This movie is the proof that the world is becoming a sick and dumb place

Fun premise, good actors, bad writing. This film seemed to have potential at the beginning but it quickly devolves into a trite action film. Ultimately it's very boring.

The movie's neither hopeful in contrived ways, nor hopeless in different contrived ways. Somehow it manages to be wonderful

The movie's not perfect, but it sticks the landing of its message. It was engaging - thrilling at times - and I personally thought it was a great time.

No More Ladies (1935) ** 1/2 (out of 4) Joan Crawford plays a jealous woman who knows that her womanizing boyfriend (Robert Montgomery) is never up to anything good. Even though that's the case, the two get married but this doesn't stop him from seeing women so Joan decides to throw a party of her own to make him jealous. NO MORE LADIES is pretty much a "B" story with an "A" cast and the end result isn't a classic but fans of the cast should at least want to watch it once. I think the best thing the film has going for it are the performances with Crawford leading the way. She's certainly very believable as the woman whose heart is breaking because the man she loves keeps stepping out on her. She's also believable in her scenes with Franchot Tone, the man who wants to marry her. The two of them share some nice chemistry and this makes for some good scenes. Charles Ruggles is also very good in his supporting role as a drunk and we also get Edna May Oliver, Reginald Denny, Joan Fontaine and Gail Patrick in small roles. I think the biggest problem with this film is that it really doesn't have the guts to stand out or try to be anything special. Crawford basically gets walked on the entire movie and once her revenge starts to happen the film just goes extremely soft. I'm not going to ruin what happens but it's quite predictable and leads up to a rather silly and embarrassing ending. Still, fans of the stars will want to check this out for them but just don't expect a classic.

One of many such comedies of the 1930s, No More Ladies focuses on the dilemma of a rich single woman (Joan Crawford) attracted to an energetic magnetic playboy (Robert Montgomery) who seems to exist without a shred of morality or self-control. What makes this film different from the typical mistaken lover comedy is the directness with which the Crawford character approaches her problems. The best part of the film, however, is Frannie, Crawford's grandmother who combines the best of Eve Arden with the best of Thelma Ritter. Also notable is Charlie Ruggles as a drunken friend of the playboy. The film's style is also worthy of attention. Reminiscent of surrealism and art nouveau the luxury sets of these characters' existence provide visual pleasure in themselves, if only in their extravagant elegance. Robert Montgomery fans will see him in his best boyish self-gratification mode, while fans of Crawford may find her a bit flat.

You've seen it all before, folks--another tiresome romantic comedy, unredeemed by an accomplished cast and the trademark MGM gloss. Joan Crawford is especially wasted in the airy proceedings; her dramatic intensity has no outlet here, and she is forced to rely on her lesser skills as a sophisticated comedienne. This is Carole/Claudette/Irene territory, and, although Joan can give these ladies cards in spades when it comes to glamour, she lacks their lighter touch. I suspect two forces were at work here: the Production Code of 1933, which forced out earthy drama and bawdy comedy and pushed stars like Harlow and Crawford into fluff, and the "Norma" syndrome at MGM, which forced Crawford to take Norma's castoff parts. (No wonder Joan ended up "box-office poison" shortly after pictures like this alienated her fan base!) If you'd like to see Joan in comedies more suited to her persona, check out her splendidly bitchy Crystal in "The Women", or as the clueless Susan in "Susan and God".

The unoriginal plot, about a rich married couple dealing with problems of infidelity, is secondary here to the clever dialogue by Donald Ogden Stewart, who wrote the screenplay to The Philadelphia Story, and to a strong supporing cast. Joan Crawford is fine, but Robert Montgomery and Franchot Tone, fighting for Crawford's hand, wind up being nearly indistinguishable from each other, both in looks and in character. That leaves the supporting cast to rescue the film: Charles Ruggles has a fun bit as a slurring drunk and Arthur Treacher comes in at the end as a stuffy Brit who mumbles loudly and misuses American slang. Even Gail Patrick, who isn't normally given much to do in her man-stealing parts, is fine here. But the best is Edna May Oliver, playing the wise and witty matriarch--she steals every scene she's in and was the main reason I finished watching the movie.