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4.9/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 4.9/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Singapore Sue remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Honestly, only if you are a completionist for early talkies or just really want to see Cary Grant before he became, well, Cary Grant. If you hate slow-moving, stagey shorts with zero actual stakes, you should skip this. It’s barely a movie, really. It’s more of a musical postcard that got lost in the mail.
The whole thing is about four sailors walking into a bar. You expect a joke, but you get a song instead. It has that dusty, cramped feeling that a lot of these old short films have, like they were filming inside a closet they found on the lot.
Then there’s Anna Chang. She plays a woman from Brooklyn who somehow ended up in Singapore. It’s the kind of logic that only makes sense in a 15-minute runtime. Why Brooklyn? Don't ask. The movie doesn't care, so you shouldn't either.
Her performance is... something. She sings with this intensity that feels completely disconnected from the sleepy sailors sitting around her. It’s jarring. At one point, I thought the audio track was glitching, but no, that’s just how they mixed these things back then.
It’s hard not to compare this to other experiments of the era, like Don't Say Ain't or the weird pacing found in Radio-Mania. Everyone was just throwing things at the wall to see what would stick with the microphones. Most of it didn't stick.
One reaction shot of a sailor staring at the wall lasts for about ten seconds too long. It’s not even a meaningful stare. He just looks like he’s trying to remember if he left the stove on back in Brooklyn. It’s unintentionally hilarious.
There is no grand conclusion. The sailors leave, the song ends, and you’re left wondering if you actually learned anything about Singapore or Brooklyn. You didn't. It’s just a weird 1930s artifact that exists because someone had an extra reel of film and a half-written script. 🍻