|
The Pink Panther is instantly foreseen, the Viennese store has its priceless wares swiped during a demonstration of the newfangled security system. The Baroness (Kay Francis) enters in a marble bathtub overflowing with suds, gems are her first love. "And men?" "I haven't found one to supplant my jewels," that includes gouty husband (Henry Kolker) and monocled lover (Hardie Albright). "A fresh note" is struck at the bijouterie, the debonair intruder (William Powell) who dresses to the nines for the crime and prefers "robber" to "thief," "there's more flavor." The men are locked in the safe, the clueless guard (Spencer Charters) carries the loot to the getaway car, the lady ponders the thrill of getting bound and gagged. "This is becoming delightful!" The glittering essence of pre-Code Hollywood is a sustained foreplay between Francis' bare shoulders and Powell's pencil mustache, the fluency of William Dieterle's technique is just the thing to keep afloat the whirl of flowers and pistols and Victrolas. Feminine desire, larcenous reverie. "Untouched in the suburbs? Oh, no. No, that doesn't intrigue me at all." A slow-motion shadow and a billowing balcony curtain announce the nocturnal call, the purloined diamond ring is returned, the Baroness holds the key while her gown is caught in the door. From there to the deluxe hideout to cap the libidinous fable, a dinner table and a pile of cushions await the forbidden couple. Storybook rooftops, reefer giggles, Warners snap to spike the swank. "I live only for the present. And the present is you." The interrupted seduction already has its consummation planned, a secret between heroine and camera. With Helen Vinson, Alan Mowbray, Lee Kohlmar, André Luguet, and Clarence Wilson. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |