The incomparable Samuel Goldwyn dug deep into his plush, silken topper and drew out Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, Adolph Menjou, The Ritz Brothers, Kenny Baker, Andrea Leeds, Helen Jepson, and the great Zorina. He mixed them all together, added a dash of technicolor, and even put his name in the title; and out of it all emerged "The Goldwyn Follies." Wandering in and out of Hollywood sets and hamburg stands, leaping from the insane antics of the Ritz brothers to the majestic beauty of "La Traviata," and combining jazz and the ballet in preposterous fashion, it dwarfs everything previously produced in lavish magnificence and collossal stupidity. Including almost everything except a ballet dance by Charlie McCarthy, its biggest virtue is the absence of endless rows of chorus girls; and only the quiet charm of the leading lady (Miss Leeds) and the all-too-few scenes with Bergen's "animated clothespin" save this tremendous hodge-podge from utter failure.

"Blondes At Work," the co-feature, is another in Glenda Farrell's Torchy Blaine series. It is probably the best to date, mainly because the problem of solving the murder is now less important than the saucy remarks and ingenious pranks of the little blonde newspaper reporter.