Fanny Brice is herself, though she isn't on screen enough to vitalize this lavish, tedious musical biography; it goes on for a whopping three hours, but through some insane editing decision she's cut off in the middle of singing "My Man."

Too glib for real life, it is persuasive for all that -- possibly just because of that.

The representation of this greatness is done with such consistent loud-pedalling that the picture lacks climax as much as it needs relief.

The Great Ziegfeld fails to capture either spectacle or substance, dragging its feet with a clear lack of passion or love for the story it is telling.