Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator

Honestly, only if you’re into the history of early musical shorts. If you’re looking for a plot, you’re in the wrong place. But if you want to see what a random Tuesday in 1930s showbiz looked like, pull up a chair.
It’s barely a film. It’s more like a filmed radio broadcast. You’ve got Vera Van doing her thing, and she’s fine, but the real draw—if you can call it that—is Red Nichols.
His cornet solo feels like it goes on for a lifetime. Not that he’s bad, but the camera just doesn't know where to look. It settles on his fingers for way too long. I started counting how many times he hit the same note.
There is a mountaineer number that happens out of nowhere. It feels like a fever dream compared to the rest of the polished jazz stuff. I kept wondering who booked these acts together.
The whole thing feels like it was filmed in a shoebox. Everything is so tight. You can see the orchestra members shifting their weight behind the main performers, looking like they want to grab a coffee.
It’s not as chaotic as Swing High, which had at least a pretense of a narrative. This is just pure, unfiltered variety.
I found myself staring at the background curtains. They look heavy. Imagine the dust in that studio.
Is it good? It’s a relic. It doesn’t try to be a masterpiece, which is probably why it’s not completely annoying. It just exists. It’s a musical shrug.
If you’re comparing this to something more substantial like The Song of Songs, well, don't. It’s like comparing a snack to a full meal. Sometimes a snack is all you need, I guess. 🎷
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