Mae West's first vehicle following the enforcement of the Production Code emerges as a lesser comedy, despite the involvement of the renowned McCarey (who directed many a star comedian around this time, including various Laurel & Hardy shorts, Eddie Cantor, The Marx Bros., W.C. Fields and Harold Lloyd).

As ever, West wrote the script herself: having gone through the titles included in the R1 DVD collection not too long ago, this film can be seen to have adhered strictly to formula – so that, in spite of offering nothing new (all the men, be they naïve or unscrupulous, invariably throw themselves at the star's feet who, of course, plays a notorious chanteuse),the undercasting of the chief supporting players and the severely reduced trademark double entendres, it still gets by on the consummate professionalism on display (conveyed in Paramount's recognizable in-house style). Among the highlights here are a marathon boxing match, a typically soulful number by the underprivileged black community and the fiery climax.

The film's brief 70-minute running-time (in PAL mode) and unassuming plot line makes this ideal for late-night viewing; however, such rampant streamlining also leads to an overly abrupt denouement in which events are neatly tied up via a montage of newspaper clippings!

As I watched the Mae West film, "Belle of the Nineties", I found myself wishing they'd made the movie six months earlier. This is because the film debuted in September, 1934...a couple months after the new toughened Production Code came into effect. This is because West's shtick was bawdy humor....and in the Code era, nothing even remotely bawdy would be allowed. So, as a result, West's character is pretty dull and the movie mostly forgettable.

Mae stars as Ruby, a woman who sings in the saloon owned by a local baddie, Ace Lamont. Lamont was played by John Miljan...a man who always played disreputable jerks. So, you know from the outset that he's a guy up to no good. But, like EVERY man in a Mae West film, he is drawn to her like a moth to a flame. But because he's bad to the core, he wants Ruby AND he wants to screw her...out of her diamonds. Can Ruby outsmart this conniving jerk?

It's odd, but after the movie was over, I already found myself forgetting it. Sure, a Code picture with West could be good ("My Little Chickadee" and "Go West Young Man" were pretty good Code films),but this one just seemed to be so neutered that it was dull and forgettable. Gone are West's terrific one liners as well as any sense of fun.

The enforcement of the Hollywood production code in 1934 was abrupt, and for many in-production movies it meant hasty rewrites and reshoots. Belle of the Nineties, Mae West's follow-up to the phenomenally successful (not to mention outrageously code-flaunting) I'm No Angel and She Done Him Wrong, was just such a victim of the post-code cull.

Sources vary regarding this picture, but most agree it had to be adapted quite extensively to fit the more stringent regulations. The story is typical Mae West (she wrote her own material) but the jokes are a little lukewarm, suggestive of nothing more than a nice cuddle and the prospect of marriage. It's odd though because there is as always suggestion of much more in West's body language. Her opening scene is as good an example as any. A musical number, but West doesn't sing or dance; she merely flicks her eyes and sashays her hips as a number of backdrops appear behind her, a performance existing solely to convey her sexual allure.

As well as toning down the dialogue, the story seems to have been truncated, possibly to save time after the rewrites. A large chunk of plot is skimmed over with a few newspaper headlines. When West's character arrives in New Orleans she flirts with a young man who picks up her glove, and it looks as if he is going to become an important character, but he doesn't. The director is slapstick master Leo McCarey, who seems to be using the opportunity to fine-tune his cinematic technique, handling movement on different levels and keeping the camera chugging smoothly around. His biggest contribution is probably to show West's musical numbers from the point-of-view of a face in the crowd, with the camera often at her feet or peeping out between other silhouettes. All in all though it seems a little plodding for a McCarey job, and one wonders if the hassle of reshoots had drained his enthusiasm for the project somewhat.

Belle of the Nineties is perhaps the weakest of all the Mae West pictures, because it is like some strange hybrid. By leaving in West's promiscuous character and sassy mannerisms but taking out all the witty smut, Paramount has left us with something far more disturbing and questionable than the easygoing innuendo of her previous efforts. Things like the oddness of West's walk start to stand out as verging on ridiculous. Of course, the choice of leading man doesn't help either. Roger Pryor's childish grin as he gazes appreciatively at the blonde beauty is decidedly creepy in itself. A few years later, with Klondike Annie, West would work out a suitable post-code persona for herself, which without her trademark sexuality was mediocre though certainly watchable. But Belle of the Nineties, lacking the sex but having the set-up, is awkwardly bad.