But of course it's not a cinch. The big complication is that Blondell falls hard for a handsome, bland Marine (Warren Hull) and is dumb enough to show up with him for the big fight. Perhaps the most unconvincing boxing champ in cinema history, Kewpie is getting his ass beat until he sees Blondell snuggling with the Marine in the stands. Going into a poor excuse for a berserker rage, he kayoes his man with a series of devastating punches to the arm, claims his tickets, and gives them to a scatterbrained girl (Marie Wilson) who's been stalking him through most of the picture. That puts Blondell behind in the voting, but she still has chance enough to distress Freytag's wife (Minna Gombell), who suspects her of having an affair with her husband. Desperate to prevent her victory, she recruits an ex-con she just happens to know (Guinn Williams) to have Blondell kidnapped, to prevent her from soliciting any more votes. Big Boy's boys make their move in the midst of the confusion generated by a random catfight. Learning of the crime, Kewpie embarks on a seaborne rescue operation that looks like an inferior do-over of the water chase in the last Blondell-Farrell vehicle, We're in the Money. There's further confusion to clear up, but rest assured of a happy ending for everyone but Freytag, who exits pursued by his spouse.
You can see the demoralization on the co-stars' faces. They look tired and beaten and compared to We're in the Money, where they play process servers with some of their old aggression, they really have very little to do here. They seem a little like their old selves when they're bickering with each other, but otherwise the Production Code has tamed them, though Farrell would soon emerge re-energized as Torchy Blaine in a series of B pictures. Here, however, whatever the billing says this may as well be an Allen Jenkins movie. He and Herbert (later reteamed in the immortal Sh! The Octopus) get all the physical comedy and actually have good chemistry together, particularly in the running gag that has Herbert always beating him to the loose change in pay phones. Herbert is one of those oddities who always leave you wondering how his absolutely dysfunctional characters end up in positions of responsibility in the first place, but I suppose you're not supposed to ask such questions of comedies. I find him a guilty pleasure, while I admire Jenkins with fewer reservations. It's up to them to make Miss Pacific Fleet entertaining in the virtual absence of the stars, and they just about manage it. But you can't help feeling sadness and defeat in sympathy with the once-mighty Gimme Girls at the end of their tether as a team. This film may have been released at the end of 1935, but to look at Blondell and Farrell you'd think a depression was just getting started.