You’re all giving me heartburn, so I’m going to whip out this gun and fix it.
The attentive audience member will readily see the hands of the creators of Queen Of The Amazons (1946) in their work. They’ll be glimpsed up the backsides of the characters, who all seem to blow in the wind; mouthing the horribly limp dialog; padding the paper thin plot with African savanna populated by the exotica of lions, lions, lions, giraffes, monkeys, zebras, one quick shot of a hippo, and lions savaging the members of various tribes and one white guy; characters betraying no ambition beyond obtaining husbands, both Amazonian and domestic; and generally out to make a buck and not tell a story.
My Arts Editor commented that this one was not worth picking apart. Sure, it’s an anti- ivory-trade story, but it’s tension free. The lady’s fiancee is missing? Sure, she’s charging right out to find him in the wilds, with nary a worry in the world. Some poor Indian gets shot while telling her what the fiancee was up to? Pity about that, too bad. Safari staff get mauled by a lion? Ah, yeah. Amazon Queen’s going to marry your fiancee? Nyah. OH, OK, so she’ll marry another white guy!
The best parts are the crow (“Jimmy, go get the commissioner a match!”) and the poetry-composing cook.
Yecccccccccccccccch.
