Fedora-clad fancy lad. Aspiring scribe of hyper-literate postmodern comedies.
This is Opening Night, this is Esther Kahn, this is A Bread Factory, this is Margaret, this is Happy Hour, this is whatever midwit idiots thought Birdman was, this is my obligatory Jacques Rivette + Hal Hartley comparisons, this is me hungover drunk at 7 a.m. in tears, this more or less everything I want in a movie, this is cinema, this is life, this is streaming for free on Tubi.
It's no Lady Eve, but this is still an above-average screwball-murder mystery as far as this peculiar little subgenre goes, in large part because of Stanwyck (obviously), who's delightful per usual, as well as some particularly clever dialogue (so many good lines - "Are you suggesting, by any chance, that I had too many absinthe parfaits?").
Unfortunately things start to fizzle out a bit about halfway through the 80-minute runtime, as tends to happen with these, as the witty banter…
(I was originally planning on writing my review as an open letter to Hitchcock himself, which I might still do at some point, but this will suffice for now. The only part I regret not including was a question asking him how he'd like to be addressed. Hitch? Alfred? Al? Mr. Cock?)
Reading that Orson Welles apparently hated this makes me so happy, especially when you consider that The Immortal Story is kind of the same thing except actually good...…