Somebody at Hal Roach Studios saw "My Man Godfrey" and decided to cash in. A grumpy captain of industry, a ditsy society dame, a house servant who is more than he seems, and a confused blonde heroine who falls madly in love are the pillars of this "me too" movie.
The difference is in the emphasis. The dialog here is notably flat and predictable, distinctly lacking in the wit and polish of the finest screwball comedies. The cast seems a little defensive about their threadbare lines, with uncharacteristic mugging from Constance Bennett, a disoriented Brian Aherne, and Alan Mowbray dangerously close to the limit. Billie Burke struggles valiantly with dialog that would have worked better on Gracie Allen. Ann Dvorak is unrecognizable (whatever happened to her here?), and Patsy Kelly knows what to do but isn't given enough of it. Willie Best is good at what he does, but we wish he weren't asked to do that.
I know Norman Z. McLeod can direct actors better than this - "Horse Feathers," "It's a Gift" and "Topper" are all priceless, must see's, and much better remembrances of what this man was capable of.
Norbert Brodine's cinematography is, as usual, too silky for the occasion. But what is most valuable about this movie is the physical humor. The Hal Roach studios, the folks that gave us Harold Lloyd and Laurel and Hardy, set up and deliver some genuinely astonishing and successful slapstick, with 64-year-old Clarence Kolb coming close to stealing the picture with his drunken encounter with a staircase and a nicely evolved battle with a kitchen door.
Don't expect Ben Hecht- or George Oppenheimer-level dialog here. When all is said and done, the pratfalls are what you will remember from this film.
The difference is in the emphasis. The dialog here is notably flat and predictable, distinctly lacking in the wit and polish of the finest screwball comedies. The cast seems a little defensive about their threadbare lines, with uncharacteristic mugging from Constance Bennett, a disoriented Brian Aherne, and Alan Mowbray dangerously close to the limit. Billie Burke struggles valiantly with dialog that would have worked better on Gracie Allen. Ann Dvorak is unrecognizable (whatever happened to her here?), and Patsy Kelly knows what to do but isn't given enough of it. Willie Best is good at what he does, but we wish he weren't asked to do that.
I know Norman Z. McLeod can direct actors better than this - "Horse Feathers," "It's a Gift" and "Topper" are all priceless, must see's, and much better remembrances of what this man was capable of.
Norbert Brodine's cinematography is, as usual, too silky for the occasion. But what is most valuable about this movie is the physical humor. The Hal Roach studios, the folks that gave us Harold Lloyd and Laurel and Hardy, set up and deliver some genuinely astonishing and successful slapstick, with 64-year-old Clarence Kolb coming close to stealing the picture with his drunken encounter with a staircase and a nicely evolved battle with a kitchen door.
Don't expect Ben Hecht- or George Oppenheimer-level dialog here. When all is said and done, the pratfalls are what you will remember from this film.