Review of Strictly Unconventional

One would have thought that by the middle of 1930, audiences had become attuned to the novelty of sound and would no longer, thrill to such larger-than-life effects as the pounding of horses' hooves, the gurgling of a river, the slamming of doors, the crash of foot- steps, the revving up of a motor car and the closing of the lid of a jewel box. Alas, the cumbersome sound-proof booth with its diffused lighting is still much in evidence in the interior scenes here (contrasting vividly with the sharp exteriors); plus that odd, early sound technique of characters constantly walking out of the frame to be picked up in a two-shot. Of course a lot of this weird happenstance could be sheeted home to forgetful photographers who had still not fully registered the fact that a large chunk of the picture frame had disappeared in order to accommodate the sound track. And evidently the booths were none too sound-proof on this one, as the microphone often picks up a lot of camera buzz and whirr.

Even worse, however, is the acting. Tyrell Davis is the most atrocious of over-ripe hams (though he does improve later, particularly at the climax). Catherine Dale Owen is only slightly less plummy, whilst Paul Cavanagh is a wet hero, and Lewis Stone a boring father. Most people will walk out of the film before Ernest Torrence and Alison Skipworth come on. They are not much less hammy than the others, but at least they have presence as well as all the best lines.

Director David Burton is a slave to the microphone and his film is little more than a photographed stage play.