Not the Altman
Three Women [1924] by Lubitsch is not so very odd — a paramour invests a rich widow's money, then lives for a period off it, high-hog. He lavishes attention on her daughter Jeanne, pronounced the American way presumably since she's also "Jeannie," and since this is America... Porcine post-Berlin fellow whom he owes money to recognizes the subterfuge... and approves as chances are he'll be paid back... The scoundrel-paramour marries the daughter to the chagrin of the mother, and of the daughter's Berkeley sweetheart... Soon afterward he enjoys the fruits of Jeanne's trust-frund and he takes on a harlot'ish lover, Harriet...
Decor you can touch, doors you can open, guns you can shoot. It's a Lubitsch melodramedy. •
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Other writing about Ernst Lubitsch at Cinemasparagus:
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