A mystery writer, Aherne, and his wife, Young, move into a basement apartment in Greenwich Village. The furniture is late, the electric power is off, and there is a great deal of confusion. The apartments upstairs of full of kooks or suspicious characters. That first night, and the next day, everybody seems to be rushing around, eavesdropping, screaming, getting locked in closets -- and the next day the police find a dead body in the back yard.
The police begin an investigation under Sidney Toler, who looks just like Charlie Chan even without Asian make up. He's aided by Donald MacBride, a familiar character actor with a built-in suspicious sneer. Aherne and Young decide to involve themselves in the case and do more rushing around both within the apartment and within the sets that pass for New York City.
Loretta Young is breathless and pretty. Brian Aherne overacts, sometimes to the point of embarrassment. His eyes pop, his mouth gapes, and he projects discomfort the way a traffic light signals traffic.
But I don't really think that anyone could do much with what is essentially a B movie script. Substitute Chester Morris for Aherne and Gloria Stuart for Young, reduce the running time from 91 to 60 minutes and you have a fine, diverting 1930s entertainment, fit for a second feature and for Saturday matinées, where the kids will appreciate gags like Loretta Young being trapped in the basement coal shed, a load of call showering down upon her while she shrieks, the coal man asking, "Hey, what are you doing down there?", and Young shouting sarcastically, "I'm hanging out my laundry; what do you think?"
The police begin an investigation under Sidney Toler, who looks just like Charlie Chan even without Asian make up. He's aided by Donald MacBride, a familiar character actor with a built-in suspicious sneer. Aherne and Young decide to involve themselves in the case and do more rushing around both within the apartment and within the sets that pass for New York City.
Loretta Young is breathless and pretty. Brian Aherne overacts, sometimes to the point of embarrassment. His eyes pop, his mouth gapes, and he projects discomfort the way a traffic light signals traffic.
But I don't really think that anyone could do much with what is essentially a B movie script. Substitute Chester Morris for Aherne and Gloria Stuart for Young, reduce the running time from 91 to 60 minutes and you have a fine, diverting 1930s entertainment, fit for a second feature and for Saturday matinées, where the kids will appreciate gags like Loretta Young being trapped in the basement coal shed, a load of call showering down upon her while she shrieks, the coal man asking, "Hey, what are you doing down there?", and Young shouting sarcastically, "I'm hanging out my laundry; what do you think?"