SONG OF THE THIN MAN (1947) **1/2 They're having just a few slight problems creating variations on the formula, this is at least the second time they break the case in some part due to someone who knows they don't have to knock, but it's the end of a venerable line, so who cares. William Powell and Myrna Loy have lasted their way into the age of the jazz cat and Myrna is most neon-electrodely linguistically hep. Starts out with a charity event on a gambling boat, the S.S. Fortune, but shortly thereafter a bottle of scotch is murdered leading Powell to purchase two ham sandwiches for thirty cents. Saul-id. Where would American cinema be without gangsters and jazz parties that start at deuce bells? Leaves you wondering if six thin man films was enough.
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