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Clara Bow deserved so much better than No Limit, a mishmash of a comedy that her talent and star personality makes much more enjoyable than it has any right to be. Limit is one of those films that you watch and wonder if the screenwriters were even aware they were working on the same picture. It's clunky in the extreme, and tries to treat some heavily melodramatic situations as if they were comedy; it's an interesting approach, and if it were being done for a purpose, the results could have been something. But they're just being done for no reason, and the film slips and slides all over the place. (Frank Tuttle's aimless direction is of absolutely no help here.) Matters are not helped by a reliance on "comedy" styles that are far from amusing, especially the "dumb Swede" stereotype and the English-mangling, malaprop-prone Jewish comic. Bow does wonders with this subpar material, even when given some perfectly dreadful lines to spout. She was born for the camera, and should have made the transition to talkies without a problem -- but with scripts like this, what chance did her later career have? Dixie Lee is also on hand to knock a few lines out of the park with style, which helps to make up for the poor leading-man performance of Norman Foster.