Strawberry Blonde (Warner Bros.) answers James Cagney's constant prayer. It keeps him out of crime pictures. It puts him into a fragrant, funny picture of Manhattan of the '90s, when birch beer was a dandy drink and if you had a black eye you went to a barber shop and got a leech.
Mostly one long flashback, the picture begins with Cagney bawling out a noisy party in the next yard, whereupon a turtlenecked Yale man of the Bum McClung era, with a Y as wide as his chest, rears above the garden wall and...
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