Joan Crawford is back on the screen, but to no avail. She cries, she laughs, she loves, she hates, but she fails to make "Mildred Pierce" more than an over-emotional whodunit with a psychological mother-daughter angle.

Any movie that opens with a series of sharp gunshots barking into a foggy night followed by a body slumping to the floor and a fadcout to distant parts is doomed. It has to be exceptional to make up for such a sure-fire start, and "Mildred Pierce" isn't. The audience is led by the nose to the murder, and then comes the usual extra twist which reveals that the real murderer is somebody quite different from the one expected. But neither the twist nor the preceding events are effective or original enough to create interest, not to say excitement.

The central idea is that Joan Crawford, in the title role, will do absolutely anything for her daughter, who is a most unpleasant female. This, of course, leads Miss Crawford into all sorts of difficulties, but she never realizes to the bitter end that it all would be much neater and happier if she killed her daughter about a third of the way through the movie. The film's detectives might condemn her, but the audience would not.