As with most of Eleanor Powell's films, this one plays out along the flimsiest of plots. For some reason -- oh it is explained! -- she's selected to transport a magnetic mine to Cuba. Good guys and bad guys compete for the mine and who is who gets confusing. But, as always, Powell's dancing is superb and worth the price of admission. And in this one Lahr plays his cowardly lion, evoking warm memories of that Technicolor film of 1939. A fringe benefit is hearing a young Frank, with that wonderful voice and skinny vulnerability that he abandoned for his wise-guy persona later on. In addition, the great drummer, Buddy Rich, has a wonderful time displaying his virtuosity. Watch particularly for his unique duet with Dorsey's trumpet man, Ziggy Elman. I say "unique" perhaps in ignorance, but I know of no other drum/trumpet sequence like this one on film or records. This film is fun. Even Skelton's goofy persona is relatively restrained. Powell shows again that she is the greatest film dancer ever.

In order to avoid confusion, let me clarify a couple of points: I am not a red neck. I am not even a moderate nor a conservative. Quite on the contrary, I am a radical: a Libertarian. I'm not a WASP either, I was not even born in the States.
Jorge Luis Borges used to say that there are some kind of folk who do not feel poetry, and that these sad people usually earn their living teaching poetry. This movie was made by and for people who do not feel poetry, by and for show-offs; and I dare say, by and for people who have no sense of decency or, for that matter, respect for other people's life or death (especially when the victims are thought to be mostly 'bloody imperialists' killed in Yankee soil.) I even find the original marketing idea of the eleven episodes of eleven minutes, nine seconds and one frame as particularly hideous and repulsive. Just plain awful. Why didn't they assign a budget of as many dollars per episode as individuals were brutally murdered in the attack? The whole idea rests somewhere between mere stupidity and reckless fascism. Anybody who is serious about film-making (and serious about life and death) should have angrily declined to participate in this recollection of innuendoes and non-sequiturs. With two exceptions: the episode of Burkina Faso -- almost amusing --, and the one from India --which documents the story of a man who was unfairly and wrongly investigated in relation to the attack, on the basis that afterwards he didn't return home and that he was an American Muslim (and, truth be told, when the facts were known he was honored as a hero). All other nine episodes, essentially and extremely boring and emotionless, can be listed in two different categories:
First: 'I don't care about the thousands of victims: Americans, foreigners, children, youngsters, adults, old-timers...' and can be resumed in pure boredom and lack of emotion. Makhmalbaf's (Iran); Lelouch's (France)  I'm afraid I'm going to commit an heresy since it's Lelouch's, but maybe, his episode might be considered built upon an idea which could be regarded as almost original; Tanovic's (Bosnia-Herzegovina); Gonzalez Inarritu's (Mexico); Gitaï's (Israel); Penn's (USA)
Second: 'The bloody Yankees deserve it'. And can be resumed in frustration and hatred. Chahine (Egypt) vindicates the suicide bombers; Loach (UK) considers the 9/11 reckless attacks were some kind of punishment for the alleged support of the USA to the Chilean dictatorship headed by the serial-killer Augusto Pinochet, in fact someone should inform Mr. Loach that the victims of Pinochet were not related to Al-Qaida and that Chile is a South American country which sole existence Mr. Bin Laden should have ignored, he ought to be informed too that the American government sanctions against the Chilean dictatorship were harder than any other ciountrie's; and, Imamura (Japan) windingly points out that WWII is related the attack to the WTC. Imamura has at least been coherent in this: the supposed cause effect linking is entirely nonsensical, which plays well with his episode including a man who believes himself to be a snake. It pretends to be obscure. It is, instead, quite ludicrous.
There's some kind of error shared by many, including some Americans, and it consists in the belief that this movie wasn't commercially screened in the States because of some kind of censorship. Nothing further from the truth: This movie wasn't screened in the States because it is a complete fiasco. A fiasco of the wackyest kind. Even in Buenos Aires, where Peronism and other forms of Fascism are nearest and dearest to the hearts of a sizable number of its inhabitants, and anti-Americanism is in vogue, the movie was screened in living rooms hurriedly converted into theaters, and was applauded by a very select public: The usual sad few who routinely lend their applause to other equally 'quaint' spectacles. Like the sight of a McDonald's fast-food restaurant or, perchance, an elderly Jew, being burnt to ashes.