"Love Before Breakfast" years to be too, too smart. It is one of these pictures that tries conscientiously to be conscience-free. Whenever the sophistication peters out in English, the actors become blase in the approved Parisian style. For example, when Preston Foster invites Carole Lombard into his private office, she says, "Mousieur" and one sees instantly what a cosmopolitan she is. It's too bad the way Hollywood is forced to grind out pictures in such a furious frenzy. Clearly there is no time to write the small talk in advance, and the poor scared actors and actresses have to make it up with the formidable cameras staring then down. The result is that one intuitively feels confident of having done slightly better at that last dance where he issued more yawns than words, and couldn't for the life of him remember who his partner was.

Carole Lombard is pretty well preserved, and she is fairly diverting when violently refusing to be one of the buttons pressed by her omnipotent, omnipresent lover (Preston Foster). There are also germs of amusement in her dilemma when she has to choose between submission to her presumptuous lover (the same Mr. Foster), smugly on- sconced in his steam-yacht; and death by drowning with her wine-soaked, brine-soaked, luke-warm sweetheart (Ceasar Romero) in his tiny, tossing sloop. But the finale falls flat once again. Preston and Carole are married while conducting a licentious altercation. Pathe news catches the spirit of the thing, and elsewhere in the program very impressvely sums up the last twenty-five years in all their hectic strife. But the trick is worth only one rendering, and that has already been given by a much more charming pair of warriors, Fred MacMurray and Claudette Colbert, in "The Bride Comes Home". "Love Before Breakfast"; sour belches after