Cheerful locked room murder mystery from the Philo Vance series. William Powell returns as the gentleman sleuth which is a perfect fit for his sophistication and comic élan. There's a standard genre premise; a wealthy but hated man is found dead in his bolted bedroom with a gun in his hand. Everyone has a motive. The idiotic police are happy for the amateur to take charge.
There are the weaknesses usual with golden age mysteries: the solution is preposterous; anyone could have done it; and the cast of suspects are archetypes. There is no impression of the misery caused by the act of murder. But given these limitations… it is one of the better entries in a detective series.
Michael Curtiz keeps the the action moving. Despite the meagre budget, Warner Brothers draw on a fine support cast of familiar contract players, like Mary Astor, Eugene Pallette and sexy Helen Vinson. So at least we know who these people are. The precode humour fizzes, and crucially, the director tells the complicated story with lucidity, which rarely happens in serials.
There are sterile sets and a static camera and the typical impediments of early talkies. But it’s also a lot of fun and so slick it speeds by. We get the cosmopolitan setting and the stereotypes and clichés we go to the classic detective story for. Powell gives it sparkle. This was his last go at Vance, but he would play similar roles throughout the ‘30s, with charm and a lightness of touch.