Sort of like a very primitive episode of "General Hospital" set in a natal ward (and one for tough cases at that), this fast-moving programmer has a satisfying emotional impact -- mainly because Eric Linden, as the distraught young husband in the main plot, is so palpably a wreck, and with such good reason. His expectant wife, Loretta Young, is brought to the ward at the beginning of a 20-year prison sentence for offing a lecher who probably had it coming to him; Ms. Young, as always, doesn't do anything to disinvite audience sympathy, and she's a little too good to be true, though sympathetic and lovely to look at, of course. Her difficult pregnancy and relationships with the other girls of the ward form the heart of the movie, and the outcome -- not an entirely happy one -- feels right. Aline MacMahon, "one of the cinema's few perfect actresses," in the apt words of film historian David Thomson, exudes warmth and authority as the head nurse, and Glenda Farrell, as a none-too-willing new mom of twins, gets to croon "Frankie and Johnny" as a drunken lullaby. Frank McHugh figures in another subplot, and he gets to show more range than Warners usually permitted him. It's scaled and paced modestly, and Linden's expectant-dad panic stays with you for days -- this sort of part was often played for laughs, but he's a terrified young kid in trouble, and very persuasive.

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