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6/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 6/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. No More Ladies remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you like movies where everyone lives in giant penthouses and spends their entire day drinking cocktails, you’ll probably have a blast. If you have zero patience for 1930s marital squabbles that could be solved by a simple five-minute conversation, you might want to skip this one.
Honestly, watching Joan Crawford try to act like a refined society lady while her husband runs around like a toddler is a weird experience. She’s great, as always, but you can tell the script is pushing her to be way more patient than any sane person would ever be.
The whole thing feels like it’s vibrating at a high frequency of desperation. There’s this one scene where they are all at a party, and the lighting is so bright it looks like they’re being interrogated by the police. No one is actually having fun, even though they’re all laughing really hard.
Robert Montgomery plays the husband, and he’s got that specific kind of smarmy charm that makes you want to throw a shoe at the screen. He’s supposed to be lovable, I think? But he’s mostly just exhausting.
It’s not quite as sharp as something like What Every Woman Knows, but it’s got its moments. It’s light, it’s fluffy, and it completely falls apart if you think about the actual logistics of their marriage for more than ten seconds.
There is a moment near the end where things get supposedly dramatic, but the pacing just dies. It’s like the movie realized it didn't have a real ending, so it just stopped talking and let the credits roll over a bunch of people standing around looking confused. I kinda respect the laziness of that.
Don't expect a masterpiece. Just expect some nice hats and a whole lot of 1930s entitlement. 🍸