A mild romantic comedy that's atypical of Lubitsch. Merle Oberon looks gorgeous. Her clothes are sensational. Melvyn Douglas is not credible as her crass insurance-executive husband. This is the man who taught Garbo to laugh in the same director's "Ninotcha" and was generally suave and somewhat iconoclastic. As the movie proceeds, he settles into a trick-playing husband not quite consistent with the man who've first met.
Burgess Meredith is sort of wasted as the annoying pianist Oberon meets in a psychiatrist's waiting room. (Alan Mowbry is hilariously dry as the analyst. And in some ways, this is a comment on psychoanalysis.) The Meredith character is the most interest. It is a very convincing study in absolute narcissism. He may be accomplished, indeed; but whether he is or not, he is his own greatest fan and protector.
There are swipes at modern art as well as those at analysis. In some ways, it's a little retrograde.
But it's beautifully shot and the design is fabulous. This is the New York City we'd all love to live in. And Oberon looks ravishing. Her performance is convincingly comic, too, though she is so match for Eve Arden in an all too small role.
