Lovesusti The Worst Film Ever

GamerTab That was an excellent one.

Allison Davies The film never slows down or bores, plunging from one harrowing sequence to the next.

Guillelmina The film's masterful storytelling did its job. The message was clear. No need to overdo.

Poseidon-3 One of many sophisticated, romantic, comedic trifles to emerge from the 1930's, this one has its merits, but is also fairly unremarkable. Crawford plays a petulant socialite who's tired of the inconsistent attention that her beau Montgomery pays to her. He has a well-deserved reputation as a ladies' man and she wants to be his only lady. On a bit of a whim, they marry and settle in peaceably, for a few moments. Before long, he, almost instinctively from years of doing so, is romancing his pal Ruggles' lady friend Patrick and standing up Crawford who's staying at the country home. When she finds out about his indiscretion, she sets out to teach him a lesson by inviting Ruggles, Montgomery's former flame Osborne, Osborne's former husband Tone, her current husband Treacher and even Patrick down for the weekend! (There's also a sizable sheepdog along for the ride.) Crawford uses Tone to make Montgomery jealous while he endures the presence of the various characters she's included in the mix. Presiding over everyone is Crawford's snappy, sassy aunt Oliver who rarely let's an incident go by without some bit of commentary. Crawford looks terrific in this film, all eyes and mouth and with striking Adrien gowns (though she does sport one icky set of bangs during one sequence.) Her performance contains a range of emotions from anger to tears to sarcasm, but it's a bit heavy for something this fluffy. Montgomery is properly charming, but plays a pretty unsympathetic character. He's a wolf. Ruggles' tipsy role will appeal or repel an equal number of people depending on their taste. Tone is given little to do but look dashing in a tuxedo and provide a dot of conflict with Montgomery. Patrick gives a knowing and secure portrayal, offering some needed carnality in this era of the Hayes code, which restricted what could be said and shown. Osborne and Treacher are amusing as a newly married, yet mismatched, couple. Really, the best thing about the film is snarky, wizened Oliver, who milks her role for every drop of humor, wit and presence it is capable of providing. Also popping up for a few seconds is Fontaine as one of Montgomery's jilted girlfriends. It's an attractive film with art deco-style sets and fancy clothes, but there's nothing particularly striking or memorable about it. These types of stories have been done many times and often in a more entertaining fashion, though it's also not a bad film. Fans of the stars, especially of Oliver, should enjoy it more than others.

MartinHafer Robert Montgomery plays a rich guy without much character. Most of the time, he'd prefer to be chasing skirts. So, when his girlfriend (Joan Crawford) is bored, they decide to get married--even though Robert's track record with serious relationships is horrendous. A short time after the marriage, Robert decides to start chasing other women--leaving poor Joan to cry and bemoan her fate. Considering he never pretended to be anything else other than a shallow ladies man, it seemed odd that she was so saddened by his predictable behavior.So far in the film, I was not impressed. The characters either seemed selfish and unlikable (Montgomery) or hopelessly stupid (Crawford). For comic relief, Charlie Ruggles did a bad drunk characterization that was supposed to be cute but frankly just annoyed me. So considering that I kept watching the film is a bit of a surprise.Fortunately, the film did get much better. Instead of whining at length, Joan came up with a clever plan to try to win back her husband's love and attention. While this was much more watchable, I kept thinking to myself "why would she want him back?!", but despite this it at least kept my interest.The bottom line is that I had a hard time caring about the character (especially since rich folks who make themselves miserable are hard to relate to or worry about). Because of this, the film definitely falls into the "time passer" category and not much more. Fans of the actors may want to tune it, but others probably can just skip this one. There are just better films out there from this time period--ones that will engage you.

Neil Doyle MGM gloss is evident in every Joan Crawford close-up. As a matter of fact, it's evident in the loving way Robert Montgomery and Franchot Tone have also been given handsome close-ups. But the big scene-stealer here is the lady who gets the best lines and the least flattering close-ups: Edna May Oliver.As a silver-haired dowager who enjoys putting stuffy society swells in their place with a tart remark, she's a welcome presence in a film with a plot so ordinary that it was hardly worth bothering about. You can sit through the whole film admiring the costumes Joan Crawford wears with her special flair for looking like a well-dressed mannequin, her marble face with those high cheekbones and huge eyes assuring us that she is the STAR of this tiresome nonsense, but your eyes will stray to Edna May whenever she takes hold of a scene. Thankfully, that's pretty often.When a baby-talking house guest calls someone "Peggy Weggy" she turns to Oliver who is supposed to introduce herself as Crawford's aunt. Missing hardly a beat, Oliver quips: "Just call me Fanny Aunty".Is this the same playwright who later wrote THE PHILADELPHIA STORY for Hepburn? The plot is simply boy loves girl, boy loses girl, boy loves girl in a nutshell. There are a few pleasant moments with Charlie Ruggles and Gail Patrick--and if you don't blink--Joan Fontaine makes a fleeting appearance with a pained expression on her face. Hardly an inspiring debut.Typical of the kind of fluff that began harming careers back in the 1930s. You can afford to miss it, believe me.

borsch You've seen it all before, folks--another tiresome romantic comedy, unredeemed by an accomplished cast and the trademark MGM gloss. Joan Crawford is especially wasted in the airy proceedings; her dramatic intensity has no outlet here, and she is forced to rely on her lesser skills as a sophisticated comedienne. This is Carole/Claudette/Irene territory, and, although Joan can give these ladies cards in spades when it comes to glamour, she lacks their lighter touch. I suspect two forces were at work here: the Production Code of 1933, which forced out earthy drama and bawdy comedy and pushed stars like Harlow and Crawford into fluff, and the "Norma" syndrome at MGM, which forced Crawford to take Norma's castoff parts. (No wonder Joan ended up "box-office poison" shortly after pictures like this alienated her fan base!) If you'd like to see Joan in comedies more suited to her persona, check out her splendidly bitchy Crystal in "The Women", or as the clueless Susan in "Susan and God".