Sweet Devil

The sweet devil in this movie is Jean Gillie, who perhaps can be described in this movie as a sort of brunette English musical-comedy Marie Windsor. She does two dances, sings a duet with Bobby Howes and incites a pie fight at a reception for a Latin American vice president in this cut-glass farce that was produced by musical comedy star Jack Buchanan.

I know my reviews usually include a brief synopsis of whatever movie I'm reviewing, but with British cut-glass farces, there's never really much of a plot, just a situation and comedy routines, and that's what's on view here with many a snide reply and a constable to whom everything is explained, which only confuses him.

The affair is directed by René Guissart, a multi-continental cinematographer, with credits going back to 1916. He likewise directed about thirty movies in three countries in the 1930s. He lets the performers and script have their heads and the result is a very funny little movie.

Jean Gillie has got to be one of the funniest actresses I have seen. Her role in this movie started off as somewhat annoying and pretentious, but when she suddenly gets drunk on "champy" - my, oh my! There's certainly never been a better drunk scene, with funnier consequences, than this.

Jill's in love with her boss, he's in love with her, but neither can get started. He wants to marry her, but he can't marry and employee, so he fires her and says he'll explain later. She thinks he doesn't love her so she concocts a little plan to jump off a bridge as his car passes, so he'll save her and realise how much he loves her. Only when she sees his car and jumps, she's saved by his friend, who was just borrowing his car! She ends up in the friend's bed, wearing his pyjamas, and getting drunker on champagne, brandy, and caviar by the minute, which could lead for some very interesting consequences if the man's fiancee was to find out...

Jack Buchanan's discovery, Jean Gillie, who made her film debut in This'll Make You Whistle (1937), has her best role ever in this, her second film. Actually, the above credits don't do her justice. They minimize her contribution by not detailing her dancing — lithe, graceful yet full of pep. In addition to the opportunities to dance, the script also offers her a wonderfully rounded character who is charming, vivacious, naive, headstrong, child-like, emotional, perverse, self-centered, loyal, dutiful, ingenious, illogical. In short, thoroughly fascinating.

Aided by his photographer, make-up man, hair stylist and dress designer, director René Guissart brings out the best of Gillie. He also draws superb performances from Bobby Howes (for whom the script throws in many delightful routines including a bit where he side-splittingly enacts a ventriloquist's dummy) and Syd Walker (another expert in laughter-making).

Delectable Glen Alyn (a wow in a René Hubert evening gown) is perfect as the "other woman", whilst Ellis Jeffreys makes mother-in-law a riotous turn of snobbery. She has one of the film's funniest lines. When a character enthuses that Bane's Biscuits are a "household name", she retorts: "Yes, but it wouldn't be ladylike to repeat it." Wiliam Kendall (who also starred in This'll Make You Whistle) is marvelously stuffy as the biscuit man with little but time on his mind. He also makes the most of some delicious bits of comic business. The shot of him standing for the Matonian National Anthem — through the roof his car — is a classic.

Commendably, it's not only the principals and support players that have all the amusing lines. Two of the most amusing comebacks are handed to bit players, like the bandleader asked how much he will charge, replies, "£20." When the butler then instructs him that on no account are the musicians to mingle with the guests, the leader shoots back, "In that case, we'll do it for £15!" But the line that really had me in stitches was the "Thanks for the liniment!" topper as the long line of battered guests made their adieux.

The musical numbers are not only perfectly blended with the farce, they are an intrinsic part of the fun. Guissart directs the whole film with such style and panache, it's impossible to state that comedy is subordinate to dance, or vice versa.

Produced on a lavish budget, with excellent credits, Sweet Devil is an unabashed joy from go to whoa.

Surprisingly good comedy with a song thrown in and starring Bobby Howes and Jean Gillie in a screwball marital mix-up about business partners and their fianeces at a big party where the couples inadvertently pair up with the wrong intended. Gillie is terrific as the secretary who gets bombed on champagne and caviar after jumping into a river. Howes has one of his best roles as the absent and absent-minded business partner engaged to a snobby aristocrat in an ugly dress (Glen Alyn). William Kendall is the other business partner, Syd Walker is the butler, Ellis Jeffreys is the snob's mother. Song is "You Should Be Set to Music." Gillie steals the film, but Howes and Miss Alyn are fun to watch.

I recently came across this lovely little film and found it a joy from start to finish. Indeed, my family popped their heads around the door as I was watching it. First they were standing, then sitting and in no time at all we were all watching it. It was a hit as everyone thoroughly enjoyed it - and that's quite a rare event I can tell you!

It's a comedy with dance and music sequences rather than a out and out musical and it works beautifully.

As previous reviewers have mentioned, Jean Gillie is utterly charming while the rest of the cast are perfect for their roles. The production standards are very high indeed and it looks like an expensive production. The direction has a lightness of touch that blends comedy, music and dance with real elegance. There's a lovely sequence when the singers ask, well sing actually, to be paid at the end of the party. What a pity this film isn't better known today. Do try to see it if you get a chance.