I Take This
SPENCER Tracy is quite the best thing about this threadbare formula picture that undoubtedly in some guise or other we have all seen before.
Let me remind you. Not merely once upon a time a doctor down in a city clinic who treats his patients free because of his interest in the case and to the humanity behind the case, falls in love with a dame who suggests Fifth Avenue in every step she takes across a cafeteria floor. Dame is not so empty as the Fifth Avenue manner might suggest and is in fact suffering badly with a broken heart.
Her interest is wakened both in Doe. and his patients. She starts to work down town in the clinic instead of uptown in a dress saloon, and eventually she marries (broken heart included) the Doc.
Doe.'s practice begins to look up. He gets a bronze medal for his research and an appointment in a fashionable nursing home because of his wife. Poor Doc. is rich Doc. in an eye's twinkling.
But Doc.'s wife is in a bad state. Back in Fifth Avenue surroundings she meets again her Fifth Avenue friends—including just that one who gave her the crack in the heart. Its all very difficult and she is determined to exercise the power of the heartbreakers once and for all by going to see him.
She goes. She looks—and she runs away right back into the arms of her husband. Husband always understood before, but this time he doesn't. Instead he starts breaking up all the conventions of his smart nursing home joint and desires to break loose from job and wife and devote his ruined life to research in Japan Well, the happy ending is round the corner, as you will remember, so dry your eyes and be consoled by Spencer's ubiquitous chins-up grin, and Spencer's " nothing-too-tough-for-me-to-tackle "
It All Came True
NOBODY could have been more surprised ` than I was to see the name of Mr, Louis Bromfield on the credits of this strange amalgum of farce and what-hat-thou. Nobody, that is, but Mr. Bromfield himself. As a writer Mr. Bromfield has what in film studios is called " class." The producers did without the class and gave us Miss Ann Sheridan instead. I shall not add anything to what has already been said by Messrs. Warner Bros. publicity department about Miss Sheridan (Miss S., if you don't remember, the young lady for whose charms the word " oomph " was thought up) except that I judge that the idea was the studio's not hers.
THE humorous vein of the tough guy
loose among the cloistered, the bandit in the boudoir, has been worked by the master, P. G. Wodehouse, till one began to wonder—but, no! its one of the elementals, apparently. Certainly Mr. Humphrey Bogart, assailed by the mother-love of Miss Jessie Busley, manages to strike rich deposits of laughter. Mr. Bogart is a small-time gang-king on the run and hides himself in a boarding-house where the 'nineties were only yesterday. But it seems that the rent and the rates have been mounting up since somewhere around the same time, so to keep the old folks at home Chips, the gangster, decides to exploit the Victorian setting as a night club. The result is screamingly funny or not, depending on whether you think that God created Victorians to hand the hi-dc-ho progressive a big laugh, or not.
Miss Sheridan plays a golden-hearted chorine who makes good through Chips' venture. She acts all right and sings all right ; and 1 suppose if we must have these " build-ups " its reassuring that modern taste seems to have deserted the exotic for the supremely normal.