventive ways to say it. And Hollywood is trying convey a message: go after who/what you love. Don't be concerned about opinions, money, obstacles, and not even duties and responsibilities sometimes--just go after your love.

In the end Newland was a forlorn man because he had to let his love go. After making the mistake of marrying his fiance, he made the further mistake of getting her pregnant, so then he couldn't leave even if he wanted to, lest he be a real jackass. He opted to forgo his own happiness for duty, but you always got the distinct feeling that even that may not have been the right thing.

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"Waiter! Give me a plate of romance with syrup, and make it extra sappy."

"Here we are with a dish called blind date. I hope it suits your taste, it's the sappiest thing we have on the menu."

This was just another one of Hollywood's many lessons to us all, which is that blonde beauties can never be poor and loveless. They may be poor, but they definitely will have love, but by and large they will have both prosperity and love.

This sorry movie was yet another tortured beauty who has to choose between two men.

"Oh woe is me! No one has suffered as I am now. There are two great men I have to choose from and I don't know what to do!"

These movies are so pretentious and off-base because they make it seem as though no one in the world is as bad off or as tortured as the beautiful girl who has multiple suitors. And generally, one of the men plays the gentleman and gracefully steps aside for the sake of the woman's long term happiness.

Ann Sothern plays Kitty Taylor, a working girl from a poor family struggling to make ends meet. She is engaged to a working man named Bill Lowry (Paul Kelly) who is trying hard to build up his tow garage business. Like all working men in 1930s films, he is unromantic. For romance, you have to get a society man (i.e. Man with a lot of money). When Bill makes the fatal mistake of choosing to work and earn money over taking Kitty out for her birthday he essentially loses her. She hooked up on a blind date with a rich playboy named Bob Hartwell (Neil Hamilton) and Bill was no match for Bob. Bob put some smooth moves on Kitty, plus Bob had everything Bill didn't: he had money, charm, and time; all the things a woman could and would want from a man.

Caution! All working class men who have to put in many hours just to provide and many hours just to have some extra spending cash for their lady; rich boys with plenty of money, time, and charm are just waiting to take your women (for reference see "The Easiest Way," "Sinners in the Sun," "Skyscraper Souls," and others).

It wasn't even a fair fight. As much time and effort that Bill put in he lost kitty in a matter of one night. He couldn't compete with the charm and money of Bob Hartwell. Even if they tried to downplay the money angle, the money angle had everything to do with it. Without money, Bob Hartwell would not have had the time to spend with Kitty. Without money, Bob Hartwell would not have had his own driver to take he and Kitty on romantic drives. Without money, Bob couldn't have gotten Kitty a job where she could be near him. So even though the writers wrote it where Kitty truly loved Bob for himself, it was still money that allowed Bob to be Bob, and if Bill had the same amount of money that Bob had, he would've had the amount of time that Bob had to spend with Kitty as well, and he wouldn't have had to be working on Kitty's birthday.

That's one of the main reasons I can't even stomach movies like this because the message is always the same. And the 1930s had so many of these romances with society men and society women with nothing but time to play, and wine and dine, and romance. Every so often, like in "Blind Date," they would make it seem as though the society man or society woman was truly in love with the working class girl or the working class boy, when the truth is they were probably just curious and wanted to satisfy that curiosity.

So chalk this movie up to another crappy romance from the 30s where flowery talk, expensive lavish gifts, and plenty of recreational time to spend lusting over a woman wins over a guy who has limited resources and limited time to give to the woman he loves.

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What do we know about Hollywood and love? We actually know quite a bit; like love is stronger than anything, everyone has a true love, love can occur between people when they experience trauma together, and whoever the two most attractive people are on screen--they're the ones that will fall in love.

A gangster named Vincent Shelton (Edward Arnold) was released from prison to cheers and headlines. He had to let his fellow criminals down when he told them he was going straight. It's been done before (see "Picture Snatcher" (1933) or "The Little Giant" (1933)), but it's never easy.

In a set up you could see coming a mile away, a drunk rich kid named Stanton Casserly (Phillips Holmes) followed Vincent home from a club on Vince's first night of freedom. It was so out of the ordinary that I figured that A.) Stanton wasn't drunk, he was just pretending to be to get close to Vincent or B.) the writers were stretching their limited imagination in order to make a story.

It was B.

Stanton was legitimately drunk and he bizarrely followed a stranger home and even entered his house to sleep off his inebriation. It didn't make sense and it looked contrived, hence my enjoyment of the movie from then on was compromised.

I didn't know what kind of story would become of this event, but I knew one thing: he was going to fall in love with Vincent's daughter Francesca (Mary Carlisle). Just read the points I made about Hollywood and love at the beginning. Stanton and Francesca were the two most attractive people on screen.

As for how Stanton's drunken behavior unimaginatively created drama; it began with his mother and a newspaper article.

Stanton's mother, Elita Casserly (Marjorie Gateson), was set to marry a French con man named Pascal. Stanton tried his best to talk her out of it--he even showed her a telegram stating that he was a crook--but she made up her mind to sail to France and marry Pascal anyway.

Not long after Stanton's quarrel with his mother he saw Vincent's name, photo, and criminal history in the newspaper below an unrelated headline about kidnapping. That's when he came up with the idea that he'd pay Vincent to kidnap him and hold him for ransom. His mother would never leave while her baby was kidnapped, and she would pay handsomely for his safe return.

Stanton was taken to a remote cabin to hide out until Mrs. Casserly paid the ransom. Remember how I said that Stanton and Francesca had to fall in love? Guess who happened to be staying not too far from that remote cabin. Ah, yes. Francesca. She was staying with two old folks called Ma (Jane Darwell) and Pop (Spencer Charters). She met Stanton at a stream and you can guess the rest.

Even though I knew they would fall in love, I wasn't prepared for Francesca to be so deep in love after a few days that she'd risk her own life and safety for Stanton.

When Vincent's foes found out about his kidnapping scheme, they had plans to cut in on it themselves. There was no way they could've known about the kidnapping, but with one frayed string of evidence they were able to knit a full quilt. The deduction skills of people in the 30's was uncanny. Criminals and detectives alike only needed the smallest shred of tenuous evidence to figure things out when it was needed to advance the plot. As a result, they kidnapped Stanton and Francesca with plans to get the ransom money for themselves. They didn't know who Francesca was, but they knew who Stanton was.

Vincent found out where they were being held and arranged to see the two of them. He feigned not knowing who Francesca was so that he could get her to safety, but here is where the bafflingly deep love connection came into play.

"I won't leave without him," she said defiantly. "No. I'm in love with Stan."

Ugh! Stupid young girls frustrate me.

It's not like she's known this guy for years, or even months, and she knew nothing about him! She just found out that he roped her dad into a fake kidnapping plot and somehow that wasn't a red flag. Furthermore, it wasn't like she could do anything to help him. All she could do was die by his side, or be a hindrance because he'd have her to worry about.

Fran stayed in the cellar with Stan while her father cooked up a scheme that involved their kidnappers taking them to be married--and that's what they did.

Who writes this nonsense?

The movie ended with Stan and Fran happily married, Stan's mother sans Pascal, and Vince taking down his rivals even though it cost him his own life. If the story had been better written the ending would've been more appreciated. It wasn't and it wasn't.

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If there was one thing that most early movies suffered from, it is being too elementary. It wasn't that they followed a basic formula, because we have that today, it was that they made things too obvious: the lessons learned, what a person was feeling, if a person was lying or not, who was good, who was bad, who would be reformed, who would be punished, etc. Sure, there were some movies that did follow that pattern, but they were rare. For the most part things were didactically spelled out.

And the women they created. I've seen cardboard cutouts with more dimensions and individuality.

"The Defense Rests" stars Jack Holt as Matthew Mitchell, a lawyer for the guilty who never lost. He could get anyone and everyone off, and he did. He didn't even like his clients, but they paid well and they got him more publicity.

If Matthew was to be the hero though, he'd have to have a change of heart about the way he did business. As it was he was unethical, and an unethical lawyer couldn't be the protagonist.

In steps Joan Hayes, played by the weak-voiced Jean Arthur. She would be Matthew's moral compass.

Joan began her relationship with Mitchell as a sycophant. She practically worshiped Mitchell. She became a lawyer because of him and she wouldn't work for any lawyer but him. Mitchell wasn't in the market for new employees, but she was pretty and she gassed him up with enough flowery speech that he couldn't help but hire her.

Joan would find that the emperor had no clothes. The man she revered resorted to lies and cheap tricks to win his cases.

Say it ain't so.

She stuck with him out of some strange sense of loyalty, or maybe even love. She drew the line, though, when he agreed to represent Cooney (John Wray), a suspected kidnapper and child-killer. She tendered her resignation which Mitchell rejected. His rejection of her resignation was odd being that having someone so principled in his office could easily be his undoing.

The move would come back to haunt him. Joan went on a side quest to unravel a case Mitchell had recently won. Once she had enough evidence to bury her boss, she presented it to him. She stated that she would go to the DA with what she had and get him disbarred and/or arrested. Mitchell's response was pretty much, "bring it on!" He was cocky enough and good enough to withstand whatever some little rookie came at him with.

Joan's response was pitiful. She was so enamored with her idol that she broke down crying and stated that she'd have to go to jail with him if she turned him in. She was in such awe of him she surmised that she couldn't leave his side, even if she sent him to prison. Her behavior was nauseating.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Evans (Sarah Padden)--the mother of the boy who was killed--killed herself in Mitchell's office. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting her son's killer off, so she shot and killed herself in his office to either change his mind, or bring negative publicity down on him.

Mission accomplished.

Mitchell had a change of heart and figured out a way to have Cooney convicted without him throwing the case or stepping down. It was too blissful, especially for Joan Hayes. Her idol had turned out to be praiseworthy after all.

But there still remained that matter of the evidence she had regarding another case that could get him sent to prison.

No worries. Only two people could testify on that evidence: Gentry (Robert Gleckler) and Joan. As for Gentry, he'd been killed. As for Joan, she proposed to marry her celebrity crush which meant she couldn't testify against him. Everyone wins except the viewer.

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"Chained" was a very basic, run-of-the-mill romance. I think they thought that they could get away with such blandness just because Gable and Crawford starred in it.

Joan Crawford played Diane Lovering, a woman dating her boss, Richard Field (Otto Kruger), a married man. He wanted to marry her, and he would if his wife would grant him a divorce. When his wife flatly refused to grant him a divorce he told Diane that he was sorry it was over. Diane said that it didn't have to be. In other words: she would go on being his mistress.

Richard was a smart man. I guess him being older made all the difference. He told her not to make the decision right then, but to go away for a while to think, then come back with a decision.

The script just wrote itself from then on. I already guessed what was going to happen and sometimes I hate when I'm right.

My guess: she'd travel, fall in love despite her best efforts not to, become emotionally conflicted, then decide on the new love.

Just like all movies when a woman goes somewhere alone or is left alone by her significant other, Diane was swept off her feet by another man (for reference see "Man of the World" (1931), "Transgression" (1931), "It Happened One Night" (1934) and many others). How quickly the woman will fall in love with a new man all depends on how long she will be alone. If it's a day, she'll fall in love in hours; if it's a month, it'll take her days, etc.

Diane fell in love with Michael Bradley (Clark Gable).

Naturally.

He put on a full court press. He didn't go for mushy romance, he went for the fun angle ala Leonardo Di Caprio in "Titanic" or most poor men when they want to sweep a woman off her feet. You see, wealthy men go for wining, dining, and sweet words while working class men go for showing a woman how to have fun and how to really laugh.

As could be predicted, Diane was emotionally conflicted, but being with Mike felt right. Now she only needed to tell Richard. She decided that she'd go back to New York to tell him face to face.

Here is where I was able to correctly predict things again.

I figured that Richard had to be divorced by the time Diane got back because that would create a true quandary. If Richard was still married, Diane could leave him and feel OK about it. If Richard was divorced and free to marry Diane, well then she'd have an issue.

As I predicted, Richard was divorced. Diane was still going to break the news to him that she found someone else, but he wouldn't let her. He simply wouldn't let her speak and she ended up marrying him out of some sense of duty. We all know that anything done out of a sense of duty will not yield happiness like doing something out of love.

My next prediction was that she'd get a divorce and run away with Mike.

I was right, but it didn't go down the way I expected.

Mike came to New York and just so happened to run into Diane (wink wink). Mike was still single and in love a year later. Just seeing Mike brought all of Diane's suppressed feelings to the surface, but what was she to do?

She and Richard were scheduled to take a trip in the next day or two. Diane asked Richard if they could take their trip even earlier. It was the universal 1930's female signal for "I don't trust myself so let's get out of here" (for reference see "A Lost Lady" (1934), "He Was Her Man" (1934), "The Key" (1934) and others). If a woman says, "Please take me with you," or "Let's get away now," or "Please don't go," they all mean the same thing: there's a man lurking that I have feelings for and if I stay here any longer I will give in to those feelings.

I thought that Richard was going to do what every other husband or sweetheart has done--tell her that plans can't be changed--but he fooled me. I think he sensed what I sensed so he said "Sure, let's leave at dawn."

Well, dawn didn't come quick enough because Mike paid them both a visit before they could leave. He told Diane he was going to have it out with Richard for her. "The matter doesn't concern you," he told Diane like many men used to say back then. It was funny to see two men arguing or fighting over a woman and totally ignoring her wishes at the same time. But, just like every case, she remains a silent partner in her own affair.

Mike and Richard never got around to discussing Diane. Richard knew why Mike was there and he made every effort to avoid the discussion. He poured on the nice and courteous routine so thick that Mike would've felt like a heel if he broached the topic of stealing his wife. So, Mike decided to leave without saying a word.

After Mike was gone, Richard told Diane that he knew all about Mike. He knew that she had found someone when she came back by the way she was acting, but he dared not give her the opportunity to mention it. He was too afraid to hear the truth so he bumrushed her with a proposal and everything else at his disposal to make her forget about Mike and remember the thing they had. It worked, but he only had half a wife and he knew it. The other half belonged to Mike, hence Richard let her go.

How Diane eventually got back to Mike was a little more circuitous than I'd expected, but I definitely expected her to live happily ever after with Mike. So, even though they added a tiny wrinkle, this was still a standard 1930's romance.

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A few things need to be noted before reviewing this movie.

1.) This was a political movie.

2.) Shirley Temple had about five minutes of screen time.

3.) Stepin Fetchit had about five minutes of screen time.

A man named Lawrence Cromwell (Warner Baxter) was selected by the POTUS to be Secretary of Amusement, a new position created in order to help people forget about the Depression. Already that gave me pause. The government would much rather spend $100M to entertain people in hopes that they'd forget about being poor and jobless, instead of putting that money to programs that would remedy their poverty and joblessness. There was even a musical number in which all of these poor folks in hopeless situations were singing about how they're "laughin'" even in their state "so can you."

"I'm laughin' with a dozen kids that I have to feed. So if I can laugh while I'm in need, sister so can you."

Laughin' with a mortgage around my neck.

Laughin' while I'm in the snow and sleet pounding the pavement.

Laughin' in my sweat and grime.

And on and on until Aunt Jemima (yes, like the syrup), played by Tess Gardella, was singing about laughin' while in her bandana and servants' clothing.

Where's the face-palm emoji?

Here's the deal: I don't disagree with the message in principle, I just disagree with the chosen messenger (ie the government). I don't care to hear the government telling me don't worry and be happy, I'll go to Bobby McFerrin for that. I want the government to tell me how and when they will get the country out of its bad economic situation.

In this movie the government decided to try to distract people with amusement while they figured things out. The Secretary of Amusement, Cromwell, employed a bunch of assistant secretaries to find talent throughout the country. He hired Mary Adams (Madge Evans) to find child acts. You would think that that's how we got to see Shirley Temple, but no. Shirley Temple was tossed in the middle with James Dunn to do a song and dance number. Besides a scene she was in before her routine, that's all we saw of her.

We also saw Stepin Fetchit. There isn't a movie that he's in except it's discredited. Stepin Fetchit was such a degrading character persona. His real name was Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry, but he went by Stepin Fetchit. His whole act was a whiny, slow, dimwitted man who personified some of the worst stereotypes about Black men. He's an embarrassment to watch.

I don't blame him. I don't blame him at all. He was just doing what society allowed him to do. I blame systemic racism for the Stepin Fetchits, Fred 'Snowflake' Toones, Oscar Smiths, blackface, and the mammies. They refused to see or portray Black people any other way.

So, while it was a downer that we only got to see about five minutes of Shirley Temple, it was a downer that we had to see any of Stepin Fetchit at all.

Had "Stand Up and Cheer" dispensed with government involvement in entertainment, gave us more Shirley Temple and no Stepin Fetchit, then the movie would've been so much better.

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Sometimes I think these movies intentionally try to annoy me. Even when they have a good thing going they'll do something to muck it all up just to get under my skin. "Red Haired Alibi" waited until the end to be irksome.

It began with a mercurial guy named Trent Travers (Theodore von Eltz) meeting and employing a woman named Lynn Monith (Merna Kennedy). A condition of her employment was that she had to mostly keep her mouth shut. Lynn didn't have sense enough to ask anymore questions, but I would think that any job requiring you to "keep your trap closed" is a job you shouldn't take. Lynn and I didn't have the same upbringing, so she took the well-paying job.

Predictably, the job landed her in hot water. Trent killed a rival named Morgan (John Vosper) then gave the gun to Lynn to throw away. He also wanted her to alibi him by telling the police that he was in Cleveland instead of in New York CIty where the murder took place. Lynn did all of that then skipped town. She was done with Trent and his criminal lifestyle.

She went to White Plains, NY where she met up with Bob Shelton (Grant Withers), a man she'd already crossed paths with before. Bob needed a nanny and Lynn needed a job; it was perfect. Bob got an attractive red-headed nanny, and his daughter Gloria (Shirley Temple) got a surrogate mother. Eventually, Bob and Lynn fell in love and got married. Things couldn't have been more perfect, but you knew that Trent would enter the picture again at some point.

Trent spotted Lynn days, weeks, or months after she had split from him. He saw her at the train station in New York City then followed her home. From this point on the movie was a sh-t show.

Trent demanded $10,000 from Lynn. He had been on the lam for a while now and was all out of dough. I figured that he'd threaten to tell her husband about her and that she'd be so afraid of him leaving her that she'd give Trent the money. It was a regular trick used back then, however lame. But that's not what happened. He made a vague threat which I couldn't interpret, but Lynn interpreted it as he was going to kill her husband. A scary threat, yes, but a stupid one too. Lynn was the only person who could definitively place Trent at the scene of the crime. She had been quiet up until this point, so why would he upset the apple cart? Lynn was holding all the cards.

What Lynn should've done was flip the script and gave Trent an ultimatum. "Get out of this house. Leave me and my family alone, and I won't talk to the police," is what she should've said. Instead, she agreed to meet him and give him the $10,000.

She met Trent at a hotel in White Plains. Trent was feeling really good about himself, as though he was in the driver's seat. Instead of just wanting $10,000 to stay hidden, he wanted some of Lynn too. She meekly refused to entertain his fancies and she told him that she didn't even have the $10,000 either. She said she couldn't get that kind of money without arousing her husband's suspicions.

At this point Trent threatened to call the police.

"Huh? Why in the world would HE be calling the police?" is what you should be asking just as I was.

He said that he would tell the police that she handled the gun that killed Morgan.

Really!? Surely, he must be bluffing. Did he really plan to call the police and try to convince them that Lynn committed the murder? He may as well had handed himself over to the cops because that's what it would amount to.

Lynn should've seen this as either a bluff or a suicidal move on Trent's part, but instead she saw it as a legitimate threat to her freedom and/or marriage.

When Trent got on the phone (to the police oddly enough), Lynn pulled out a gun and shot him. Or so we thought. It turns out that she missed Trent at point blank range and some third party outside the window shot Trent in the back AT THE EXACT SAME TIME Lynn pulled the trigger.

The whole scenario was absurd. To begin with, Lynn should've gone to the police herself to protect her family. She should've at least used the threat of the police to back Trent off of her being that she was the only person who'd protected Trent's dumbass AND was the only one who could put him away. However, she went to meet with him anyway and decided that killing him was the only option. The writers made it so she shot AT him, but we were led to believe she shot him due to the highly improbable scenario which was her shooting at the EXACT same time as some mysterious figure off camera.

I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit.

Trent was needed for drama, I get that, but sometimes writers try to be so clever that they look dumb in the process. In their efforts to be creative they overlook the simple things. If they were to run some of these ideas by an average person, a lot of times they'd see their mistakes. All they have to do is run the idea by an average Joe or Joanna and answer their questions. If the writer can't answer the simple questions, then rewrite it. If the writer can answer the questions, then put the answers in the script, but in a way that is seamless .

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I never thought I would hate a Shirley Temple movie so much. I was irrationally angry at this movie. I absolutely hated it from about the 45-minute mark on. It ceased to be entertaining and began to be rage bait.

Before a little over halfway through "Baby Take a Bow" everything was fine. Eddie Ellison (James Dunn) was released from Sing Sing, he married his sweetheart Kay (Claire Trevor), and he lived a straight life. Five years later he had a decent job, an apartment, and a little girl: Shirley Ellison (she just about always goes by Shirley with just the last name being different each movie). This was one of the rare movies where Shirley Temple had two parents.

Things were going so well for Eddie that his boss, Mr. Carson (Richard Tucker), told him that he could stop being a driver and work in his factory. The driving job would go to Eddie's pal Larry Scott (Ray Walker).

Eddie and Larry had two pending problems:

1.) Their association with Trigger Stone (Ralf Harolde).

2.) A detective named Welch (Alan Dinehart).

Eddie and Larry were no longer crooks so they didn't hang around Trigger anymore, however Trigger came to them when he was in a jam with some stolen property. It was a ridiculous insertion of drama like the writers were fresh out of ideas. Eddie and Larry shooed Trigger away, but that wasn't the last they'd see of him.

As for Welch, he couldn't be easily dismissed. He was a cop who had a hard on for Eddie because he wanted to marry Kay. Welch was just waiting for Eddie to make a mistake so that he could send him back to prison. When Trigger stole a pearl necklace from Mr. Carson, that gave Welch the chance he needed to ruin Eddie's life.

He went to Mr. Carson, informed him that Eddie and Larry were ex-cons, and informed him that he suspected the two of the theft. Welch proceeded to aggressively question the two in front of Mr. Carson which yielded nothing but Eddie and Larry's termination. Welch was convinced that Eddie and Larry were dirty, but he had no proof.

Then the movie fell off the rails. Stupidity and lack of ingenuity became the order of the day for "Baby Take a Bow." There were a series of absurdities that gradually sent me over the edge.

First; Trigger gave Shirley a stolen necklace to hold while she was on the street playing.

I have to say that Shirley's parents were waaaaaaaay to trusting and lax with Shirley's whereabouts. Several times she was by herself; on the stoop, buying ice cream, in the house, etc. I know it was the 1930's, but you can't tell me that back then they had that little concern for the safety of their five-year-old?

And this wasn't the first time Trigger approached Shirley while she was by herself. He was caught chatting with her before, when he asked Eddie to hold his hot merchandise. That should've been the last time as well. From then on my daughter wouldn't have been outside except under a watchful eye.

OK. This is just a small blip, nothing to get excited about. Sure, it is an absurd plot device, but let's see where it goes. He could've hid the necklace any number of places, but he chose to give it to a five-year-old girl. Make that make sense.

Second: Shirley put the pearls into her father's coat pocket.

After Trigger gave Shirley the pearls, she took the pearls upstairs to show her father. Eddie was busy looking through the want ads and had no time to pay attention to her. It was incompatible with the rest of the movie--the fact he couldn't give his daughter a moment of his time. Every other time she wanted his attention she easily got it, but now, when his attention is most needed, he couldn't give the girl five seconds of his time.

She wanted to play hide-and-seek with the pearls which, I suppose, a five-year-old girl could want to play. She put the pearls in Eddie's pocket without him noticing at all, and instructed him to find them. He was so engrossed in chatting with Larry that he didn't see his daughter, feel the pearls, or hear her tell him to find them-- which brings up another problem: what if something happened to her on the street? She had just come from outside where NO ONE was watching her. If he was that preoccupied, something could've happened to Shirley and he wouldn't have had a clue! As it was, a criminal pulled her aside and gave her stolen jewels without anyone noticing; what if he kidnapped her?

Now my blood was starting to percolate a bit. This was one more implausible thing stacked on another.

Third: Welch came into Eddie's home to search him and his place.

I know that felons have fewer rights, and maybe in New York they don't have a right to a warranted search. HOWEVER... They also don't have a right to not be intruded upon by a cop? A cop can just walk into a guy's house because he has a record??

And it didn't stop there. Besides searching through Eddie's private property, he was destroying stuff, and eating Eddie's food! Worst of all, he was questioning Shirley, a five-year-old, while Eddie was still in the living room.

That part is as much on Eddie as it is on Welch. I can't believe he didn't draw the line with a crooked cop questioning his little girl. It was a wonder if Eddie even knew where his daughter was at any given time.

Now I'm frothing at the mouth. I'm outraged. It's taking all my will power just to continue watching. It would be bearable if it was funny, but IT. WAS. NOT. FUNNY.

Fourth: Eddie can't think straight.

By the time Welch was questioning Shirley in HER ROOM behind a closed door, Eddie had discovered the pearls in his coat pocket. Instead of... I don't know... putting them back in his pocket, he freaked out and couldn't figure out what to do with them.

He eventually hid them in the coffee pot, which became a comedy because Welch helped himself to some coffee and Eddie was worried about them spilling out. He got a chance to remove them from the coffee pot and finally hid them in the carpet sweeper, which was then borrowed by the neighbor, who dumped the contents into the trash outside.

I was freaking out at this point. I wanted to insert sanity and rationality into this movie so badly, yet I sat there, powerless to do anything. I just sat with this impotent fury as I watched this movie devolve into something totally illogical.

Fifth: Eddie allowed his daughter to be alone with a criminal and she had access to sharp objects.

Trigger made his way back to Eddie's place looking for his stolen pearls. Trigger had Eddie at gunpoint and was asking for the pearls. Shirley was God-knows-where at this time. Eddie was able to get the drop on Trigger and tie him up. He then left him in the apartment while he went out to find Larry.

Why did he need to find Larry? Who the hell knows, but get this; Shirley comes back home from her latest adventure to find Trigger tied up on the floor.

"Are you playing the game too?" she asked, because having a grown man tied up on the kitchen floor is totally normal in her world.

"Of course I am... now go on and find something to cut me loose," Trigger answered.

Now I'm yelling, "Go ahead Shirley, cut him loose! I'm sure you can find a good chainsaw because clearly your parents don't care what you do and who you're with!"

First she grabbed a saw.

A SAW!!!!

This five-year-old was able to readily get a saw! I have adult kids and I don't think they could tell you where a saw is!! Why? Because I don't keep saws lying around that's why.

When the thief saw the saw he told her to get a knife, and she EASILY found a knife; and not just any knife. She found Norman Bates' knife that he used to carve up Marian Crane in the movie "Psycho."

Shirley then went on to deftly cut Trigger free which gave him the opportunity to escape and use her as a hostage/shield.

Of course, everything turned out fine. Eddie knocked out Trigger and grabbed his daughter while the police rushed in to make the arrest. On top of that, Eddie was assured that he'd get his job back, Shirley was told she'd get the $5,000 reward for finding the necklace, and Welch was told he was never to bother Eddie ever again. It was a happy ending, but I was already too far gone. I couldn't stomach the sequence of events. The last fifteen minutes was me barely holding on just so I could finish. But what upsets me the most is that they made me hate a Shirley Temple movie. Not cool.

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"Crime Without Passion" was a movie with a wonderful plot. If only the movie had one major character I liked then it would've been so much better. Lee Gentry, Carmen Brown, and Katy Costello all ranged from despicable to forgettable.

Lee Gentry (played by Claude Rains) was the main character. He was a Clarence Darrow type attorney. Like Darrow he gave long-winded closing arguments, he won cases that were sure losers, and he even referred to himself as the "Champion of the Damned." Clarence Darrow was known as the "Attorney for the Damned." Also like Darrow, Gentry's weakness was women. He wasn't satisfied with just one.

The two women in Gentry's life were Carmen Brown (played by Margo) and Katy Costello (played by Whitney Bourne). Katy told Gentry that he'd better cut off his relationship with Carmen or she was walking. Gentry was such a coward and a user that he couldn't simply break up with Carmen, he had to conjure up an entire scenario to make it seem like he was leaving her because she was seeing another man.

Carmen was the type of woman who was not easy to get rid of, and the perception was that Gentry was the reason. He loved to talk and his lawyer mind was so sharp he could convince her that night was day and day was night. So, even though Carmen was miserable when she was with Gentry, she also couldn't do without him.

Gentry thought he had made a clean break from Carmen until she called him and threatened to kill herself. He went over to her place to presumably stop her, but he only further inflamed her. Then, in movie fashion, there was a fight for a gun and Carmen was shot. Gentry wiped down everything and began formulating an alibi. From that point on he was in full self-preservation mode. Gentry went from being in control of everything and everyone to being out of control.

I liked the storyline and how the events unfolded in "Crime Without Passion," I just didn't like Gentry, and he dominated the film. He was so pompous, underhanded, and insulting that I just wanted to punch a hole in his face. Yeah, he may have gotten his just desserts in the end, but I still had to suffer through too much of him for too long.

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After two very good Shirley Temple starred movies, I've come across a dud. I always thought that Shirley Temple could do no wrong. I believed that there was no script she couldn't bring to life, and no movie that she couldn't shine in. I hate to say that "Now and Forever" produced a script that even the adorable Shirley Temple couldn't save. It was more adult themed than the other two I watched and far more sappy.

"Now and Forever" starred Gary Cooper, Carole Lombard, and Shirley Temple. I think Gary Cooper is a stiff, but Carole Lombard and Shirley Temple are more than enough to sneak a Gary Cooper by unnoticed.

Gary Cooper played Jerry Day, a small-time hustler who did small cons and grifts just to get by. Accompanying him was his wife, Toni Day (Carole Lombard). The two had spent three years together bouncing from place to place, staying ahead of bill collectors and the law.

Unbeknownst to Toni, Jerry had a daughter: Penelope 'Penny' Day (Shirley Temple). Her mother had passed away and she lived with Jerry's ex-inlaws. Jerry saw the opportunity to cash in on his estranged daughter. He would allow his BIL, James Higginson (Gilbert Emery), to adopt Penny for $75,000. Toni didn't like that idea at all, but Jerry was going to go forward with it anyway until he spent a little time with Penny. There was no way he could give up someone so tiny and cute, so he decided that he'd raise her.

With a small child in the mix Toni wanted Jerry to go straight. It wouldn't be fair to Penny for him to be lying, cheating, and stealing while raising a daughter. He generally kept that promise until things got too tight. With that he decided to steal Mrs. Crane's (Charlotte Granville) necklace to fence it. Jerry hadn't planned on stealing Mrs. Crane's necklace, the opportunity just presented itself.

She was throwing a party for Penny at her mansion when Jerry saw the expensive jewelry just laying on her dresser. When he took it he hid the necklace in Penny's teddy bear. Mrs. Crane noticed the necklace was missing at some point during the party and phoned the police. When the police came over to search all of Mrs. Crane's guests (even the children), they found nothing.

It was at this point that the movie became overly sappy.

Jerry was putting Penny to bed for the night when she said that if she were the detective she would simply ask, "Mr. Day, did you steal the necklace? And you must answer."

Jerry just gave an, "Oh," as in "Wow. That's pretty forward."

Penny replied with, "Well?" to show that she was really questioning him.

"Well what dear?" Jerry asked, hoping that she wasn't wanting a real answer to her question.

"Well. You must answer. Did you steal that necklace?" Penny doubled down, not letting the matter go. At this point I thought the writers were really pushing it for a six-year-old's behavior.

"No, I didn't steal it," Jerry answered shakily.

"Honor bright?" Penny asked.

"Honor bright" was a term she got from her late mother that amounted to a deep oath or promise. If the questioner believed that the answerer may not have been telling the truth, then "honor bright" was a way to ascertain that.

"Ha ha. You're a funny one," Jerry answered evasively and began to walk out. He didn't want to be pinned down with "honor bright," and if he was getting up to leave, then she, as a child, should recognize that the conversation was over.

Not so this child.

"No! You must answer! That's the whole point!" Penny snapped.

Now she was deadly serious. Far more serious than any six-year-old should be about a matter unless she really believed her father stole the necklace. If she did believe he may have stolen the necklace it brings up another matter: why would she believe such a thing? Jerry hadn't done anything to give her the impression he was a thief. I can't imagine suspecting my mom or dad of stealing something so valuable when I was five or six, especially when there were so many other people in the house who could've stolen it.

Once more she asked, "Honor bright?" to which Jerry responded, "Honor bright," thereby satisfying the junior detective.

Later, after Jerry left, Penny found the necklace in her teddy bear and she was devastated. She was so utterly crushed she cried all night and into the next morning. She was inconsolable and I couldn't help but think, "Really!? You're bawling your eyes out that much because you believe your dad lied to you about a necklace? You really just jumped from totally believing your dad to disbelieving him that quickly?" It was so sappy. I tend to give Shirley Temple a lot of leeway with her characters' behavior because she's so adorable, but I couldn't this time.

When she told Toni why she was crying, Toni took the wrap for the necklace being in the teddy bear, but it was clear now what Jerry had to do. He had to get the necklace back. At this point he had to get it back to save his relationship with Toni who was going to leave him for lying; his relationship with Penny was now safe since she believed that Toni was the thief.

Naturally, he got the necklace back and all was right with the world, but the whole thing left me disappointed. The writers really forced this one. It was a good message and all that, but I've seen afterschool specials with more tact and less sap. Shirley Temple still reigns as the cutest kid, but they didn't do her any favors with this script.

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"Woman in the Dark" was too much like "Straight is the Way" (1934) and it was too contrived. For reference, in "Straight is the Way," Franchot Tone played an ex-con who had to mind his P's and Q's to keep from going back to prison, except trouble found him. The main progenitor of the trouble was a woman (played by Gladys George).

In "Woman in the Dark," John Bradley (Ralph Bellamy) is an ex-con who served time for manslaughter. He had punched a man who fell and hit his head and died. He was advised to keep his anger in check and stay out of fights if he wanted to avoid being a recidivist.

He traveled back to Denton, N. Y., a small city where he could largely stay away from problems. But, as expected, problems found him.

The first problem was the sheriff's daughter Helen Grant (Nell O'Day). She was a bothersome young woman who had a crush on John. Just her being there was a problem for him because the sheriff was sure to be on his butt if he knew his daughter was with him.

The second problem was Louise Loring (Fay Wray). She stumbled to his doorstep in the middle of a storm bringing her drama with her. Her drama came in the form of Tony Robson (Melvyn Douglas), a rich playboy of nebulous means but considerable influence. He wanted Louise back and he would play dirty to get her back.

Louise was not quite a prostitute, but far from a wife--to borrow from the clean version of the rap song "Dopeman" by NWA. Louise was pretty much bought and paid for by Robson so she had to be his woman. She didn't want to be, but he tricked her into taking large sums of money from him which meant that she was indebted to him.

Now Louise was in John's home trying to flee Robson. It couldn't have been a worse situation for John. He had openly stated that women were nothing but trouble. His first prison stint was due to Helen and his chivalry. He had a jaded outlook on women--which was a sure sign that he was going to fall in love with one.

When Tony Robson and his underling, Conroy (Reed Brown Jr.), came to John's place (the second time), Conroy shot Louise's dog which was trying to protect her. The dog was merely barking, it hadn't lunged at anyone.

I think we can all agree that a warrantless dog killer is a bad guy. Well, John slugged Conroy as payment for his deed.

This is where it got a little too contrived.

Conroy, after being punched by John, fell and hit his head on the brick fireplace. My thoughts were, "You can't be serious. AGAIN!" First of all, deaths in that manner were common in the 30's. I know I've seen at least a few other movies in which a guy was punched, fell, hit his head and died. I can only think of "The Life of Jimmy Dolan" (1933), but I know I've seen it in other movies as well.

Second of all, what are the chances that John would kill TWO people by punching them? It was too coincidental.

In this case Conroy didn't die, but the next time we saw him he was bandaged up and near death. John's newest nemesis, Robson (the guy who wanted Louise), swore a warrant out for John Bradley's arrest to get rid of him. So, just like that, after being home only a day or two, John was a fugitive. How he was going to be cleared of this crime was all that was pending.

Everything ended neatly enough. John and Louise became romantically involved although we were spared the oaths of undying love after one night of knowing each other. Louise then did what she had to do to absolve John of any wrongdoing (including going back to Robson which caused the classic misunderstanding scene). That led everyone back to Robson's place where they found a conscious Conroy who told the cops that it was Robson who'd tried to kill him, not John. Even with the happy ending, I didn't find the movie compelling enough to care. Fay Wray just didn't do it for me, and nor did Ralph Bellamy for that matter. This movie lacked any life or pizzazz. Everyone went through the motions and said their lines then the movie ended.

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"Lady by Choice" stars two fabulous females from the early-30's--May Robson and Carole Lombard--however they couldn't quite save this one. The movie was on one story arc then jumped the tracks to another arc which ended with the woman-forgoing-wealth-to-prove-she-loves-the-man cliche.

It began as a feel good story. An old drunkard named Patricia Patterson (May Robson) was sent to an old folks home to keep her and society safe from her drunkenness. She would enter the life of Alabam Lee (Carole Lombard) when Alabam adopted Patty as a publicity stunt. Everyone has heard of adults adopting children, but who ever heard of adults adopting parents? It was shaping up to be a heartwarming story of two women being there for each other and providing the other with what she didn't have--a mother for Alabam and a daughter for Patty.

Then they introduced a romance.

A romance, regardless of how tender, sweet, and loveable, was going to ruin the movie. What I thought was going to be more like "Whom the Gods Destroy" in which a man helps his son without telling him he's his father, wound up being more like a common romance of that era. I wasn't expecting it to be about Patty being Alabam's real mom, I was just hoping that the two could be instrumental in each other's lives without it detouring to a romance. In other words; "Whom the Gods Destroy" was about a man helping his son achieve his dreams without the introduction of a love interest, while "Lady by Choice" was about a woman initially helping her assumed daughter try to achieve a dream, but then morphed into the woman (Patty) helping her assumed daughter get the man she loved as though that were a more appropriate dream.

Alabam had gone broke and needed money. She tried to do it Patty's way by working hard at becoming a legitimate entertainer and not an erotic dancer, but she couldn't make it. She dared not go back to her crooked manager, Kendall (Arthur Hohl), and she wasn't going to act or shake a tail feather for the money. She was going to find a wealthy man to dig gold from. For that she eyed Johnny Mills (Roger Pryor), a nice lawyer who treated Patty like she was his own mother.

Alabam had Johnny wrapped around her little finger. Eventually, as was expected, she had a change of heart. She legitimately fell in love with Johnny and wanted to marry him, however there were forces that wanted to keep them apart. Johnny's mother and Patty wanted to keep the gold digging Alabam away from Johnny. What they didn't know was that Alabam was truly in love with Johnny, but the ball to separate them had already been put in motion. The two women had gotten Judge Daly (Walter Connolly) involved. He had a suspended sentence on Alabam in his back pocket that he could wield over her to get her to leave Johnny alone.

The trite thing I didn't like about this romance was something they did a lot back then. For a woman to show she's truly good and that she's truly in love she has to forgo any wealth. That means she has to opt to marry the man even if he is or is going to be broke (e.g. Cut off from his inheritance or allowance, lost his job, stock market crash, etc.) or she has to return any gifts she may have received from another man. Both actions prove she's in love and worthy of marriage and happiness. It's a tired play that 1930's Hollywood kept rerunning.

Essentially the woman has to torture herself to prove her worth. It doesn't matter how myopic, narrow minded, naive, pollyanna, or misguided the man may be, everything falls on the woman. She has to prove her worth. The guy could've been pursuing her like a bloodhound, but somehow it will always turn around to her having to prove that she's worthy of his love.

One of the most common methods is for her to prove that she doesn't want his wealth (or even her own wealth in some cases) because that seems to have been the biggest knock on women of that era. I've seen it in "The Easiest Way," "The Girl from Missouri," "Gambling Lady," "Shopworn," "You Can't Buy Everything," and so many other movies. They all involved women twisting themselves into knots to prove they weren't gold diggers. In all cases the light would be seen and the two would be brought harmoniously together. If you've seen it once you've seen it a thousand times. It sucked to see "Lady By Choice" turn into the same kind of movie.

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Early Hollywood was infatuated with sin and ladies. So many movie titles had "sin" or "lady" in them. In fact, one of my favorite movies was "Lady for a Day" (1933). Conversely, one of my least favorite movies was "Ladies of Leisure" (1930). "A Lost Lady" is going to end up ranking somewhere near the bottom.

"A Lost Lady" was essentially about a woman of questionable emotional intelligence who makes one relationship mistake after another and makes herself the heel of the movie. I know that's not what the synopsis says, but that's what I witnessed.

The movie began with Marian Ormsby (Barbara Stanwyck) engaged to Ned Montgomery (Phillip Reed), a man she was deeply in love with. At their own engagement party a strange man entered their home and asked Montgomery if he'd been seeing his wife. The man then produced a cigarette case and asked Montgomery if it was his, to which he replied in the negative.

Marian had a few options here. A.) She could've been perceptive, realized that the strange man was a threat, and stayed quiet. B.) She could've been perceptive, realized that the strange man was a threat, and also denied that the cigarette case was her fiance's. C.) She could've blurted out to her fiance, "This is your cigarette case. It's the one I gave you."

She chose C and her fiance was summarily shot and killed by the stranger. I know what you're saying: "How was that her fault?" and I'm not saying it was. I'm just establishing her low social IQ and what was her first relationship. She was totally in love with a philanderer AND she inadvertently helped get him killed. In other words, Marian was quite daft.

That was Marian's first relationship.

Marian was so lost and depressed that she withdrew from society. She withdrew to her cabin in the woods somewhere on the California coastline. While walking in the woods one day she fell and injured her leg. A man named Forrester (Frank Morgan, best known as the Wizard from "The Wizard of Oz") picked her up and carried her back to her cottage. This would be the beginning of her second relationship.

Forrester was entranced by Marian even though she gave him no reason to be. She was dour and pessimistic, but all he saw was her beauty and helplessness. He remained in her company until he helped heal her leg and her psyche. By the time she was fully healthy he was in love with her, but she was not in love with him. He proposed to her and she initially rejected it on the basis that she was not in love with him.

As he was about to leave her life forever she stopped him.

"Wait," Marian said. "I'm going to be afraid without you." Marian was showing her selfishness, her lack of self-confidence, as well as her short-sightedness. Instead of letting Forrester go and perhaps finding a woman who would reciprocate his love, she opted to marry him to be... nice? I think she was just using Forrester emotionally. She believed that she would never love again, so being with Forrester was just as good as being with anyone else. She may as well use Forrester to comfort her and keep her company, except no one knows if or when they'll fall in love. If she fell in love with Forrester over time, then it all works out. If she fell in love with another guy--"Sorry Forrester, your time is up."

"You know I don't love you," she told Forrester, then added "I could never love anyone again."

I've heard these words before from both men and women on-screen who'd lost a lover. They're nothing but foreshadowing. No matter how deeply depressed and sorrowful they may be because of their lost lover, they invariably fall in love again.

Forrester didn't care about that at all. Another movie mistake. The man who marries a woman who doesn't love him will lose her soon enough.

"We'll have a unique kind of marriage. One that has never been done before. We'll leave the word love out entirely and substitute the word honesty," he offered, grasping at anything that would get her to marry him.

"Well what kind of life will that be for you?" Marian asked, knowing that it wouldn't be fair to him to be in an asynchronous relationship.

"I'll be incredibly happy," Forrester answered.

When someone wants a thing badly enough he doesn't care what the conditions are. In his mind he'll be happy no matter what, so long as he has that thing.

The two married and were happy. Well, Forrester was over the moon and Marian was satisfied.

While she was married to Forrester there came relationship number three. This one was a blip on the radar. This one was also asynchronous and I believe Marian handled it poorly.

Neil (Lyle Talbot), Forrester's junior partner in his law firm, was in love with Marian. Because he was a gentleman he confided in her that he was leaving the firm and the area in order to get away from her. At the very least, he didn't want to be around her; she was too much of a temptation. He loved her too much and he didn't dare covet Forrester's wife.

Again, Barbara showed her lack of sense. After Neil poured his heart out to her and said how he couldn't stand it, her response was, "I think you're a darling and it's been grand fun, but why spoil it?" as if he could control his loving her. Or as if saying that he loved her spoiled her blissful ignorance of his true feelings whenever they were together.

Neil said, "But Marian I can't go on seeing you." He meant it in the literal sense. They weren't seeing each other romantically. He didn't want to torture himself by quite literally seeing her.

Barbara's response was daft. "Oh yes you can," she responded. "Remember that marvelous old line?" she continued, " 'Their friendship rotted into love.' Now we can't let that happen to ours can we?"

Again she showed her emotional vacuity by telling a man to dismiss his feelings and keep hanging around. All she was doing was creating an awkward and tense situation. He was trying to do the right thing and she was minimizing his dilemma.

In this case it all worked out wonderfully. Neil smiled and somehow kept his feelings in check while Forrester laughed off the fact that his law partner was in love with his wife. It was a jolly triangle. Relationship number three was taken care of, even if it was handled clumsily. But then came relationship number four.

Man number four (played by Ricardo Cortez) was a man every man wanted to be and a man every woman wanted. He was strong, handsome, wealthy, bold, assertive, and took what he wanted. He made an emergency landing in his plane right in Marian's garden. The very fact he was a pilot added to his overall ruggedness and attractiveness. He got out of his plane and blithely apologized. Marian was furious. Ellinger (Ricardo Cortez) laughed it off then grabbed her and kissed her. It was chauvinistic, presumptive, and overstepping his boundaries, but in the 30's it was called being a man.

Marian pulled away and slapped him. She knew her role very well. She was expected to have such a reaction regardless if she appreciated the kiss or not. She was a lady and she was married. She skulked away from her garden upset. Or was she? We could tell that that man and that kiss remained on her mind.

It was more Hollywood relationship guidance for men. And we wonder how we got a hashtag MeToo movement.

Ellinger made himself a persistent presence. He wasn't going to let Marian forget him. When her husband,Forrester, had to go away on business and Marian begged to go with him I knew there was a problem. Whenever a woman tells her S. O. not to go somewhere or asks if she can go with him, it means she doesn't trust herself to be left alone (for reference see "The Key" (1934) or "He Was Her Man" (1934)).

Forrester went on his business trip without Marian anyway, leaving her alone to fight against Ellinger's advances. Perhaps if Forrester had known WHY she wanted to accompany him, he would've unhesitatingly taken her with him, but she kept her waverings hidden.

After Forrester was gone she let Ellinger into her home under the weakest of pretexts (she had to be a good hostess) and he continued to work on her everyday. His charm worked and she fell for him full stop. She got so sloppy and inconsiderate that she was sitting in his lap in her own yard. I know servants are meaningless peons who rich people don't have to hide anything from, but still, she was a society dame. Where was her sense of decorum and concern with appearances? She could at least respect his house.

She didn't have to marry Forrester, but she did. She claimed that she was afraid to be without him even though she didn't love him. Now that she'd found love, she was ready to throw Forrester overboard which was genuinely unfair. It was as if Forrester was simply a placeholder until she could find love again. He just filled a void. And even though she didn't love him, she did owe him fidelity. She took the vows and she was trampling all over them the whole time Forrester was out of town.

A fourth relationship Marian handled poorly.

When Forrester came back home she sorrowfully broke the news to him. You would've thought she was the most tormented woman in the world. The way she sobbed over her predicament was enough to make anyone roll their eyes.

The news was so damaging to Forrester he quite literally had a heart attack. I guess he truly believed he'd won her heart. What began as a tenuous relationship was broken by a suave, swashbuckling young man, and Forrester wasn't ready.

So we had two sufferers which would turn into three. Marian was suffering because she was torn between love and allegiance. Forrester was suffering because he lost the love of his life. Ellinger was suffering because Marian told him that she couldn't run off with him under the circumstances. Yes, she loved him, but she owed her life to Forrester, so she had to stick by him.

The movie would end with Forrester and Marian renewing their commitment.

After watching "Ladies Should Listen" I queued up "Housewife." I had already watched "A Good Dame," "Ladies They Talk About," and "Gold Diggers". I only need to watch "A Woman's Place," "Cook My Meal," and "Woman Shut Up" to get a full understanding of the female role in the 30's.

"Housewife" was too much of a rerun. A struggling married man became successful then had an affair. I can't believe they were still pitching that narrative. Just watch "No Other Woman," "Palooka," "Crooner," or any number of movies from that time period. High society men and mistresses go together like peanut butter and jelly.

William Reynolds (George Brent) was a lowly office manager at an advertising agency. His wife Nan (Ann Dvorak) was a busy and, quite frankly, mistreated housewife. She was expected to fix leaky faucets, handle calls from bill collectors, cook, clean, and raise their son. For such a small family their house was busier than Grand Central Station, which I found a tad hard to believe. A family of three was such a task that they needed a maid, which is another oddity of yesteryear. How in the world did a family that was trying to scrimp and save afford a maid??

Nan happily worked as an overly-taxed housewife while her husband refused to lift a finger. He had no time for such trivialities such as taking care of bills or repairs. He'd been so busy at work he had no energy to help.

At home William was a king. At work he was a servant. His boss, Sam Blake (Robert Barrat), shat on him like he shat on his wife. The implication was that William was simply mimicking his boss while at home. William had had enough of his boss one day when Blake cruelly dismissed him and an idea he had. With his wife's encouragement and the money she saved being a thrifty housewife he struck out on his own. He was going to create a rival ad company that was full of new ideas (aka his wife's ideas).

In little time at all William had a thriving ad company. He and his wife moved from an outhouse to a penthouse. William even had the money and clout to attract Patricia Berkeley (Bette Davis), a premier ad creator. It wasn't much later that the two were carrying on an affair. A trite, rote affair.

This movie was so hamfisted and juvenile with the story that they made William lacking in any kind of discretion or social intelligence. The message was: "Once men get money they lose all of their sense;" which may be true, but I'd expect it to take some time. Who works so hard to build something only to neglect it and what got you there immediately after attaining success? In the case of "Housewife," William did. He got a taste of success and began catting around with Patricia (Bette Davis). He was so shameless with it that he was draped over Patricia in social settings right in front of his wife!! I found that a very forced addition to the movie because if I know one thing about high society of that era it is that appearances are everything. A mistress is fine, but you never flaunt her in public in front of your own spouse. Even if he wasn't society, I'd think he'd have enough shame and decency to spare his wife seeing him making love to another woman. He was so completely stuck on Patricia that he even ignored his biggest client.

Who does that?

William and Nan were headed for divorce. Waiting in the wings were Patricia and Paul Duprey (John Halliday). They would claim each respective rebound. Nan wasn't going to give up William so easily though. She'd helped to get him where he was, so she wasn't OK with allowing Patricia to reap the crop she painstakingly planted, nurtured, and grew. I could understand the sentiment, even if her husband was a scoundrel. It's a precarious predicament to be in. On the one hand, her husband was cheating on her; on the other hand, if she granted him a divorce she'd be giving him and Patricia what they both wanted.

She finally opted for divorce when William accidently ran over his own kid. She didn't want William sticking around out of pity. In divorce court they made up and had a happy reunion while Patricia and Paul had to walk away empty handed.*

In the next scene we see Nan happily proclaiming that she's a housewife as if she'd suffered nothing at all: no humiliation, no anger, no broken heartedness. She rebounded from her husband's cheating and the near collapse of her marriage as though she was happier it survived the trial than upset she had to be dragged through such a trial. It's embarrassing to watch and upsetting as well because I don't know any people like that. I don't know any Nan's or any women like a lot of the Stepford women in many of the 30's movies. Just show more real, authentic women, that's all I ask.

*It's hilariously stupid to see two paramours in court waiting for a divorce to be made final so that they could leave with their prize.

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