Glamour puss extraordinaire Marlene Dietrich gets a chance to poke gentle fun at her icy, remote goddess persona in The Flame of New Orleans. We’re a long way from the sustained romantic luxury and exotic stylization found in the Josef von Sternberg films here, and Dietrich actually exhibits personality here rather than function as another prop in the elaborate tableau. It’s just a shame that the rest of the film isn’t up to her level. Roland Young is stuffy, Bruce Cabot is a pleasant surprise in the Clark Gable-esque role, Anne Revere gets a chance to play high society instead of frumpy matron, Theresa Harris finds perfect synchronicity with Dietrich as her maid/co-conspirator, but it’s all in service towards a script that starts with a hooky narration and never expands beyond that initial impression. The Flame of New Orleans is a lightweight affair, an amiable obscurity buried within the Dietrich myth that’s fun to discover in a career box set or retrospective wedged in-between towering greats like The Shanghai Express and Witness for the Prosecution.