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  • Any film like Marry The Girl with as many familiar character players in the cast is something not to be passed up. With brother and sister Hugh Herbert and Mary Boland heading the cast you know you have a treat in store.

    Carol Hughes is their niece and she's being pursued by fortune hunting Mischa Auer a no account exiled Russian count. So the two of them conspire with shady psychologist Alan Mowbray to get Hughes locked up in his asylum for the rich and snooty.

    But Hughes has one unlikely Lochinvar come to her rescue. It's Frank McHugh the editor of the newspaper that the Boland/Herbert family own. McHugh is like the Willie Mossop of the newspaper business and this worm definitely turns with a vengeance.

    Looking at Hughes you know her parents were at the deep end of the family gene pool. Fascinating that these two maintain such control. It all works out nicely even for Auer who the family was trying so hard to get rid of.

    If you're like me you'll love this diamond in the rough from Warner Brothers B picture unit. No star gazing here, just a lot of good character players doing their thing.
  • An exceedingly annoying "comedy" that wears out its welcome almost as soon as the movie starts. Particularly that "Woo-hoo" nonsense one of the leads is continually blathering. A huge, steaming pot of stereotypes and overacting whose flavors refuse to mix. I'm sure that at some point somebody thought making this movie was a good idea, but if it ever was, that idea exploded on launch.

    In 1930's Hollywood, potboiler throwaways like Marry The Girl were made quickly, cheaply, and by the hundreds. They'd play in theaters for a week or two and never be seen again (until Ted Turner got his own network and found out how cheaply they could be had). The scenes at the sanitorium couldn't be more confusing even if written by one of the patients. Everyone in the movie acts nuts. It would seem the only difference between being insane and being eccentric was, well.....nonexistent. The doctors, patients and visitors are all out of their minds, but only in a "silly" way. No catatonics or violent psychotics in sight.

    If you can make it through the whole movie you'll be ready to commit yourself as well! Confused, slapdash, and thoroughly disconnected, this movie tries hard for laughs, but never gives the viewer anything more than a slightly queasy feeling. A little over an hour after the movie starts you'll begin to recover from what feels like a severe mental poisoning.

    My favorite line has one of the characters thanking another for saving him from a "fiery inferno". The line was obviously bestowed on us by the Warner Bros. Department of Script Writing Redundancy Department.

    Unless you are one of the few that have a passion for these Golden Moldy's, don't bother with this one. You'll be ticked off at the 68 minutes you'll never get back.
  • Hugh Herbert and sister Mary Boland own and run a firm which supplies syndicated items to newspapers, but it's hard to understand how they ever got into that position. Herbert plays it as dumb as can be, and woo-woos you to death in a type of humor I never could stand. And Mary Boland is a bit dizzy herself, as is Carol Hughes, another member of the family. The movie is filled with gangsters, nutty people in a sanitarium, a love triangle, a mad Russian artist in Mischa Auer, etc., but it never really catches on. About the only gag that made me laugh had Frank McHugh shooting a gun into a painting of peaceful ducks on a lake, and seeing the ducks fly away. Almost a total waste of time.

    Movies were made so fast and cheap in those days that errors were inevitable. Teddy Hart is billed as "Bill" in the end credits, but he's called only "Biff" in the movie. And the sanitarium had a sign on a brick wall announcing it was a "sanatarium."
  • Warning: Spoilers
    It's hard to believe that this dreary "B"-grade farce was based on a 1929 novel of the same name by Edward Hope Coffey. I would have sworn it was originally a stage play -- it's so chock-a-block full of empty talk. And when you have an assembly of such expert practitioners of yakkety-yak as are gathered here in this movie, you can't help but come away with the impression that you have just escaped from a covey of club bores. Hugh Herbert is especially wearisome, due to his irritating habit of attempting to enliven every barren phrase of his discourse by inserting a series of inane chuckles. William McGann directed this farrago with as little display of talent as Messrs. Herzig, Flick and Reed evidenced in writing it.