At the Metropolitan

Once again Barbara Stanwyck confronts us in another touching role played in her usual sloppy manner. This time she's a hard-boiled heiress who finally softens in the arms of patriarch George Brent. There is a secret marriage and a hidden child, and a few heart-rending scenes of mother love add an unconvincing emotional element before the anticipated end. All this is only too familiar to the steady moviegoer, who has probably seen Stanwyck run this stereotyped emotional gamut before. And in her case practice doesn't seem to make perfect.

Brent is Brent and Stanwyck is always the same, but Geraldine Fitzgerald steals the show as a sensation-seeking British Lady. She wears a monocle and vamps her younger sister's fiance so convincingly that you envy him. The rest of the cast is made up of Gene Lockhart, Donald Crisp and similar prototypes.

Although the acting is only passable and all the punches are telegraphed, it is pretty good entertainment at times. The dialogue is clever in spots and the photography and directing help cover a multitude of errors. What's more, there are two courtroom scenes that try to supply suspense and drama. Anyway, the Met is air-conditioned, so buy a bag of candy and settle back.