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Ann Baxter, never a star of the first rank, chiefly remembered for the film "All About Eve," here inaugurates her second tier status with this pedestrian role of woman in distress. Baxter plays Norah Larkin, a young naive woman, who is a romantic and overly sentimental. For Norah this is a combination of character traits that lead to the kind of complications found in dime store novels. Lurid, dime store detective pulps, the gorier the better, happen to be the passionate obsession of one of her room mates, Sally, a gawky, dim bulb played by the confusingly named actress, Jeff Donnell. Ann Sothern is the wisecracking, motherly presence, Crystal, the practical one of the trio, which doesn't stand for much in this storyline. All three share a one room LA apartment living dormitory style and when not working as switchboard operators for the telephone company, are occupied with men, dating and keeping their "honor" intact.

Trouble ahead!

After all this is 1953, and the world is divided among vulnerable females and predatory males on the make. Men carry little black address books with the phone numbers of hot, compliant babes, their attributes annotated by coded symbols. Hubba! Hubba! "If women killed every man who got fresh with them," Crystal wisely quips, "there'd be no men left in the world!" That's the set-up, so ladies, watch out.

Trouble ahead!

In comes one Harry Prebble, an artist known for drawing calendar girls, a profession which gives him convenient and abundant access to women. He's the guy whose main agenda in life is to seduce as many women as possible, females who in the end are disposable after use. Raymond Burr, TV's "Perry Mason," plays the physically large, ungainly, lumbering Prebble. As a seducer of women he's no suave, subtle operator. Only the most unworldly, and gullible would fall for his dating routine, one basically primed to get his date blind drunk, if not giddy, on exotic cocktails called Polynesian Pearl Divers. He's a deceiver all right.

Trouble ahead!

Another male not exactly on the up-and-up is Casey Mayo, portrayed by Richard Conte, a newspaper reporter always hungry for the big scoop, the hot copy. He's no genius either as he tries to be the first to catch a murderer at large, his main assets being a dogged stubbornness and determination that won't quit. George Reeves, TV's original "Superman," is Haynes the homicide detective with whom Mayo maintains an uneasy though companionable alliance. Richard Erdman is news photographer, Al, who serves as Mayo's devoted mascot, following him around relentlessly, hoping one day that some of Mayo's mojo with women will somehow rub off on him and that maybe, just maybe, he can get some of those phone numbers in Mayo's little black book.

And so, this is a prime example of a B movie trying to pretend that it is a crime drama and not a soap opera and failing to convince the audience that it is anything but a second rate and mildly entertaining potboiler. The highlight of the movie may well be the legendary Nat King Cole sitting at the piano, his velvet voice providing his rendition of the movie's insipid, schmaltzy theme song, "Blue Gardenia."

This is the kind of film made by a film director of solid reputation like John Huston when they want to hang out with the rest of the guys in the Hollywood-hood and spend their off hours partying in exotic locations. Huston and Truman Capote ultimately tinkered with the screenplay together, a pair of self-indulgent jokesters, and however inspired, their efforts put together an offbeat little gem with a storyline that entertains at every complicated plot twist. It's a wacky story about a group of con artists each to a one demonstrating various levels of cunning and idiocy. Meeting up together in the scenic isolation of some southern Italian port town, they're all obsessed with getting to some unnamed country in British East Africa where they plan to grab for themselves a monopoly in uranium deposits.

This crew consists of Billy Dannreuther and his wife Maria played by Humphrey Bogart and Gina Lollabrigida. Dannreuther is the seasoned soldier of fortune type, a wanderer of the world always looking for ways to make a million. Bogart, a consummate professional, would never put in a lazy performance but here he shows little enthusiasm and just looks weary and impatient. This, however, actually serves well for the character, Dannreuther being a man who's seen it all and takes nothing for granted. His Italian wife all bosoms, curves and pouty lips is an Anglophile obsessed with all things English from tea in the afternoon to a hunger for the rolling lawns of titled English estates.

The couple are in uneasy league with a quartet of ne'er-do-wells, the key members being Peterson, played by Robert Morley, Ivor Barnard as Major Jack Ross, a loony homicidal fascist who believes Hitler and Mussolini had the right idea, and Peter Lorre as Julius O'Hara. O'Hara, so obviously a brand of O'Hara that Ireland never saw, pridefully expresses that O'Hara is a very respectable surname in Chile. He counteracts Dannreuther's frustration with the complications of their scheme by emphasizing what every con man needs to keep in the forefront: "To seem trustworthy is no more important than to be trustworthy." Time has not been kind to Peter Lorre who only age 49 in this movie looks significantly older since his appearance in Huston's 1941 "The Maltese Falcon" twelve years previous.

We get a blonde Jennifer Jones of all things, apparently an effort to give her the vibes of the blonde noir babe practiced at duplicity. She's Gwendolen Chelm married to a stock-character British male, a member of the prissy, tight-laced breed, humorless and outwardly dull-witted. Chelm breaks into crisis mode when he finds he didn't pack his hot water bottle.

The group of disreputables are waylaid on some North African shoreline after their African bound boat sinks, and taken in for interrogation and detention by horseback marauding Arabs and their leader. These turn out to be not a tribe of terrorists in the modern sense but terrifyingly stupid and intimidating. After Gwendolen rambles on in protest over their detainment, the chief of this band simply points out that "In my country a female may at least know her words are not heard." He may not care what a woman has to say but he certainly is interested in what they look like. It turns out he suffers from a swooning obsession with actress Rita Hayworth, his dream girl whom he'd like to add to is harem.

Whichever one of this crew scores the riches at the end of the game doesn't really matter. It's a winner for the viewer.

This is a comedy that is hilariously nutso bad. Van Johnson is Joe Bedloe, a teacher in a small New England college. He's perfectly happy instilling a new generation of American students with an appreciation for the writing of William Shakespeare. His wife Connie, portrayed by Janet Leigh, is expecting their first child and they live in a cute little two-story house. But being a professional intellectual doesn't provide enough money to keep the family table filled with plates of meat. "Haven't seen a rib roast since 1948." The town butcher Emil Spangenberg, played by Walter Slezak, prescribes a dietary regimen for the mother-to-be: "Meat. So I'd have a strong, healthy baby." In this town of meat hungry carnivores, populated by meat junkies, the butcher's role is tantamount to the one provided today by dispensers of medical marijuana.

De-toxing from the red meat craving by going cold turkey is to be avoided at all costs. That's where Joe's father Opie Bedloe comes into the picture. He's of all things a prosperous Texas cattle baron! When he comes to visit the couple he is horrified to learn that his son is such a poor family provider. It's not that this husband can't provide his wife with jewels and furs and lavish vacations. His beef is that Professor Joe can't shower the woman with…beef!

Cultural satire when well done can be a great comedic look at society. When done in this movie it is a ham handed misfire, a plate of baloney adulterated by coy whimsy and artificial ingredients.

I give this a 2 in recognition of what I interpret as scriptwriter's Max Shulman's mockery of the American mindset of entitlement to all the consumer bounties of life. Hip, hip, hooray! It's the American Way!