Even today, it's doubtful that anyone settling down to a Temple movie will have 'accidentally' stumbled upon it whilst browsing, and knows what they're letting themselves in for. Temple's vehicles are a sub-genre of their own and, in terms of cinematic artistry, are amongst the kind of films who's best critics by far are their own core audience.
The plot of OLG seems the kind of mawkish fare that Miss Curly Top was a dab-hand at resolving with a starry smile and a twinkly eye - mum and dad's marriage hits the rocks, divorce beckons following infidelity, and Shirley is of course caught up in the middle of it all.
This particular entry somewhat subverts the given formula however, and throughout the film's brief hour-long running time the perspective is in the main unusually dour. Whilst we're not exactly talking 'Requiem For A Dream', there is no sanguine song-and-dance routine to make everything alright here. It takes a runaway Shirley, one of those stock-character post-depression aphoristic hobos, and much wincing solemnity on the part of respected Thesps McCrea and Ames to win the day.
Director Robertson apparently chose not to heed WC Fields' advice regarding children and animals, having already directed a version of 'Annie' in 1932, and having to contend with a lot of one and a little of the other here too. One has to wonder whether there was any sadistic pleasure taken in the fabled 'dead animals' factor necessary for Temple's required tears quota, which on this occasion would certainly have been higher than usual.
The plot of OLG seems the kind of mawkish fare that Miss Curly Top was a dab-hand at resolving with a starry smile and a twinkly eye - mum and dad's marriage hits the rocks, divorce beckons following infidelity, and Shirley is of course caught up in the middle of it all.
This particular entry somewhat subverts the given formula however, and throughout the film's brief hour-long running time the perspective is in the main unusually dour. Whilst we're not exactly talking 'Requiem For A Dream', there is no sanguine song-and-dance routine to make everything alright here. It takes a runaway Shirley, one of those stock-character post-depression aphoristic hobos, and much wincing solemnity on the part of respected Thesps McCrea and Ames to win the day.
Director Robertson apparently chose not to heed WC Fields' advice regarding children and animals, having already directed a version of 'Annie' in 1932, and having to contend with a lot of one and a little of the other here too. One has to wonder whether there was any sadistic pleasure taken in the fabled 'dead animals' factor necessary for Temple's required tears quota, which on this occasion would certainly have been higher than usual.