I love this movie so much

I like movies that are aware of what they are selling... without [any] greater aspirations than to make people laugh and that's it.

There are moments in this movie where the great movie it could've been peek out... They're fleeting, here, but they're worth savoring, and they happen often enough to make it worth your while.

All of these films share one commonality, that being a kind of emotional center that humanizes a cast of monsters.

There's nothing wrong with the plot and dialogue of this movie, but they're fluff. Not worth your full attention, though there are fine comedians delivering them.Skip to the show that finally gets put on at the end, and watch what starts off as a very unassuming number, Powell singing to Keeler "I only have eyes for you." Then, as Powell falls asleep beside her on the subway, he begins to imagine/dream a remarkable production number with giant white cogwheels and beautiful women all turning inside each other. It just keeps getting more and more complex, in geometric patterns, as the song is repeated in different arrangements. It's a wonderful 10 minutes.Then go at get your popcorn.

Millionaire Hugh Herbert leads a moral crusade against musical shows he deems objectionable. But his young relatives Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler are both actors and intend to put on a show of their own. They also date but, before you are grossed out, we're told they're 13th cousins. Anyway, the plot is incidental. What we really want to see are those wonderful Busby Berkeley musical numbers, which are all great fun.Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler are likable leads. Neither strains their acting muscles. Powell sings several pleasant tunes. Joan Blondell, not surprisingly, steals the show as the sexy wisecracking dame she always played so well. Hugh Herbert is an acquired taste. I have watched movies where I enjoyed him and watched movies where I couldn't wait for him to go away. His primary shtick was to fidget with his fingers and mumble a lot, frequently throwing in a 'woo hoo.' It could get old fast. Thankfully here he resists using many of his usual idiosyncrasies (whether that's his choice or the director, I don't know). Because of this, I thought Dames had one of Herbert's better roles. There's more fine comedic support from Guy Kibbee, Zasu Pitts, and Leila Bennett. It's a fun movie. Not the best of the Warner Bros musicals but a good one.

Busby Berkeley has rightfully been lauded as a legendary dance director. But he was also a master of special effects -- and there's no better proof than "Dames." Back in the primitive days before computer generated imagery, he somehow fashioned a floating flotilla of Ruby Keeler faces, a high-kicking chorus of Keeler clones, a series of vanishing crowds (for "I Only Have Eyes for You") and a dance troupe that turned to paper through which Dick Powell suddenly burst. All came off as seamlessly as the dizzying kaleidoscopes that were his trademark. As for the rest of "Dames," it's not bad. There's some sprightly satire of blue noses, personified by Hugh Herbert as the whimsically named billionaire Ezra Ounce who wants to close down Broadway. But if that happened, you'd never get to see Ms. Keeler tap dance as if she was killing cockroaches or watch Joan Blondell perform a witty tribute to the passion of laundry day.

This was the fifth musical in two years since Warners revitalized the genre with 42nd Street and the fact is that whatever your preference the chances are this will probably satisfy it; for example if you're a fan of songwriters then you have not only the highly successful team of Harry Warren and Al Dubin but also an arguably less successful team in Sammy Fain and Irving Kahal (although we shouldn't forget that they came up with two smash hits, I'll Be Seeing You and I Can Dream, Can't I) in one show (Right This Way, 1938) and for good measure old timer Mort Dixon weighs in with a number. If, on the other hand you're an aficionado of character actors look no further because here you'll find F. Hugh Herbert, Guy Kibbee and Zazu Pitts strutting their stuff and as if that weren't enough you have the great Joan Blondell wisecracking her way through the script and unleashing a production number to boot. On the other hand you will have to endure the Singing Sweat Gland, Dick Powell, to say nothing of the clod-hopping Ruby Keeler. Ah well, you win some, you lose some.