This delicate shipboard romance was a popular favorite in its time and it's not hard to see why. Robert Lord grabbed a well-earned Oscar for his original story, a fanciful but ingenious doomed lovers yarn that must have offered solace to Depression-era audiences whose miseries could only pale next to those of hard-luck leads William Powell and Kay Francis.
The elegant pair fall in love on a Frisco-bound ocean liner, each harboring a terrible secret that curtails their future happiness -- he's a convicted murderer returning to the gallows, she has a heart ailment and is living on borrowed time. Never mind why a dying woman is aboard a cruise ship instead of being ensconced in a terminal ward. Or why the authorities would send thick-witted Warren Hymer of all cops to bring in Powell.
This is irresistible hoke, and the director Tay Garnet invests it with wonderfully eccentric touches (like the burly lesbian among the trio of portly harmonizers in a Hong Kong bar) and innovative dream-like imagery (i.e., the startling camera zoom when Powell spots Francis at the ship's railing). He also manages the near-impossible feat of keeping Francis, the lisping clotheshorse, to a minimum of cloying eye-rolls, with no small help from Powell's wry and charmingly self-effacing performance.
The heavy sentiment is deftly balanced by the sparkling deadpan humor of Aline MacMahon as the Russian Countess Barrelhaus (in actuality the Brooklyn con-artist, Barrel House Betty), who conspires with perpetual drunk Frank McHugh (his grating presence is the film's sole detriment) to assist the lovers.
The coda, set in a Mexican bar on New Year's Eve, is unforgettable.
The elegant pair fall in love on a Frisco-bound ocean liner, each harboring a terrible secret that curtails their future happiness -- he's a convicted murderer returning to the gallows, she has a heart ailment and is living on borrowed time. Never mind why a dying woman is aboard a cruise ship instead of being ensconced in a terminal ward. Or why the authorities would send thick-witted Warren Hymer of all cops to bring in Powell.
This is irresistible hoke, and the director Tay Garnet invests it with wonderfully eccentric touches (like the burly lesbian among the trio of portly harmonizers in a Hong Kong bar) and innovative dream-like imagery (i.e., the startling camera zoom when Powell spots Francis at the ship's railing). He also manages the near-impossible feat of keeping Francis, the lisping clotheshorse, to a minimum of cloying eye-rolls, with no small help from Powell's wry and charmingly self-effacing performance.
The heavy sentiment is deftly balanced by the sparkling deadpan humor of Aline MacMahon as the Russian Countess Barrelhaus (in actuality the Brooklyn con-artist, Barrel House Betty), who conspires with perpetual drunk Frank McHugh (his grating presence is the film's sole detriment) to assist the lovers.
The coda, set in a Mexican bar on New Year's Eve, is unforgettable.