A 65-minute ghost story [by Garnett Weston] that dies after the first half hour. Up to the turning point there’s some excitement, but the authors and director fall into the usual traps and put too much pressure on a frail plot. Once the grip on audience interest is relaxed, the picture never recovers.
Carole Lombard, featured, is pitted against a role that needs more expert handling in acting and direction than it recieves. She’s called on to change from a nice to a bad girl when the spirit of a dead murderess takes full possession of her. Her Jekyll-Hyde transposition in the femme gender is crudely done, forced as it is to depend on such flimsy device as fainting spells, smirks, she-devil facial expressions and double exposures.
The villain is a phoney spiritualist (Allan Dinehart), and he’s painted with a pretty broad brush all the way. On the other hand, there’s a prominent scientist whose ideas are equally far-fetched, but he’s accepted as a legitimate person.
After getting her revenge, the spirit murderess scrams, leaving Lombard as her nice self again. That’s the cue for Lombard and Randolph Scott to clinch, the ghost playing cupid.