There are some of the elements of a good mystery story in The Thirteenth Guest (1932, aka Lady Beware [UK]), but it’s an incomplete set, and they are offset by two very poor elements.
Thirteen years earlier, a husband and father read his newly revised will to his family & friends, numbering twelve, and then he dropped dead. The twist? The will gives the bulk of the vast estate to the unnamed 13th guest.
Now the young daughter, just turned 21, has received instructions to return to the abandoned estate. While there, she’s electrocuted and dies; her taxi driver calls the police, who notify the family and begin investigating.
By the time she pops up again, alive and kicking, things are interesting. Add in another plot twist, a takedown of the entire family for being too hoity-toity for their own good, and a private eye with some attitude, and there’s some good elements.
However, the police are portrayed as buffoons, which grates on the nerves, even if it is a poke at nepotism. Worse yet, though, is that the person truly responsible for the murders, well, you would never have guessed. Not because of the portrayal of that character, but lack thereof. She is just another face in the family, and there is no big reveal of a grievance or psychosis or immorality which explains the mildly clever murders.
In the end, it was a pleasant way to spend an hour, especially following a medical procedure which required I rest, and if you’re a Ginger Rogers completist, this should be on your list of movies to see. She doesn’t distinguish herself, but she’s competent in the ensemble. And I liked the innovative manner in which the credits were handled.
Too bad about the bad guy.
Here’s the movie itself.
