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It is a story of in-law trouble carried to awful extremes. But it is hard to work up any sustained sympathy for the uptight characters. Audiences will probably side with the murderess, who spends all of the early reels trying to manage five minutes alone with her husband. Just as it looks possible, she picks up a pair of binoculars and sees his brother, her mother, her adopted cousin and the caretaker approaching by motorboat.
No amount of strenuous plot trouble—or even a long fall down a flight of steps—seems to jar Gene Tierney's smooth deadpan. Waking or sleeping, in ecstasy or anger, joy or sorrow, her pretty, composed features seem to be asking the single, gamin-&-spinach question: "Huh?"