THE WICKED LADY (1945) *1/2 Fortunately, the world wouldn't seen so ridiculous a collection of men's hairdos for another fifty years (somehow James Mason is cool enough to survive). Low-grade and timid, but relentless, double entendres pass for dialogue. The plot is not so much something that takes shape as something that refuses to grow weary of itself, like a banal and mistaken guest who believes himself to have finally discovered the dinner party where he's appreciated. Highwaymen and all that, weary even when the highwaymen are women. They didn't work so hard at protecting the stars back in those days, though. Margaret Lockwood exhibits nearly lethal levels of consternation-and is hardly bereft of feminine wiles or charms-but is not nearly as interesting an actress or character of her sidekicks, Enid Stamp-Taylor and Patricia Roc. No matter, they're all in it, and there's not a damn thing any of them can do to save it. The costumes are good, and this might well have served some revolutionary cell nicely as propaganda in the class war. But only if the audience was desperate, or easily horrified. The best bits are the unwittingly witty ultra-melodramatic ones.

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