The Emperor Waltz (Paramount) opens with a bang-up burlesque of glamorous old turn-of-the-century Viennese romance. A stranger, muffled to the snout, snoops romantically along snow-stifled balustrades, peering through windows. Indoors, the
Emperor's ball is going full blast, in charming Technicolor: it looks as if the music of Strauss were pushing all the flower petals in the world in a leisured cyclone, across the gigantic double eagle, inlaid in the polished floor.
The stranger quietly breaks a window, steals in, parks his hat and coat, and with a gate-crasher's false assurance descends a magnificent marble...
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