I’ve been working through Barbara Stanwyck’s movies ever since Anthony Lane’s essay in the NYer last spring. Conceptually, Ball of Fire might be a bit of a stretch: 12 bachelor learned men living in a house together while they perfect their encyclopedia, only to have their erudite bliss disrupted by a slang-mouthed stripper. But whatever, I thought it was fun.
Also, some brave soul has united dear Stanwyck with T-Pain’s breakout hit. Loves it!