Lillian Roth croons "If I could be with you" to a picture of Joe E. Brown. A creepy religious fanatic wears black lingerie in her cell, which is plastered with pictures of her idol, a radio preacher. A society dame who murdered another society dame with ground glass cuddles her Pekingese. A cigar smoking lesbian ("Watch out for hershe likes to wrestle," a new inmate is warned) does exercises. An old lady who used to run a "beauty parlor" reminisces about how she was captured by a detective who came "to get a manicure from one of my girls." It's just another typical night in the women's ward at San Quentin, where the prisoners get radio, ice cream, free run of the recreation room and the privilege to decorate their cells ("roomsdon't be vulgar.") Who knew prison was this much fun?
In a pre-Code gem starring Barbara Stanwyck, it is. Stanwyck is Nan Taylor, a glamorous bank robber doing two to five for her role in a heist. Sardonic, jaded, sexy, tough as nails, this is Stanwyck in her early-thirties glory. Just watching her saunter around with her hands stuck in the front pockets of her prison dress, chewing gum, smoking, and distributing zingy put-downs, is a joy. To a self-righteous fellow inmate who tells her there's no punishment bad enough for her, Nan replies, "Being penned up here with a daffodil like you comes awful close."
That's about all there is to Ladies They Talk About. The plot concerns a sappy religious reformer (the object of creepy Sister Susie's crush) who falls hard for Nan and pursues her adoringlyeven after she shoots him in the arm. There's also plot about a cockamamie escape attempt: how hard could it be to break out of a jail that apparently has no discipline whatsoever? (Though the men, including two of Nan's confederates, don't seem to be having quite as much fun as the women.)
This movie doesn't even try to make us want to see Nan reform. It revels in the racy banter of lady criminals, offers a low-down rendition of the St. Louis Blues for a soundtrack, and invites us to worship Barbara Stanwyck at her most cynical and brazenly amoral. Who could ask for anything more?
In a pre-Code gem starring Barbara Stanwyck, it is. Stanwyck is Nan Taylor, a glamorous bank robber doing two to five for her role in a heist. Sardonic, jaded, sexy, tough as nails, this is Stanwyck in her early-thirties glory. Just watching her saunter around with her hands stuck in the front pockets of her prison dress, chewing gum, smoking, and distributing zingy put-downs, is a joy. To a self-righteous fellow inmate who tells her there's no punishment bad enough for her, Nan replies, "Being penned up here with a daffodil like you comes awful close."
That's about all there is to Ladies They Talk About. The plot concerns a sappy religious reformer (the object of creepy Sister Susie's crush) who falls hard for Nan and pursues her adoringlyeven after she shoots him in the arm. There's also plot about a cockamamie escape attempt: how hard could it be to break out of a jail that apparently has no discipline whatsoever? (Though the men, including two of Nan's confederates, don't seem to be having quite as much fun as the women.)
This movie doesn't even try to make us want to see Nan reform. It revels in the racy banter of lady criminals, offers a low-down rendition of the St. Louis Blues for a soundtrack, and invites us to worship Barbara Stanwyck at her most cynical and brazenly amoral. Who could ask for anything more?