Queens Up!

A quintessentially Jazz-Age farce, Queens Up! detonates the sanctity of a prim suburban bungalow when a motorcar full of seminarians—petticoated, lipsticked, and brimming with hormonal voltage—sputters to a halt outside the home of card-shark hubby Eddie. While his wife is off on errands, the girls, chaperoned by a matron whose corseted propriety is already fraying, swarm the premises like pastel locusts: bathing in his tub, rehearsing shimmy routines in the parlor, and commandeering the kitchen for impromptu gin rickeys. Eddie, oblivious amid cigar haze and clacking chips, is dealt a comic reckoning once his better half returns early, suitcase in hand, to find the house reeking of bootleg perfume and the sofa littered with silk stockings that are definitely not her own. What follows is a breathless round-robin of slammed doors, mistaken identities, and poker-won dowries, all stitched together by title cards that snap like bubble gum.