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Rh unguarded cliff. We see the car and its occupants falling, falling, and land finally in a thousand pieces among the rocks, washed by the waves of the Pacific at a spot where the one-piece bathing ladies are in the habit of springing high into the air. Action, action.

Then Hamlet takes control, dressed in a uniform which we have never seen before. The King is dead. The Lord Chamberlain is discredited. The revolution is at its height. The palace is still burning. Long streams of frightened people, carrying their worldly goods, are rushing from the capital. One or two pictures of the world war are neatly patched in here, showing refugees and bursting shells, stumbling soldiers in tin hats, and buildings smashed to bits.

Whereupon, in order that he may be able to marry Sadie and live his own life, Hamlet appoints the best-looking of the Labour leaders — one whose eyes are piercing and whose jaw is square — Dictator of Elsinoria. This brilliant flash of genius has the immediate effect of putting out the fires, turning back the tide, bringing the revolution to an end, and causing the troubled population to return joyfully to their homes. Ophelia, of whom we have seen nothing because, unfortunately, she is not a blonde, becomes engaged to be married to the new Dictator, who, like all Labour leaders, is a snob.

And thus it is that Hamlet, the now plain but gallant Hamlet, leads Sadie to the altar of the village church in a well-cut suit of tweeds. For the first time and the last we see all the bathing beauties dressed in the orthodox garments of bridesmaids. The exemplary doorkeeper gives his daughter away, and the happy pair, dodging handfuls of rice and masses of sweet-peas, mount a bicycle made for two. The simple life for them. And in the final beautiful "shot," after a close-up of two young faces which gives us rather a shock, we see them pedalling through Hollywood to untold happiness and everlasting love.