As you see from the year, it's not the Elvis Presley vehicle of the same title. (I doubt I'll ever watch a movie starring Elvis from start to finish.) This is one of the two earliest directorial efforts of Michael Curtiz that I've seen, as well as one of the two earliest acting efforts of Humphrey Bogart that I've seen. A precursor to Casablanca? Not really.
The headliners are Edward G. Robinson as boxing promoter/gangster (of course) Nick Donati and Bette Davis as his moll, "Fluff." Nick needs a new champion and discovers surprise potential in a clean-cut bellhop with a mocked name, Ward Guisenberry (Wayne Morris, possibly best known for Lt. Roget in Paths of Glory). Due to issues of jealousy, Nick sometimes plots against Ward's ring success, tho trainer Silver Jackson (Harry Carey) doesn't have the heart to let it work for long. But everyone's biggest concern is how "Turkey" Morgan (Bogart) and his hoods will react to Ward not fighting on his side.
And where does that jealousy stem from? From Ward winning the hearts of every woman who sees him, well before he throws a punch. He's not even trying to turn them on; he's just that handsome -- and chivalrous, hence the titular alias. You'd think Fluff would have no use for a goody two-shoes, but between pity for the naive country boy and disenchantment with Nick, maybe she felt like a change of pace. Ward also appeals to Nick's formerly convent-dwelling sister, leading to a quasi-incestuous resentment that may have been inspired by Scarface: The Shame of a Nation (1932).
Note for the language lovers: At home, Nick and his mother speak Italian extensively. We can deduce enough of the meaning that they don't bother with subtitles. I cannot vouch for the fidelity or infidelity of the grammar or pronunciation, but it's nice when Hollywood tries.
As for Bogart, keep in mind that he had just gained fame from The Petrified Forest and would next appear in Dead End. He hadn't really started playing cool guys like in The Maltese Falcon or bums like in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre; he was still all about criminals. Kid Galahad may present him at his scariest. You get the impression that he's never far off from drawing one weapon or another for any reason.
If you accept the ridiculous claims of Wayne Morris's irresistibility, you get a good crime drama dressed as a sports flick. You may find, as I do, that the old-fashioned footage makes pugilistic injuries more palatable without sacrificing much in the way of credibility. At any rate, you should enjoy at least the bigger-name actors involved.
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