What is there to say? The story is trite, dull, hackneyed, uninspired. it was fired from the slick, sleazy pages of the Cosmopolitan Magazine, and it didn't have any other place to go besides Holly-wood, where it was enthusiastically hailed as a proper vehicle for you know who. It deals with boarding houses and mortgages and saving the old place by opening up a night club, and it was written by Louis Bromfield, who makes a lot of money writing about such things and who gave us "The Rains Came."

There is Ann Sheridan, of course. Well, what is there to say? Ann is not a great girl. She cannot act. She cannot dance. She cannot sing. It stands to reason that, when she is required to act, dance, and sing through a whole picture, the out-come is not happy. That is not all. Ann completely fails to demonstrate that she is the Earth Mother on Wheels, the Great American Mistress which she is cracked up to be. She is downright disappointing.

Odds and ends: (1) Get a load of the Elder-bloom Chorus, a hungry pack of female septuagenarians who truck, peck, and shag. (2) The name of the picture is "It All Came True." (3) It is very likely that the Metropolitan Theatre expected "The Grapes of Wrath" to run two weeks, and consequently was caught up a tree when it was good for only one. (4) Sheridan is gowned throughout like an expectant mother.