THE VAGABOND

It isn't often that Hollywood cooks up a mixture of mysticism and commercialism that doesn't stick in the throat. "Here Comes Mr. Jordan" is an exception. The ordinarily callous producers, script writers, camera men, idea men, rewriters and their uncles' brothers' cousins who for years have scraped the bottoms of their distorted imaginations and come up with every kind of recipe from "Frankenstein" to. Topper Keeps Returning" have at last fashioned a delightful fairy tale of this 1941 world.

It's about a saxophone-playing, airplane-flying, life-loving "pug"

It's about a saxophone-playing, airplane-flying, life-loving "pug" who is killed fifty years too soon. Mr. Jordan, the big boss in the Beyond, spends the remainder of the picture trying to right this unfortunate shift. Such a plot could easily have been overdone or underdone. As it is, the dish is juicily prepared, spiced with adventure, salted with philosophy, and served up with a humorous flourish.