One in a Million: When the camera barely moves

Is it worth your time?

Honestly, only if you have a weird itch for 1930s B-movies that feel like they were filmed in a single afternoon. If you like your pacing snappy or your cinematography inventive, skip this. It's for the folks who find comfort in how predictable these old Chesterfield flicks get.

Frank R. Strayer must have been glued to the floor. The camera barely moves. It’s almost impressive how static it stays, even when stuff is supposedly happening.

The whole plot hinges on a lingerie theft that feels incredibly small potatoes today. But hey, in 1935, I guess a lady losing her job over a few slips was enough to trigger a full-blown noir-lite meltdown.

That window scene

The big moment where the boss, Mr. Dickman, goes flying out the window? It happens off-camera. They didn't even want to spend the extra nickel to show the guy falling. It’s hilarious in a sad way.

It reminds me a bit of the low-budget energy in The Fighting Gentleman. You can just tell everyone on set was watching the clock to make sure they finished by dinner.

Dorothy Wilson is doing her best to look panicked, but the movie keeps cutting back to long, flat shots of furniture. You lose the tension immediately. It’s hard to care about a murder charge when the set looks like a quiet living room in a furniture catalog.

• The dialogue is pure filler.
• Nobody seems truly worried about the police.
• The romance is about as spicy as plain toast.

I caught myself staring at the wallpaper patterns in the background for a solid three minutes. That’s usually a sign I’ve checked out. Still, there’s something undeniably sweet about how these old movies just assume the audience is already on their side.

It’s not trying to be The House of Mirth, that's for sure. It’s just a little story about a girl who needs a break. If you’re folding laundry or painting a wall, this is perfect background noise. Just don't expect to be on the edge of your seat. Or even in the seat at all, really. ☕️