“Major picture-making at its worst,” was the New York Times verdict on Nora Prentiss in 1947. Yes, but… It’s also a prime example of the sort of 1940s movie seemingly designed to put women back in their box once war was over. And for that reason alone it deserves a look.
It’s a classic “rogue female” movie, and Ann Sheridan is ideally cast as the nightclub singer driving a staid, breadwinning family man to destruction. They called them dangerous dames back then and it must be said that there’s nothing wilful or malevolent in Nora (Sheridan), far from it. But that just makes it worse. The girl can’t help it.
Stodgy and slow are the real criticisms of this film, which is just too long by about half an hour. A snappier script would have given us a thumbnail sketch of Dr Richard Talbot (Kent Smith) as the methodical and dutiful doctor, instead of going on and on about his qualities in a massively over-extended intro. Then he could have met-cute with Nora on the street outside his surgery at least 15 minutes earlier. (She’s been involved in a minor car accident and the good doctor just happened to be on the scene.)
From here, lovely scenes with Sheridan wisecracking away as the street-smart Nora, not intending to ensnare dullard Dr Talbot but doing it anyway. And in short order he’s frequenting the club where she sings, arriving home to his worried wife after midnight, and neglecting not just his family but also his patients. He’s in love, badly, and so, highly improbably, is she. What to do?
And then the first of a string of madly implausible plot twists, a patient drops dead right in front of Dr Talbot and he decides to assume the dead man’s identity and start a new life with Nora.
After a few more of these unlikelihoods, a surgically altered Dr Talbot winds up in court accused of murdering himself and cannot get anyone to recognise him for who he really is. Not even his wife.
It’s kind of brilliant and a bit mad but this plot development just isn’t worked through properly. All sorts of objections can be raised. Talbot might not look the same but isn’t his voice recognisable? Can’t he prove who he is by reeling off bank account numbers and the like?
Anyhoo. It’s all done in flashback, from Death Row, so we know where it all ends up. It’s Sheridan’s performance that makes it all worthwhile, snappy and and just brassy enough to be fun as well as plausible. Other nice little turns include Robert Alda (father of Alan) as the nightclub owner who’s always carried a torch for Nora and Rosemary DeCamp as Talbot’s loyal wife. That scene in court where Mrs Talbot says she doesn’t recognise her own husband, how majestically ambivalently DeCamp plays it.
This is the good-looking studio movie shot entirely indoors even in its outdoor scenes. Vincent Sherman directed it and was a sure hand in the 1940s, when he was responsible for big hits like All through the Night, The Hard Way and Mrs Skeffington. He does what he can with the too-long screenplay and a big plus is that the great James Wong Howe is his cinematographer. So it looks really good – though you’re usually barking up the wrong tree if it’s a beautifully exposed negative that’s holding the attention.
It’s clearly meant to be a big hit too, and though it’s often described as an attempt to do another Mildred Pierce, the full name of the female protagonist in the title to one side, there is no comparison.
Histrionic is probably the best way to describe it, if improbable and overblown aren’t quite hitting the spot. Franz Waxman’s score pretty much nails it – all cascading and crescendoing strings. It’s pretty wowsers. It’s all pretty wowsers in fact. For a second feature. Which is what the NYT’s “major picture-making at its worst” is really saying. Nora Prentiss is a B movie that thinks it’s an A movie. Enjoyable, though, largely for all the wrong reasons.
Nora Prentiss – Watch it/buy it at Amazon
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© Steve Morrissey 2025
