24 May 2020 | rhoda-9
A rather lame effort
The exiled Hungarian playwrights of the early twentieth century--such as, along with Fodor, Vajda, Molnar, and Bush-Fekete--produced a lot of jolly, frothy scenarios, but this wasn't one of them. It starts with a promising mixture of high and low life, including the always appealing Karen Morley as a countess in distress. Unfortunately, the count is the always blah Paul Cavanagh, and the lead is Edmund Lowe, who, for continental charm, substitutes a lot of low-voltage swaggering and simpering. It also doesn't help that the solution of the murder is obvious as soon as it is committed. The "plot," therefore, is a drawn-out, boring evasion of the obvious facts that will puzzle only those who have never seen or read a murder mystery or who have been napping during the first ten minutes. See, rather, Fodor's Beauty and the Boss, Tales of Manhattan, or Wives Under Suspicion for the kind of witty fun the Hungarians could come up with at their best.