Rosalind Russell had just failed to win an expected Oscar for "Mourning Becomes Electra" when she wandered into this independently produced crime thriller, where she's a glamorous Broadway leading lady who inadvertently murders her producer-lover (a steadfast Leon Ames). Around the same time, she falls in love with architect Leo Genn, and that's quite a feat: He may be the dullest leading man she ever had. The murder gets pinned on jealous co-star Claire Trevor, who's by far the best thing in the picture, and gets investigated by Sydney Greenstreet, who doesn't show up until the second half but lends some authority to the flimsy proceedings. I love Roz in some things, but she's way over the top here, employing a phony upper-crust accent Tallulah Bankhead wouldn't have dared, over-indicating with her eyes and eyebrows, and failing to suggest in the play snippets that she'd be a decent Hedda Gabler, or even a decent light comedienne. The Broadway atmosphere is very appealing, with everybody calling everybody "darling" and lunching at Sardi's and reading Walter Winchell, and there's the usual good supporting work by Theresa Harris as yet another maid, and it isn't boring. But it's kind of ludicrous, and Roz had to wait five years to regain her footing, when she went back to Broadway and into "Wonderful Town."