Judging from the TCM print, which runs just an hour, as opposed to the original, 15-minute-longer version, this is a tense little thriller with a few loose threads. First, despite the title of the novel on which it's based, there are not 13 women in it, at least not the 13 alluded to in the title. The ones remaining are all former sorority sisters being tormented and summarily bumped off, mostly through the power of suggestion, by jealous former student Myrna Loy, still in her Eastern-temptress phase, though not for much longer. She's the most interesting thing in it, quite gorgeous and with a cool hauteur that suits Ursula Georgia very well. The most rational and combative sister, Irene Dunne in her noblest mode, is rather a dullard. She's widowed and lives, awfully well, somewhere near Beverly Hills, and has an irritating adorable son whom Loy targets. Other women include Kay Johnson, reduced to supporting parts after such disasters as "Madame Satan," and Jill Esmond, then married to Laurence Olivier, who has a lilting British accent and gives off an intriguing, somewhat Sapphic vibe. Peg Entwistle, about to throw herself off the Hollywood sign, is another, and her footage is too brief to reveal much about her. Ricardo Cortez, always welcome, is the uninteresting detective who pieces the case together, and some of the murders--a nervous trapeze artist, Johnson's--are quite strikingly filmed. It's far-fetched and racist and wildly unlikely, but entertaining, and an excellent look at the pre-Nora Charles Loy.
Review of Thirteen Women
