“Yeah, my parents sent me to finishing school to learn how to use sandpaper and stick my thumbs in my armpits elegantly. See?”
The Rogues’ Tavern (1936) is a B-lister, as they used to call them, a murder mystery with indistinguishable characters whose actions seem unmotivated, a woman who puts up with her fiancee’s patronizing attitude and supports him, again for reasons unknown, and a dog that seems to have committed the murders.
Poor dog.
It’s bad, it’s boring. Don’t bother.
