Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, with an Irving Berlin set of four good songs, delve into psychoanalysis for their script [from an original story by Marian Ainslee and Guy Endore]. The result may inspire some to wonder if the psyching shouldn’t have started in the studio. It’s a disappointing story and leaves the viewer bewildered, with Astaire hypnotizing his co-star; Rogers walking to the altar, obsessed with the hypnotic suggestion that Astaire is a cad and Ralph Bellamy a nobleman, etc.
Still, in the dream sequence, as result of a sedative administered by Dr Astaire, the team does one of its best double numbers (‘Color Blind’ is the tune), wherein a slow-motion camera truly points up the poetry of their terpsichorean motion.
Astaire’s very first specialty, a golf-ball dance, gives it a fast gait, but pretty soon the story asserts its handicaps. Astaire, as part of a flirtation routine, gives out in swingo-highland fling via mouth-organ, thence into a dash of 52nd street hoot-mon, and the topper is that rhythmic routine, driving off a flock of golf balls from the green.
Rogers, while under hypnotic influence, reminds of some of the inhibitions that Paramount’s If I Had a Million so brightly presented. Here she shatters plate-glass windows, baits policemen, and even broadcasts that her sponsor (she’s a radio songstress) puts out the poorest product.