Riffraff feels needlessly cruel for a slice-of-life, with promising politics in Frances Marion's script getting lost in the many scuffles between the ostensible romantic leads. Give or take funny old supporting people, the class commentary is muddled in BS.
I think of Spencer Tracy as even more of a classic-era Tom Hanks analogue than Henry Fonda or Jimmy Stewart, so it's distressing to see him this volatile throughout a film in which you're meant to like him. I'm all for a tuna cannery ethics thriller, but not on board with him, and it doesn't work.
Anyway, good to have finally seen a Jean Harlow vehicle (she's major to me because my beloved Gwen Stefani played her in a Scorsese picture).