Nunca me casaré

What an enjoyable piece of fluff. Though I'd say it was a bit more than a piece of fluff, really, as there is subtlety galore, and philosophy, and irreverence and some macabre/screwball humour when the love rival for Fred MacMurray says in an offhand way that she'd attempted suicide but then got married, but then found it hard to be sad when her husband was killed playing polo... That kind of humour would raise eyebrows even today! Alan Jones sings his manly heart out while wearing a pencil moustache, and Madeleine Carroll says some very clever and deep things about the nature of female independence. You can tell that the actress really thought these lines were quite wise and put a lot of feeling into them, even though the film is at pains to prove the opposite view. Likewise subtle is the fact that MacMurray is a bit of a cad, not a straightforward hero. I actually hated him for a good few minutes. The small roles are played with great skill and elan, particularly the fortune teller with her blithe, witty delivery and of course Window-cleaner philosopher Akim Tamiroff, whom I ended up applauding out loud for his sheer verve, and the comedy and character he packs into each gesture. The fly in the ointment, to this cow-poke anyway, is the truly cringeworthy little girl. Ugh! You can just see her pushy mother urging her on to become the next Shirley Temple. Sorry dear, that requires talent, not just a shrill voice and a pudgy face.