
I love this. The almost dreamlike, passing through the mirror accident that throws Bartholomew to seamen's dominion is perfect. What follows in not so perfect (the ethnicity of Tracy is laughable, but who cares in 1937)but has an epic force, with sentimental education and all that, that only a director as Fleming and the MGM roaring lion could achieve so naturally, so easily, so moving in the close ups of Tracy and Bartholomew. Rooney was never so quiet, Barrymore great in his tongue in cheek feud with Oscar O'Shea.