Monocles, tuxedos, feathered boas (are there any other kinds?), three-piece tweeds, hats & scarves (on the guys!), pencil-thin mustaches (on the guys), pin curls (NOT on the guys), thirty-foot-high interior doors, whiskey ‘n’ soda’s, evil doctors, femme fatales, tie bars (open bars, hotel bars, and prison bars, for that matter), private libraries with gothic doorways and fireplaces you could walk into upright, pubs as big as the General’s dining room at the end of White Christmas…
What style! What total foolishness!!
The action is implausible and non-stop.
The plot is implausible and non-decipherable.
The repartee is brittle, the accents are vaguely British, and all the upper lips are stiff.
It’s the 1929 version of Bulldog Drummond with Ronald Colman and Joan Bennett.
I’m loving it!