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A critical study of the screwball comedy film, 1934-1941

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A critical study of the screwball comedy film, 1934-1941

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Content A CRITICAL STUDY OF THE SCREWBALL COMEDY FILM, 1934-1941
by
Duane Paul Byrge
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(Communication)
May 1985
UMI Number: DP22392
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This dissertation, written by
. D u a p e .. £ .au 1 ..B y r g e .....................................................
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Graduate School, in partial fulfillm ent of re
quirem ents for the degree of
CM
D O C T O R OF PH ILO SOPH Y
Graduate Studies
Date April 26, 1985
DISSERTATION COMMITTEE
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ii
A CRITICAL STUDY OF THE SCREWBALL COMEDY FILM, 1934-1941
Abstract
by
Duane Paul Byrge
The focus of this study is to describe and analyze
the film comedies made during the period 1934 to 1941 that
have been referred to as screwball comedies. Screwball
comedy has been defined by Magill's American Film Guide as
"a type of romantic comedy which developed in the 19.30s
and is usually characterized by main characters from dif
ferent social classes, an antagonistic relationship which
becomes love,--and fast-paced action." This study attempts
to derive the style of screwball comedy, both content and
form, and to evaluate its significance as a film genre.
The screwball comedy is perhaps best characterized by
the title of one of its most famous films, Nothing Sacred.
In screwball comedy, nothing was sacred or sacrosanct.
Screwball comedies levelled pretension and celebrated the
free spirit.
1X1
While the genre flourished during the Depression,
economic conditions were only incidental to the films.
Most screwball comedies were set in the posh living rooms
of the upper classes. Such screwball films as Bringing Up
Baby, My Man Godfrey, The Awful Truth, and Easy Living
were set in the plush Park Avenue milieu.
In the comedy of manners tradition, the screwball
comedies were developed by a wide array of contributing
artists, but they were anchored by the scintillating
dialogue of their writers; some came from the theatre;
some came from journalism. Their breezy lines were
distilled by the skilled farcical talents of some of
silent film's leading directors, including Frank Capra,
Leo McCarey and Howard Hawks, into sophisticated film com
edies. Slapstick had entered the drawing room.
Accordingly, screwball comedies were the first film
comedies to have attractive leads doing pratfalls. Such
attractive star players as Cary Grant, Carole Lombard,
Katharine Hepburn, James Stewart, as well as many others,
played leads in these sophisticated, bright comedies.
iv
Intended as escapist entertainment, screwball come
dies nevertheless often possessed a dark underside, espe
cially in their presentation of the antics of the rich,
giving them a decidedly ambivalent viewpoint.
With the advent of World War II, screwball comedies
were replaced by more broadly based satires. Yet, fifty
years later, their dialogue still bristles, their prat
falls still delight.
V
CONTENTS
Page
Abstract................... ii
INTRODUCTION ...................................................1
The Nature of the Screwball
The Problem of the Study
The Significance of the Study
Definition of Terms
Method of Procedure
Review of the Literature
Organization of the Remainder of the Study
Chapter
I. TRADITIONS AND CONTRIBUTORS ......... 17
Silent Film Comedy
Broadway Stage
^ t
II. ANTAGONISM BECOMES LOVE 39
It Happened One Night
The Thin Man
My Man Godfrey
Bringing Up Baby
Holiday
The Bride Came C.O.D.
Ball of Fire
The Lady Eve
III. LOVERS REUNITE .......................... 84
His Girl Friday
Twentieth Century
The Awful Truth
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
The Philadelphia Story
My Favorite Wife
The Palm Beach Story
Bluebeard's Eighth Wife
vi
Page
IV. PHILOSOPHY ................................ 163
Easy Living
You Can't Take It With You
Mr. Deeds Goes to Town
Topper
Midnight
Bachelor Mother
V. THE DARK S I D E .............................. 196
Nothing Sacred
The Man Who Came to Dinner
Theodora Goes Wild
CONCLUSION ................................ 211
BIBLIOGRAPHY .............................. 222
FILMOGRAPHY .............................. 226
✓
1
INTRODUCTION
There have been rumors of a recent renaissance of the
screwball comedy, a comedy form that flourished during the
1930s. Recently critics have called Arthur and So Fine
screwball comedies; similarly, others have referred to the
comedies of Woody Allen as screwball, and even the come
dies of Mel Brooks have been tagged as being screwball.
In short, zany, wacky or unconventionally structured come
dies are called screwball by the general public or unin
formed entertainment journalists. Of the aforementioned
comedies, only Arthur and So Fine are screwball comedies,
having elements particular to those comedies of 1934-1941
which were screwball comedies.
This endeavor shall seek to distinguish those comedies
which were screwball and to define the screwball genre.
Screwball comedy has been defined as "a type of romantic
comedy which developed in the 1930s and is usually charac
terized by main characters from different social classes, j
I
an antagonistic relationship which becomes love, and fast- !
„ i
paced action."
Film historians have differed on exactly what consti
tutes a screwball comedy. However, there has been general
agreement that the period of screwball comedy did not be
gin much before 1934 or end much after 1941. Ted Sennett
notes it was Frank Capra's film, It Happened One Night
(1934), a comedy that began shooting as an unwanted pro-
2
duction, which launched the genre of screwball comedy.
Further, he argues, It Happened One Night spurred the
development of a body of films that gave a human dimension
to film comedy and expressed the daffy, endearing quality
3
of its lunatic fringe.
The screwball comedies continued into the
forties, entertaining audiences with their
humorous and sometimes witty approach to love,
marriage, and other of life's staples. Yet
something had vanished from the genre, making
many of the films a little more forced, a
little more mechanical than their predeces
sors, as if the atmosphere in which the thir
ties comedies had thrived could no longer be
sustained. Most of the popular stars were
still active and a few, such as Katharine Hep
burn, were finding their stride again after
years of neglect. But the air of strain was
still evident.-^
Other film scholars differ slightly on the time boun
daries of screwball comedy. Andrew Sarris states, "In
1939 Life Magazine announced that the screwball comedy was
finished when Carole Lombard in 'Made For Each Other' be
gan crying after she saw an oxygen tank being wheeled into
5
her baby's hospital room."
3
This study shall attempt to discern the historical
boundaries, if any, of the screwball comedy. Is the genre
an anachronism or a vital, living film form? Although
some entertainment writers have announced a revival of the
screwball comedy in recent years, it is more likely that
they have more precisely meant that there is now a revival
of comedy itself. Some of the largest box-office smashes
of the past few years have been comedies: 9 to 5, Stir
Crazy, Animal House, Arthur, Tootsie and Trading Places
have all flourished in the marketplace. Certainly movie
producers have been preoccupied recently with capturing
the youth market; they hope to snare the teenage movie
goer, and the best method, many of them believe, is
through the production of low-budget youth comedies, usu
ally involving rites of sexual initiation. The producer
of Cheech & Chong's earliest movies, Howard Brown, has
talked of updating It Happened One Night, setting it in
6
Mexico and updating it sexually.
Actor Ralph Bellamy, who played in two of the leading
screwball comedies (The Awful Truth, His Girl Friday) and
more recently performed in Trading Places, feels the
screwball comedy fit a particular time in history, ap
pealed to a particular audience nourished by those times
and updating it would not translate well to the sensibili-
7
ties of the 1980s moviegoers.
4
Whether screwball comedies are a genre which fit only
one particular historical/cultural period will be analy
zed. Certainly, the United States in the 1930s was at a
unique historical juncture; it was the time of the Depres
sion and these comedies, along with the comedies of other
such extraordinary performers as the Marx Brothers, Mae
West, W. C. Fields and many, many more served to take
people's minds off their troubles, served as healers and
reassurances.
In the 1930s, in a gray and troubled America,
the laughter that bubbled up from screen com
edy was all of these; it poked fun at our
absurdities and eased our tension, while con
cealing a deep-rooted hopelessness.8
Other benefits came from these comedies: they left
g
audiences with a "glow of satisfaction." While the
comedies of the Marx Brothers, W. C. Fields and Mae West
were wildly iconoclasic and acerbic, the screwball come
dies were gentler and, in most cases, less caustic. Not
denying that many screwball comedies had very dark under
pinnings (especially those penned by Ben Hecht or Billy
Wilder), their brisk and breezy dynamics and their charac
teristically upbeat endings had audiences leaving the
theatres with warm feelings.
While admitting that screwball comedies left the audi
ence with a "glow," this study will focus also on the
nature of comedy itself, a form that has been called "the
5
groan that made gay."'*'^ Was there an underlying cyni
cism to these comedies, were their happy endings indeed
happy endings? Certainly one must consider comedy itself
in order to focus on these questions as they pertain
specifically to screwball comedy.
Schoolteachers have typically regarded comedy as a
dramatic form with a lot of laughs and a happy ending, a
definition not only simplistic but false. Laughter is not
symptomatic of comedy, it is endemic to comedy. As to
comedy's supposedly happy endings, Walter Kerr has noted
that these happy endings are insecure, arbitrary and
fraudulent. Insecure because they promise no salvation;
arbitrary because they depend on the mood of the artists,
and fraudulent because they allude to a final triumph
where there is none.^
In fact, studies of comedy have never been as abundant
as those of tragedy, owing perhaps to the fact that the
serious nature of comedy has not been as evident to schol
ar and layman alike as its more high-toned counterpart.
There have been no definitive studies of screwball comedy,
its style or form.
There are those who persist in the belief that social
evils can be overcome artistically through social realism
or naturalism. They should heed the observation of the
lead character in Preston Sturges' Sullivan's Travels, an
6
idealistic young inovie director whose goal was to make
"serious" pictures. He left his studio work to travel
among the poor. Through his sojourns, he ultimately be
came convinced that making comedies was a serious endeavor
after all, realizing there is a lot to be said for making
people laugh.
Frank Capra too, notes the serious nature of comedy.
Comedy is much deeper . . . than just slipping
on a banana peel. Comedy is the perfume of
life. That's why when comedy is warm it lifts.
It's a victory, it's a success story. One of
the things that I had in my films that people
like was this kind of warm life they got out
of this warm comedy. If you fear, if you dis
like, if you hate: no laughs. If you like
it, if you love: laughs.I2
More recently, former Saturday Review editor Norman
Cousins has documented the physical healing powers of
laughter in a documentary of his own heart illness, The
Healing Force. Cousins, by watching Marx Brothers movies
and cultivating his sense of humor, was able to overcome
the life-threatening dangers of his own physical condition.
The Problem of the Study.
The problem of the study is to describe and analyze
the film comedies during the period from 1934 to 1941 and
discover and distinguish among these comedies that fit the
genre of "screwball," heretofore only a loosely tagged
definition. Its focus is to seek to derive the style of
the screwball comedy (content and form) and to evaluate
their significance (meaning and values) while understand
ing and appreciating the nature of the genre.
Of the two salient components of film comedy, dialogue
and farce, the former has typically been held in higher
regard by the critics and scholars. There has been the
continuous misconception that erudite and witty verbal
pyrotechnics are the most sophisticated and cultivated
form of comedy and that farce is unredeemably low-brow.
The screwball comedy was the first comic film form to com
bine the dynamics of farce with bristling, scintillating
dialogue; as such, part of the task of this exploration is
to discover how these two supposedly mutually exclusive
components meshed in film form. As Pauline Kael notes:
In no other, period or place in movie history
has satirical farce flourished as it did in
Hollywood in the 30s. Sound had brought in
the wisecrack, and in the Depression little
was sacrosanct. Everybody knew that money and
fame were ludicrous and transitory; racial
humor was still gross; but usually affection
ate and corny; even religion could be kidded.
In our comedies now there is nothing like the
careless irreverence of Twentieth Century pro
duced in those days when Hollywood was not yet
subservient to the image conscious pressure
groups who have now made it almost impossible
for a joke to have a butt; for satire to have
a target, for wit to contain any t r u t h .
The Significance of the Study.
No definitive study has been devoted to this genre,
perhaps because - these movies have been classified as
8
escapist entertainment, categorized as improbable stories
focusing on the rich. The screwball genre is, however,
best epitomised in the title of one of its most famous
films, Nothing Sacred. In screwball comedy, nothing was
sacrosanct. Screwball comedy levelled pretension, lam-
pooned privilege — whether it be the smug condescension
of the rich toward the poor, or the righteous condescen
sion of the lower classes toward the rich.
Loony families with individually eccentric members are
the common cast of characters in most screwball comedies.
To be rich is to be free in a sense, free from the conven
tions of the everyday,^ free from the necessities of struc
turing one's life around a paycheck. As such, these come
dies often levelled everyday convention and propriety.
Patterns of behavior, repetitions of traditions that made
man a prisoner of a schedule or institution were merci
lessly, albeit deftly flattened with the velvet punch of
these breezy, feisty comedies.
It is hard to describe today what these films
meant to a depression-bred generation, and it
is not surprising that the "screwball come
dies" as they came to be called, usually ended
in slapstick or violence. They mirrored a
world of frustration.13
In these comedies, gentility and decorum were often
knocked flat out. However, those who did the flattening
were often attired in evening clothes, the gowns and top
hats of the super rich. Further, unlike their kindred
comedic spirits of the 1930s, such as W. C. Fields and the
Marx Brothers, these players were some of Hollywood's most
debonair and beautiful stars. Suddenly you had the likes
of Cary Grant and William Powell taking pratfalls; Kath
arine Hepburn was parading in a torn evening dress and
Claudette Colbert was wearing unsightly men's pajamas.
The essence of the screwball comedy was the
addition of sophistication to slapstick.
Screwball comedy had the wackiness of the Marx
and Fields comedies, but something in addition.
The Marx and Fields pictures were almost pure
fantasy and madness, whereas screwball comedy
retained some grip on reality. In Lubitsch's
comedies the characters seldom lost restraint,
but in the screwball films the characters met
a problem by smashing it into a hundred
pieces, only to be confronted, like the
sorcerer's apprentice, with new problems.
One could elaborate on the absurdist sense of the
screwball comedies. One theory espoused by film histori
ans has been that the absurdities served as an escape from
the Depression, but then all popular forms of entertain
ment are escapist to some extent; after all, the New York
Yankees were fielding, arguably, the greatest baseball
teams in history during this era but their exploits (per
formances as they were) said nothing about American insti
tutions or personal relationships. Screwball comedies
focused on personal relationships; indeed, they were the
personal sexual relationships between men and women.
Two seemingly routine films of 1934 revolu
tionized film comedy in the Thirties. The
first was a purported murder mystery, the
10
second, one of a short-lived cycle of pictures
about bus travel. But both The Thin Man and
It Happened One Night featured something new
to the movies — the private fun a man and a
woman could have in a private world of their
own making. A new image of courtship and
marriage began to appear, with man and wife no
longer expecting marital bliss, but treating
the daily experience of living as a crazy
adventure sufficient to itself. And if what
went on in these private worlds was mostly
nonsense, what sense could be found in the
great world outside, where economic crisis and
the threat of approaching war barred all the
conventional roads to achievement and happi-
ness?15
Accordingly, this study is of a particular body of
movies, from 1934 to 1941, which were popular during a
particular historic time; they were shaped by an economic
depression and nurtured by a nation questioning its val
ues. The new tool of sound, recently wedded to the silent
film, was in no small measure a contributing factor to
their aesthetic development.
Definition of Terms.
A critical study must emphasize the fact that the pri
mary concern is the analysis and evaluation, in this case,
of a certain group of films. The group of films includes:
It Happened One Night (1934), The Thin Man (1934) , Twen
tieth Century (1934), Theodora Goes Wild (1936), My Man
Godfrey (1936), Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), The Man Who
Came to Dinner (1936), Swing High, Swing Low (1937), Live,
11
Love and Learn (1937), I Met Him in Paris (1937) , The
Awful Truth (1937), Bluebeard's Eighth Wife (1937), It1 s
Love I'm After (1937), Easy Living (1937), Nothing Sacred
(3.938), Holiday (1938), You Can't Take It With You (1938),
Ball of Fire (1938), Mr. and Mrs. Smith (1938), Midnight
(1939), His Girl Friday (1940), My Favorite Wife (1940),
True Confession (1940), The Philadelphia Story (1940) The
Bride Came C.O.D. (1941), and The Palm Beach Story (1942).
These films were selected based on the definition of
screwball comedy in MacGill's American Film Guide. The
definition of screwball comedy reads: "This is a type of
romantic comedy which developed in the 1930s and is
usually characterized by main characters from different
social classes, an antagonistic relationship which becomes
16
love, and fast-paced action.”
One further definition needs to be considered.
Throughout the study, the screwball comedy is referred to
as a genre. In Stuart Kaminsky's American Film Genres,
"genre" is defined as "A body, group or category of simi
lar works; this similarity being defined as the sharing of
a sufficient number of motifs so that we can identify
works which properly fall within a particular style of
17
film." It is these consistencies which will be exam
ined and established in terms of style, form and content.
12
Method of Procedure.
No genre begins ex-nihilo. Specifically, the screw
ball genre owes to comic traditions, not only from film,
but from other dramatic and comic forms as well: vaude
ville, the music hall, the circus were all important —
specifically their physical components, acrobatics and
movement. To be sure, screwball comedy is in the comedy
of manners tradition. Further, the screwball comedy was
developed by a wide array of contributing artists: some
from the theatre, some from journalism, some from silent
film. All brought their personal touches and backgrounds.
As such, this study entails an investigation into the
background of the principal creators: the writers, the
directors, the players. Exploration of the personal back
grounds can only add perspective to the derivation of the
screwball style and aesthetic. Andrew Sarris notes the
importance of the individual contributors.
Certain directors, certain writers, and, above
all, certain comediennes suddenly materialized
on the scene with a mastery of a self
contradictory genre, the sex comedy without
sex.18
Along with the individual contributions of the films'
creators were the contributions and imprints the various
studios themselves many have brought to the genre. Cer
tain studios made screwball comedies whereas others
didn't. As such, studio policy is itself a dynamic which
13
helped shape the screwball form. The studio's contribu
tions will be evaluated in this study.
The ascertainment of the components of the screwball
style and aesthetic naturally leads us into the area of
critical evaluation: the significance of the work with
regard to the potentials of the film form and with regard
to the historical context of the films.
Review of the Literature.
In the conception and execution of this dissertation,
the primary sources are the films themselves.
The scripts are a secondary source. In addition to
the scripts, the personal collections of the writers,
directors, players, as well as interviews with some of
those involved, are used to evaluate the contributions in
dividual artists brought to the screwball comedy. Bio
graphies and autobiographies of leading contributors to
the development of screwball comedy, as well as studies of
comedy itself are utilized as sources, not only for the
enlightenment of the historical traditions of style in the
screwball films but further for an illustration of the
processes involved: the wedding of dialogue with farce,
the blend of the audio with the visual.
The reviews of the films when they were released lend
an immediacy to the period of the 1930s and the context in
14
which these films were created and released. Trade re
views from Variety and The Hollywood Reporter give an
industry perspective to the films.
Last, work from film critics such as Stanley Kauffman
(A World on Film), John Simon (Private Screenings), and
Pauline Kael (Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang) among others are con
sidered for their own particular viewpoints on screwball
comedy. In addition, the writings of film historians lend
invaluable insights and perspectives to the study. The
historians include Ted Sennett (Lunatics and Lovers),
Gerald Mast (The Comic Mind), Richard Griffith and Arthur
Mayer (The Movies), Arthur Knight (The Liveliest Art), and
Andrew Bergman (We're in the Money).
Organization of the Remainder of the Study.
Chapter I is concerned with the background of the
study. In Chapter I, the screwball comedy's roots in the
film medium will be explored, specifically its roots in
the Sennett school and the madcap chase scenes of the
early French filmmakers. The chapter examines the back
grounds of the various seminal figures in screwball come
dy: writers such as Ben Hecht, Charles MacArthur and
Robert Riskin; directors such as Frank Capra, Leo McCarey,
Howard Hawks, and players such as Cary Grant, James
Stewart, Carole Lombard and Katharine Hepburn.
15
Chapters II through V examine the screwball comedies
within a social context and include a critical examination
of the genre. Aesthetic evaluations of the films are
made, and conclusions are drawn as to the nature and value
of the genre.
Chapter VI considers the transformation, some say
death, of screwball comedy. Is screwball comedy a form
which flourished solely during a particular historical mo
ment or is it a film form that transcends time?
16
FOOTNOTES
^ Frank N. Magill, Magill's American Film Guide
(Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980), p. xiv.
2 Ted Sennett, Lunatics and Lovers (New Rochelle:
Arlington House, 1973), p. 16.
8 Sennett, p. 16.
4 Sennett, p. 18.
5 Andrew Sarris, "The Sex Comedy Without Sex,"
American Film, March 1978, p. 15.
6 Personal interview with Howard Brown, 30 July
1983.
7 personal interview with Ralph Bellamy, 14 August
1983.
8 Sennett, p. 13.
9 Andrew Bergman, We're In The Money (New York:
Harper & Row, Publishers, 1971), p. 132.
10 Walter Kerr, Tragedy and Comedy (New York: Simon
and Schuster, 1968), p. 19.
11 Kerr, p. 57.
12 Frank Capra, "One Man-One Film," Discussion at
the American Film Institute, 3 (1971), p. 24.
^13 Pauline Kael, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (Boston:
Little, Brown and Company, 1968), p. 455.
14 William Thomaier, "Early Sound Comedy," Films In
Review, May 1958, p. 254.
15 Richard Griffith, Arthur Mayer, The Movies (New
York: Simon and Schuster, 1957), p. 324.
Frank N. Magill, Magill's American Film Guide
(Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980), p. xiv.
17 stuart Kaminsky, American Film Genres (Dayton
Pflaum Publishing, 1977), p. 10.
16 Andrew Sarris, "The Sex Comedy Without Sex,"
American Film, March 1978, p. 13.
18
CHAPTER I
Film in its beginnings was primarily a low class
entertainment. It appealed to the newly-come immigrants
who did not yet speak English. The early film comedies
relied on sight gags to engage and entertain an audience
— they didn't need the spoken word. Moving pictures
thus transcended language barriers, and farce was the
primary component of the early film comedies.
In his Poetics, Aristotle says,
This is the difference that marks tragedy out
from comedy; comedy tends to deal with persons
below the level of our world, tragedy persons
above it.1
The early silent comedies complied with Aristotle's view
point. They dealt with tramps, bartenders, crazed but
chers. They were set in the milieu, the lower class sur
roundings, of the people who watched them.
Yet, the social standing of the characters, the demo
graphics of the audience or even the fact that there was
no dialogue does not mitigate the sophistication of these
early crude, yet accomplished film comedies.
Today these basics still work. One need only witness
the opening credits sequence of the recently released
19
Superman III, directed by one of the day's most inventive
and proficient directors, Richard Lester, to appreciate
the gags and structures he has borrowed from the early
comic films.
These early comedies, admittedly, paid little atten
tion to internal psychology or personal motivation. Of
these comedies, the Mack Sennettt Keystone Cops movies
were the culmination of the earlier silent film comedy
forays. It was with Mack Sennett and with that other
silent slapstick master, Hal Roach, that many of the
screwball comedy's finest directors got their directorial
training. They learned how to structure a physical gag.
Ernst Lubitsch was the first director in Hollywood to
successfully film stories which had sophisticated looks at
personal and sexual relationships of the day.
Prior to screwball comedies, Lubitsch's films were
perhaps the most sophisticated portrayals of male/female
sexual relationships seen on the American screen. Lu
bitsch became known for his "light touch," generally mean
ing he had slipped some sexual boldness into his comedies
which the bluenoses could not object to (even if they per
ceived it). in short, his light touch became as devas
tating a satirical weapon as the hammer hits of a Sennett
or Roach. In addition, Lubitsch brilliantly utilized the
20
full potential of the new medium: tonal lightings, mon
tages, asynchronous sound all were carefully interwoven
for specific editorial purposes. Indeed, his visual
fluency shames many of today's hot comedy directors.
Philosophically, the Lubitsch films posited no hard-
fast moral values. There was no absolute right, no
absolute wrong in the Lubitsch world, and a growingly
sophisticated movie audience in the 1920s was able to
appreciate such a point of view; the conservative, non-
English speaking immigrant moviegoers prior to the 1920s
would not likely have sympathized.
Leo McCarey, who directed The Awful Truth, arguably
the best screwball comedy ever made, had worked as a gag
writer for Hal Roach and had directed Laurel and Hardy
films. While working for Roach, McCarey captured the at
tention of another director who was to make some of the
most enjoyable screwball comedies, Prank Capra. Capra
recalls his days at Roach and watching McCarey direct.
"But the man I watched and admired most was that handsome,
black-haired Irish director, Leo McCarey. The ease and
speed with which this young genius cooked up laughs on the
2
spot for Laurel and Hardy made my mouth water."
Capra himself worked for Roach but only for six
months. "I decided that six months at Roach's was long
21
3
enough to spend on ray opening skirmish." Capra subse
quently took a job as a gag writer for Mack Sennett.
Those early days in film made Capra a director
who could construct a series of comic moments
into a smoothly unified whole, without sacri
ficing a character for the sake of a quick
laugh? the laughs had to be true to his situ
ation. Story and character became Capra's
main concerns.4
Together with his writer-collaborator Robert Riskin,
Capra knew how to transpose stagey material to the
screen. Capra understood that pacing was a major factor
in making a play speed along, to give it the zest the
playwright had originally intended.
Robert Riskin and Frank Capra were perhaps the primary
example of the writer/director collaborative effort.
Capra himself was the foremost screwball director, al
though one could certainly make a strong case for Howard
Hawks.
Capra directed the first screwball comedy, It Happened
One Night (1934) and You Can't Take It With You (1938).
Physical comedy came easily for Capra, a veteran Sennett
and Roach gag man. Nonetheless transposing a revered and
well-known play such as You Can't Take It With You to the
screen was not realized by a series of sight gags. Al
though an expert gag man, Capra always based his comedies
22
on character; the humor sprang from the character, not the
situation.
I purposefully speed up the shooting of every
scene by 40% above normal. Not with the
camera but actually with the actors.^
A favorite Capra technique for speeding up the tempo was
the overlapping of lines of dialogue.
Some lines you didn't have to hear but it was
alright overlapping movements, cutting out
dissolves, jump cutting instead of dissolving
from the eighth floor down to the bottom
floors; all these things seemed to speed up
the pace. I found another trick; the tempo of
a scene could be speeded up, not by shouting
but by quiet talking. You have a feeling that
if you want to hurry something, you want to
speed it up, you ought to make it a little
louder. But we can say more words quietly
than we can by shouting.®
Capra's long association with Robert Riskin was criti
cal to his directorial achievements. "We had many things
in common. Our funny bones vibrated to the same tuning
7
fork in humor." While Capra and Riskin worked closely
on their scripts, it was Capra who typically structured
the scenes while Riskin wrote the dialogue. In this
manner, they used each other as sounding boards, keepingj
each other from getting too far afield. After all, theirj
comedies were rooted in characters, not events. "They were!
people-to-people communication not me to people 'message'
i
pictures because the minute they think you're editorial-
g
izing, they'll leave the theatre."
23
Interviewed by the show business trade publication
Daily Variety in 1975, Capra stressed that contemporary
audiences are ready for comedy, that audiences are becom
ing tired of "sick" films and excessive violence.
'We've been so used to sick comedy that we
haven't thought much about the other kind,' he
noted. He hopes for a return to romantic
films because 'any classic, whether it's in
literature or film, contains some kind of
transcendent sacrificial love. Everything
that survives is love.'9
Although Capra felt that audiences needed a change of
offering in films, he disagreed with those who compare the
'70s recessionary period with the Depression. "What we're
going through is nothing like the Depression. We've never
known hunger in this country since then, real hunger.
Not surprisingly, money-men and bankers were often the
villains in Capra movies; they were his nemeses offscreen
as well.
I've always had a hatred of rich people since
I was a kid. And you have a hell of a time
selling comedies to bankers, because they
don't laugh rnuch.H
This has a resounding ring of truth in today's corpor
ate entertainment world. Bankers, although they may claim
to favor comedies (simply because they are often profit
able), often make the final story decisions on a story or
literary property. In many cases, they simply don't know
how to read a script visually to determine whether it will
24
work as a comedy. Further, having a sense of humor is not
considered by many of them to be a major criterion.
Accordingly, screwball comedies flourished only at
those studios where its primary creators had working
relationships. Most were made at Columbia, Paramount and
RKO, with a few at M-G-M. No screwballs were made at Fox
and virtually none at Warners. To be sure, screwball
comedies were not inspired by studio heads.
Another director who contributed significantly to the
screwball comedy, thematically and aesthetically, was How
ard Hawks. Hawks directed Bringing Up Baby, 20th Century
and His Girl Friday, three of the fastest moving, engag
ingly breezy screwball comedies ever filmed.
Like Capra, Hawks brought a frantic movement to his
scenes, cutting out unnecessary lines of dialogue and
having the characters speak by overlapping each other
(much the same as everyday speech) . This speed symbolized
the dispositions of the screwball characters as well,
characters who had little patience for the slow, the rou
tine, the staid.
Similarly, director Leo McCarey knew how to move a
story along. McCarey also possessed a charming manner;
his good humor was infectious on his sets, and, in the
case of The Awful Truth, inspirational. Irene Dunne
25
credits McCarey's relaxed set for enabling a crew elec-
12
trician to come up with the ending to the picture.
The ending of The Awful Truth (as light as Lubitsch)
is witty and succinct: A cuckoo clock's characters mirror
the behavior of Cary Grant with Irene Dunne who are in
love and trying, with erratic success, to get back to
gether again. When the male character follows the female
back into her abode we know all will be well with their
future lovelife.
At first, however, McCarey's easy-going ways proved
baffling to cast and crew alike. Ralph Bellamy recalls
that the first few days on the set were confusing and of
ten distracting to the actors. For his first day of
shooting Bellamy was instructed by Columbia Studio's Don
13
Kelly "to bring a lot of clothes." With these dubious
instructions, Bellamy arrived in sports coat and slacks,
carrying other various wardrobe accoutrements under his
arm. McCarey began the day's work by shooting a scene of
Bellamy and Irene Dunne singing "Home on the Range" —
it was a scene that was to appear roughly halfway through
the script. McCarey's inspiration for the scene had been
his knowledge of Dunne's indifferent piano playing and the
fact that he sensed that Bellamy could barely "get from
14
one note to another." Reluctantly the two sang the
26
song together and were startled when, after the first
take, McCarey said it was a print.
Although Bellamy admits it took a few days to get used
to McCarey, the players soon learned their director was a
man of talent and sensitivity. "Typically, he'd come over
to you and say something like 11 was walking on the beach
last night and I came up with something that might work in
this scene.' This is the way we went through the whole
thing."15
McCarey described his serious, yet flexible director
ial approach in an article he did for The Hollywood
Reporter.
The old-time silent move-making bad its faults
and problems, but one of the good things about
it was that you made pictures 'off the cuff.1
They made some great pictures on only the
thinnest of shooting scripts. Some of the
most effective ideas ever brought up to the
screen were thought up on the set. Some of
them were even thought up in front of the
camera.16
McCarey especially appreciated the contributions the
actors made. The fact that film is an ensemble endeavor
was important to McCarey. And the screwball comedies were
ensemble endeavors.
All stage directors know that in the course of
a long run of a play the actors will gradually
develop little gestures and bits of business
that provide some of the show's brightest
spots but which were never written into the
original script. None of this reflects on the
writers. It is simply an inescapable physi
cal fact that the actual filming of a scene
27
sometimes reveals new ideas or development
which are difficult to foresee during the
writing.17
Noted comedy director Billy Wilder, who was to write
the screwball comedy Bluebeard's 8th Wife, (Lubitsch di
rected) also supported the idea that an ensemble effort
enhanced a comedy script. Like Kaufman and Hecht, Wilder
came from a journalism background. He was a sports and
crime reporter in Vienna. Wilder had a darker vision than
even some of the most cynical of the screenwriters, but
when he teamed with Charles Brackett at Paramount in the
mid-30s, the pair wrote some of the frothiest comedies of
the time.
The writers of screwball comedy were the catalysts who
sprung the genre past the drawing room comedies of Noel
Coward and the silent slapstick films into the hybrid of
screwball comedy. Writers such as Ben Hecht, Charles
MacArthur, S. J. Perleman, Robert Riskin, Morrie Ryskind,
Donald Ogden Stewart, George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart
contributed their sophisticated writings and often cynical
outlooks to the form.
Before they began their various screenwriting careers
in the 1930s, many screwball comedy screenwriters had
flourishing careers as Broadway playwrights. In fact,
many had collaborated on plays together. Such screwball
writers as George S. Kaufman, Moss Hart, Morrie Ryskind
28
and Ring Lardner had worked on a number of Broadway pro
jects. The prolific Kaufman was an often collaborator.
For Broadway he teamed with Morrie Ryskind on the Marx
Brothers’ Cocoanuts; he teamed with Moss Hart on You Can't
Take It With You; he teamed with Ring Lardner on June
Moon/ a 1920s comedy about the popular music business, and
he teamed with Alexander Woolcott on The Channel Road, a
comedy based on a Guy de Maupassant play.
The stock market crash of 1929 played no small part in
making a career in screenwriting more attractive to these
Broadway playwrights. Kaufman, typical of those comedy
writers who made the transition from stage comedy to
screen comedy, was reluctant; he loathed the idea of writ
ing for the movies. But Broadway business suffered a
serious blow following the October 1929 stock market
crash. At the time, many Broadway houses were turned over
to Hollywood producers and wired for sound; it was the
only way out for their bankrupt owners.
From Broadway, those eventually landing in Hollywood
to write for the movies in the 1930s included: George S.
Kaufman, Donald Ogden Stewart, Morrie Ryskind,
S.J. Perelman and Moss Hart. "I'm going to Hollywood, God
damn it, this Saturday, but only for a few weeks,"
1 8
Kaufman stated in a letter dated January 16, 1935.
29
Following the advent of sound, Hollywood found itself
in desperate need of writers who could write dialogue for
the screen. From the ranks of journalism and playwriting
came Hollywood's leading scriptwriters of the 1930s. To
be sure, Broadway was blessed in the 1920s with an abun
dance of talented comic writers. They even convened
informally at the Algonquin Hotel for exchanges of witti
cism, gossip and one-upsmanship. These meetings became a
celebrated institution, and their table was decorated with
the soubriquet, "THE ROUND TABLE."
Such writers as Alexander Woollcott, Donald Ogden
Stewart, Herman Mankiewicz, George S. Kaufman, Dorothy
Parker, and Marc Connelly all held court there. Bright,
iconoclastic and freewheeling, these writers all brought
dazzling talents to scriptwriting. Other writers, such as
Chicago journalists Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, added
their cynical cityroom perspective to their inspiredly
zany comic concoctions.
As Ted Sennett notes:
Many screenwriters of the period were also cap
able of turning out the bright banter, the in
souciant, irreverent, tongue-in-cheek dialogue
that helped to keep these comedies afloat.
Frank Capra had his favorite scenarist, Robert
Riskin, who was clearly in tune with Capra's
requirements for combining humor with folksi
ness. Other writers such as Norman Krasna,
Claude Binyon, Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder,
Virginia Van Upp, and the Epstein brothers,
Julius and Philip, kept the comic situations
30
spinning merrily from living room to bedroom,
from New York penthouse to small town porch.
The busiest, well at least most prolific screenwriter
of the time, perhaps of all times, was Ben Hecht. Hecht
came from the Chicago newsroom. He brought a bristling
sytle and a cynical bent to his writings. He had written
for H. L. Mencken's American Mercury and had written
novels as well as plays on the side. He was eventually to
win, along with co-writer Charles MacArthur, a Pulitzer
Prize for the play The Front Page, based on their newsroom
experiences, which was filmed as The Front Page and subse
quently adapted to the screwball comedy His Girl Friday.
Hecht became interested in writing for the movies,
legend has it, at the prompting of Herman Mankiewicz.
Mankiewicz sent Hecht a telegram in Chicago from Holly
wood. It read:
Will you accept three hundred per week to work
for Paramount Pictures? All expenses paid.
The three hundred is peanuts. Millions are to
be grabbed out here and your only competition
is idiots. Don't let this get around.2u
Hecht heeded the advice and came to Hollywood to begin
writing for the studio. One of his earliest experiences
was on a script for Ernst Lubitsch, Design for Living. It
was an unhappy collaboration for both. Lubitsch's culti
vated European sensibilities clashed with Hecht's feisty
newsroom manner. But Hecht's days at Paramount were not
in vain; he met Leo McCarey there. Hecht particularly
31
liked McCarey because of McCarey's easy-going manner and
flare for improvisation. Hecht comments on their working
affinity:
I've never been able to compact an idea into
three acts. I wasn't born to be a play
wright. The cinema form is comfortable and
rambling like a novel.2!
Not surprisingly, Hecht worked most comfortably and
expeditiously with directors such as McCarey and Howard
Hawks whose creative philosophies jibed with his own.
Another significant writer of screwball comedy was
George S. Kaufman, who similarly to Hecht, had a journal
istic and playwriting background. Along with his colla
borator, Marc Connelly, Kaufman wrote several of Broad
way's successful plays of the 1920s.
It is not surprising that a personality such as
George S. Kaufman's would find a kindred spirit in the
writings of Ben Hecht. Hecht and Charles MacArthur's play
The Front Page was sent to Kaufman who made it into a suc
cessful Broadway play in the late 20s.
Recognizing that The Front Page had only a
slim plot and no philosophical implications
beyond those that might be found in a pulp-
magazine suspense tale, he made the most of
the characterization and the comic lines.
Tempo was all-important, and to achieve the
correct tempo meant cutting the dialogue,
'taking out the fat' as he put it. This same
clipping was later done by Howard Hawks, whose
quick cutting and insistence on a rapid deliv
ery of lines made the film His Girl Friday
move along at a frantic pace.22
32
The Kaufman-Connelly plays had certain marked plot
characteristics. Such plays as To The Ladies, Merton of
the Movies, Beggar on Horseback as well as Kaufman's first
solo play, The Butter and Egg Man all featured a polite,
energetic not too bright male. It was a story of a fun-
loving unconventional family whose path crossed that of a
notorious baron of Wall Street. In You Can't Take It With
You the idealistic son of the tycoon (James Stewart) falls
in love with the granddaughter of the head of the wacky
Vanderhoff family (Jean Arthur).
Moreover, this new movie-going crowd during these
smugly prosperous times of President Coolidge had a
curious fascination with the ultra-rich; Broadway hits
such as Holiday with its Park Avenue milieu attested to
this fascination. Indeed, the comic styles of the screw
ball comedies of the 1930s were drawn in large part from
the Broadway farces of the late 1920s. Such 1920s Broad
way comedies such as Dulcy, a collaboration between
George S. Kaufman and Marc Connelly in which a bumbling
but lovable wife of a jewelry manufacturer wins the day
for her husband were winning appreciative audiences and
reviews. Four other Kaufman-Connelly 1920s collaborations
— To The Ladies, Merton of the Movies and Beggar on
Horseback have as their protagonist "a polite, willing,
but far from brilliant young man who is aided toward his
33
goal in life by a young woman who is quicker than he and
maternal enough to love him for his helplessness and
innocence.23 Many of the screwball comedies had this
same plot basis.
In 1924 Alexander Woollcott introduced George S.
Kaufman to Harpo Marx who was performing along with his
brothers in the Broadway farce I'll Say She Is. "After
the second performance Woollcott called on Harpo in his
dressing room and took him off to a Thanatopsis session,
where the comedian found himself in the companys of Adams,
Benchley, Broun, Swope, Ross, Connelly, and, of course,
24
Kaufman. It was an evening to remember."
In short, Broadway's leading coming playwrights and
its most popular farceurs, the Marx Brothers, were estab
lishing personal and professional relationships. Writers
of sparkling dialogue were having their eyes opened by the
antic slapstick feats of the Marx Brothers. The relation
ship can only have inspired the high-speed physical and
verbal comedy these playwrights would bring to screwball
comedy.
In Hollywood, Kaufman began a collaboration with Moss
Hart on You Can't Take It With You. It was made by Frank
Capra in 1938 from an idea Kaufman and Hart began in 1934.
"The effect created by You Can't Take It With You is that
of a kind of benevolent mayhem: something wild and noisy
34
is always going on, but never to anyone's harm." Since
both writers had spent their childhood within somewhat un
usual familes (screwball comedies were to have eccentric
families as a characteristic), they were not strangers to
the kind of world they described. Yet the characters of
You Can't Take It With You project a feeling of a real
family unit, a group whose members know and understand and
tolerate each other extremely well. Again, Arthur Mayer's
keen obervation "what sense did the outside world make" is
a thematic refrain for these Depression-time movies. The
Vanderhof family's contact with the outside world was
mainly limited to confrontations with the police and the
IKS. It was a knockabout play, that Capra later distilled
into his classic movie. The cynicism of Kaufman and Hart
was tempered by the optimism of Capra.
Sennett notes:
Certainly the best-remembered comedy of the
thirties in which a crackpot family from the
lower rungs of society somehow manages to sur
mount bad times, was Frank Capra's You Can't
Take It With You (Columbia 1938) adapted by
Robert Riskin from the George S. Kaufman-Moss
Hart stage success. (Columbia had bought the
play for an at-that-time record price of
$200,000.) The play was a merry farce about
the Sycamores, a family of carefree, self-
indulgent lunatics presided over by a genial
old codger with a cordial dislike for money
and employment. The screen version retained
much of the offbeat, knockabout comedy of the
play, but added a hearty dimension of 'little
people' sentiment, his standard of pitting
'ordinary' men and women devoted to the simple
35
pleasures against the nasty, life-denying fig
ures of p o w e r . 25
While Kaufman and Hart's play was wild and full blown,
it was nonetheless meticulously well-structured. Today's
writers and directors might well eliminate millions of
dollars from production budgets (not to mention sparing
audiences the sight of yet another car chase scene) by
studying these mechanics. Screwball comedies, in most
cases, involved close collaboration between a writer and a
director. To be sure, it was a time when Hollywood held
the writer in high esteem — somebody had to write the
words for those new talkies — and, accordingly, scripts
were followed.
The dialogue comedies were written comedies,
and the writer played almost as great a role
in shaping the film as its director. The
scripts of Ben Hecht, Preston Sturges, Robert
Riskin, Dudley Nichols, Herman J. Mankiewicz,
Charles Lederer, Garson Kanin and Ruth Gordon
frequently overwhelmed the weak director, ex
erting far more- influence over the film than
the directors' 'auteurical' s t y l e .26
No small contribution to screwball comedy's popularity
was made by the players. Such stars as Claudette Colbert,
Carole Lombard, Katharine Hepburn, Irene Dunne, James
Stewart, Cary Grant, Myrna Loy and William Powell added
their luster to these comedies. Previously, comic roles
had always been played by non-handsome, non-beautiful
players. Carole Lombard perhaps best embodied the screw
ball player.
36
The image of Lombard as a 'screwball' was en
hanced by her off-screen shenanigans, which
were legendary. An enthusiastic prankster and
party-goer (as well as an imaginative party-
giver), Carole was known to millions of fans
for her unscripted antics through the pages of
Photoplay and other fan magazines, creating an
impression almost as strong as the one forged
by her screen appearances.27
"The very idea of so beautiful a woman tackling wacky com
edy endeared her to thirties audiences, who then demanded
2 8
that she appear in such films exclusively."
Among the players in screwball comedy, many of the
leads also had their background in the comic silents.
Lombard was one of Mack Sennett's bathing beauties and
made over twenty comedies for Paramount in the early 30s.
Others such as Cary Grant, although having been discovered
by Mae West, and appearing in some of her movies, did not
at the time primarily play comedy. Indeed, Grant was re
luctant to play in The Awful Truth, and offered Columbia
chief Harry Cohn two other pictures, one of them free, if
2 9
Cohn would release him from the film.
37
i
FOOTNOTES
1 Aristotle, "Poetics" In The Basic Works of
Aristotle, Edited by Richard McKeon (New York: Random
House, 1941), p. 630.
2 Frank Capra, Frank Capra: The Name Above The
Title (New York: MacMillan, 1971), p. 40.
3 Capra, p. 41.
4 Jeanine Basinger, "America's Love Affair With
Frank Capra," American Film, March 1982, p. 49.
5 Frank Capra, "One Man-One Film," Discussion at
the American Film Institute, 3 (1971), p. 10.
6 Frank Capra, "One Man-One Film," Discussion at
the American Film Institute, 3 (1971), p. 10.
7 Frank Capra, Frank Capra: The Name Above The
Title (New York: MacMillan, 1971), p. 41.
8 Joseph McBride, "Frank Capra Sees Emerging Sense
of Comedy & Idealism Among Student Film-Makers," Daily
Variety, 16 April 1975, p. 3.
9
McBride, p . 3.
10
McBride, p. 3.
11
McBride, p . 3.
12
Personal interview with Irene Dunne, 22 July 1982.
13
•
Personal interview with Ralph Bellamy, 14 August
14
•
Personal interview with Ralph Bellamy, 14 August
15
•
Personal interview with Ralph Bellamy, 14 August
38
16 Leo McCarey, "Sticking to the Script," The
Hollywood Reporter, 11 Oct. 1948, p. 52.
17 McCarey, p. 52.
18 Malcolm Goldstein, George S. Kaufman, His Life,
His Times (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), p. 243.
19 Ted Sennett, Lunatics and Lovers (New Rochelle:
Arlington House, 1973), p. 16.
20 Steven Puller, "Ben Heckt: A Sampler," Film ■
Comment, Winter 1970-71, p. 34.
21 Fuller, p. 36.
22 Goldstein, p. 149.
23 Goldstein, p. 149.
24 Goldstein, p. 108.
25 Sennett, p. 144.
26 Gerald Mast, The Comic Mind (Indianapolis/New
York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1973) p. 249.
27 Leonard Maltin, Carole Lombard (New York:
Pyramid Publications, 1976), p. 11.
28 Matlin, p. 11.
29 personal interview with Ralph Bellamy, 14 August
1983.
f
39
CHAPTER II
Eight films which fit neatly into the general screw
ball comedy definition, namely "main characters from dif
ferent social classes, an antagonistic relationship which
becomes love, and fast-paced action" will be examined in
this chapter. The films are: It Happened One Night, The
Thin Man, My Man Godfrey, Bringing Up Baby, Holiday, The
Bride Came C.Q.D., Ball of Fire and The Lady Eve.
All of the above satisfy the first criterion that the
main characters come from different social classes, al
though technically William Powell in My Man Godfrey is
actually from the same upper-crust social class as Carole
t
Lombard. However, throughout the movie he poses as a hobo
whom Lombard has hired as her personal butler. As for the
second criterion, that antagonism gives way to love, The
Thin Man and Holiday do not fit neatly within this defini
tion; yet, this "antagonism" takes another less personal
form. In The Thin Man a murder mystery serves as the
obstacle which the hero and heroine must overcome, rather
than personal animosity, and in Holiday the "antagonism"
manifests itself between protagonist Cary Grant and two
sisters, one of whom he is engaged to and the other whom
__— —
40
he falls in love with and marries. Dramatically these two
characters comprise essentially a whole. In combination,
their personalities take on the essential characteristics
of single screwball heroines; one sister embodies the
i
spoiled-girl aspects of the female character while the
other sister represents her more generous and playful
nature.
It Happened One Night is considered to be the first of
the screwball comedies. It was made in 1934 at Columbia.
It was directed by Frank Capra and starred Clark Gable and
!Claudette Colbert. It was the first motion picture to win
the top five Academy Awards: best picture, best director,
best actor, best actress and best producer. It almost
never got made.
The project was nearly shelved before its cameras be
gan to roll. Originally developed by Capra and Robert
Riskin from a Cosmopolitan Magazine story, the project had
numerous false starts and setbacks. Studio chief Harry
Cohn was ambivalent. Further, both stars were reluctantj
to do the project. Colbert consented to participate only j
i
if the filming was done during her three week Christmas
holiday. In addition, she would not work past Christmas
Eve. Gable became involved on the project only because he
was in Louis B. Mayer's doghouse. To punish his M-G-M
star, Mayer loaned him out to Cohn's fledgling Columbia.
41
Capra's and Riskin's meetings with Cohn were not high
ly productive. Cohn, it was clear, was already sick of
the project and ordered the two to do a final rewrite be
fore the actual December shooting began.
Finishing the script, we changed the title
from Night Bus to It Happened One Night as a
sop to Cohn — and took it back to the studio
for 'conferences.' Cohn read it; played it
cagey, his lone comment, 'Well, I'm glad you
took that lousy "bus" outta the title. ' But
following Parkinson's Law, success had in
flated both the numbers and the heads of
Cohn's supervisory personnel. Aping the god
like ominiscience of M-G-M's supervisory
personnel, Columbia execs attacked with criti
cal jeremiads. '. . . Shelve it, Harry' . . .
Cohn just listened. Lately his boasts about
owning me were cooling off. While his front
office cabal blasted the script, he eyed me
closely for some sign of weakness.1
Amazingly, even after It Happened One Night won all
five top Academy Awards, studio executives were unable to
discern the merit of the original script. Capra, with
boyish glee, had the script recirculated under another
title. "As a matter of fact Brynie Foy once sent the
story around Warner Brothers, and after they'd all re
jected it, he said, "That's It Happened One Night, you
2
idiots."
Again, this illustrates the fact that comedies are
harder to visualize in script form than drama, at least
c -
for those lacking a sense of humor.
The plot of the film is simple, the. story of a wayward
heiress and a dogged newspaperman who meets her while she
42
is on the run from her father. They initially dislike
each other but gradually fall in love. In fact, their
first meeting is hostile — they argue over a bus seat.
As is characteristic with most screwball comedies, it
Happened One Night begins in upper class surroundings, on
the yacht of a wealthy tycoon (Walter Connolly) who is
having problems with his headstrong daughter (Colbert).
Colbert has recently married a bogus prince and Connolly
wants the marriage annulled. Colbert jumps ship, as it
were, determined to swim to Florida to rejoin her "prince."
Capra moves the film swiftly: a series of wipes and a
nearly penniless Colbert is on a midnight bus, seeking her
prince. Also low on money, having just been fired from
his reporter's job, is Clark Gable. The bus is not big
enough for the both of them, figuratively and literally;
they squabble over one remaining seat. They finally agree
to share it, and Colbert falls asleep in Gable's arms.
Although their initial reactions to this are hostile, we
detect from glints in their eyes that the experience was
more than bearable.
Despite the fact that this crucial introductory scene
is set in the confines of a crowded bus, on a dark and
rainy night at that, the film sparkles with energy.
In It Happened One Night, with entire sequen
ces played within the confines of a bus or a
small tourist cabin, Capra ingeniously con
trived to keep his screen alive by scanning
43
the faces of passengers on the bus, or discov
ering his stars almost haphazardly among the
people and the packages and seats that sur
rounded them. Only when the dialogue was
important, when it bore significantly on the
development of the story, did he move in for
protracted close-ups. But these close-ups
were completely functional; they emphasized
the words. Capra sensed when he could count
on Riskin's lines to carry a scene without
additonal visual pyrotechnics, when they could
be shot with a static camera or when the full
effectiveness of the scene required extra mo
bility of the moving camera and staccatp
editing of silent days.3
Occasional shots in close-up of Claudette Colbert's
reactive annoyance with Gable are smartly played.
They are even forced to room together at a small way
side motel. But even though they are antagonists and,
even considering "The Breen Code," it is a sexually
charged scene. We get the feeling that the room is indeed
smoldering with their desire. But, of course, in the 30s
this could only be implied. Their attraction is becoming
very obvious, but is handled subtly by the camera work of
Capra.
The dialogue in this first intimate scene is especi
ally felicitious. Ellie asks his name:
Peter: Who, me? Why, I'm the whippoorwill
that cries in the night. I'm the
soft morning breeze that caresses
your lovely face.
Ellie: You've got a name, haven't you?
Peter: Yeah, I've got a name. Peter Warne.
44
Ellie: Peter Warne. I don't like it.
Peter: Don't let it bother you. You're giv
ing it back in the morning.
Capra utilized the fade, as well as the wipe, as a
transition device. A gentle and gradual transition, the
fade fits the mood and growing romantic ambiance of the
film, the story is gently unveiled. The numerous wipes,
on the other hand, speed the narrative along, allowing the
exposition to grow but without being intrusive on the
character focus — we learn of Colbert's father's at
tempts to track her down, for instance, and we follow
Gable's plans through his phone conversations with his
baffled editor back in New York.
As in subsequent films, there is a strong populist
sense to this Capra film. Another scene on the bus, as
the passengers join together in song, embodies the spirit
of community that is a constant leitmotif in Capra's
work. It further brings out the just-one-of-the-boys
nature of Gable, and even shows Colbert's underlying down-;
to-earth qualities as she too joins along in the singing.
A roadside accident and a comic exchange between a
passenger who has caught on to who Colbert is and Gable,
who tricks him by pretending to be a gangster, gives zest
to the story. Then Gable and Colbert are on the road to
gether again.
45
The film's best-remembered scene occurs when
Peter tries to explain the subtle technique of
hitch-hiking to Ellie. ('Number one is a
short, jerky movement— that shows indepen
dence. Number two is a wider movement— a
smile goes with that one.') When he fails to
stop a car, Ellie merely lifts her skirt above
the knees, pretending to fix her garter, and a
car screeches to a halt.4
Theirs is a playful interchange built on a mutually
growing attaction. Yet the attraction is thwarted by
their differences in class upbringing. Gable is a practi
cal, honest, no-frills newsman. Colbert is an impractical
impetuous, spoiled, society girl. Seemingly, they are op
posites. Again, Capra subtly uses the camera to capture
their growing attraction. An analysis of the aforemen-
itioned scene demonstrates this.
A particularly delightful sequence illustrates
his ability to blend the two: Clark Gable and
Claudette Colbert are sitting on a fence by
the side of the road holding an animated con
versation on the best way to thumb a ride from
passing cars; Capra filmed this entire scene
in a single shot without moving his camera.
But when Gable walks out on the road to demon
strate his hitch-hiking methods (capped by
Colbert's conclusive evidence that the knee is
mightier than the thumb). Capra builds the
scene from short snatches of pantomimed action
brilliantly edited together— climaxed with an
adroit montage in which a glimpse of Miss Col
bert's legs brings a car to a screeching
halt.5
In short, although he was versed in the Sennett school
of mayhem, Capra perceived that, with the use of spoken
words, a director did not have to punctuate the plot or
meaning with closeups. This allowed for a more fluid
46
dynamic, one that was not cluttered by numerous closeups
and one whose pace was not artificially slowed or speeded
up by such a technique. It was a wedding of sound and di
alogue with the appropriate camera technique to fit the
theme and mood of the film. Indeed, such charismatic ac
tors as Gable and Colbert did not need such contrivances.
These were the elements that the actor brought
in his part— along with whatever measure of
talent he possessed. More important than
acting ability, however, was the photogenic
magnetism of the star around which the direc
tor could create a characterization.6
There was, however, a good deal of slapstick and prat
falls in It Happened One Night, in particular a scene in
which Gable jocularly carries a frantic Colbert over a
backwoods stream, piggyback style.
Their soiree alone in the woods is touching; he tucks
her in, almost kisses her and then draws away. It is
clear from her look she would have welcomed the kiss. As
their care for each other increases, and as they move in
creasingly nearer to New York, Capra now picks up the tem
po. A series of wipes quickly moves them from the park to
a gas station. The pace further increases with Capra's
intercutting with the father's office. Gable's own fran
tic interchanges with his editor increase the tension as
1
well as speed the exposition.
One of the classic scenes of cinema occurs in a small
motel, as Gable gallantly hangs a blanket between their
47
beds. "The Walls of Jericho," he calls it. Again, a
closeup of Gable tells it all, as he watches the sil
houette of Colbert as she undresses. He is infatuated.
The New York Times in its review of It Happened One
Night stated:
There are few serious moments in It Happened
One Night, a screen feast which awaits visi
tors to the Radio City, and if there is a
welter of improbable incidents these hectic
doings serve to generate plenty of laughter.
The pseudo suspense is kept on the wing until
a few seconds before the picture ends, but it
is a foregone conclusion that the producers
would never dare to have the characters acted
by Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert separated
when the curtain falls.?
The Thin Man is arguably the best of Dashiell Ham
mett's stories, and some consider it the best American
detective story ever written. The Thin Man and the five
sequels which it spawned are more than just detective
stories, if one may indeed use the pejorative "just" to
describe the genre. The Thin Man is preeminently the love
story between a man and a woman, and a dog. Nick (William
Powell) and Nora (Myrna Loy) are happily married. They <
have an exciting, satisfying and leisurely relationship. |
l
Two playful constants distinguish Nick and Nora'sj
relationship: she desires that he get involved in detec
tive work despite his reluctance and both tease each other
at every opportunity. They are happily, easily in love.
As Lillian Heilman has aptly pointed out, The Thin Man
48
presents "maybe one of the few marriages in modern liter
ature where the man and woman like each other and have a
Q
fine time together." Their chemistry, characterized by
their constant bantering, is similar to other screwball
comedies where male and female were equally enthusiastic
in their give-and-take. At the time this special affec
tion was a novelty in the movies. Even now, it is only
sporadically duplicated. Often such friendship and mutual
respect is confined to the all-male buddy movies or to the
special relationships Burt Reynolds has with his stock
cars.
Certainly a relationship based on love and trust is
rarely a component in a thriller film or a film noir. The
Thin Man, while a detective story utilizing noir tech
niques, is above all a romantic comedy, not a thriller.
Its popularity was based upon the Nick and Nora relation
ship, and it established William Powell and Myrna Loy as
the embodiment of the idea that marriage can be merry.
Perhaps the problems of the average, struggling couple
during the Depression were lightened by this boost of wry,
carefree humor.
The Thin Man was planned to be a "filler" picture, aj
i
low budget, no-problem film. Yet, it turned into a smash
hit and was the forerunner of a whole series of "Thin Man"
films. The recent popular TV series Hart to Hart is
49
unabashedly a copy of The Thin Man stories and style. It
has the same ingredients: the rich debonair husband, the
loving, sophisticated wife and the antic dog. Together,
they have a lot of fun solving mysteries.
Realizing that the murder or the mystery is
just an excuse for the book relieves us of the
pedantic responsibility of spending too much
time examining the logic behind the crime. We
are left with the relationships, and here is
where we can begin to make connections. The
Thin Man is about a detective who has been
retired from his profession for four years and
is happily connected to a mate with whom he
has a viable and exciting relationship.9
M-G-M wanted the picture shot as quickly as possible,
Louis B. Mayer was initially opposed to the idea that Pow
ell and Loy be cast in the lead parts. They were associ
ated as 'heavies,' and Mayer didn't think they would be
successful in comedy. Yet director W.S. Van Dyke per
sisted, and the studio head agreed to the casting on the
condition that the film be made "quick and cheap."10
The Thin Man received only a B-picture budget and
shooting schedule. Similar to It Happened One Night, the-
project was done on a very tight shooting schedule; it was
actually shot in 16 days. (An A-picture had a normal
shooting schedule of 40 days). In one respect, the de
mands of the schedule probably improved the picture. Van
Dyke wanted to use a great deal of noir-style photography,
featuring chiarascuro lighting in the film, but the tight
ness of the schedule, coupled with the players' protests,
50
prevented him from imbuing the film with a complete noir
look. Such a look throughout the whole film might have
actually sabotaged the lightness and frothiness, which
were its chief virtures.
Nevertheless, The Thin Man begins in chacteristic noir
style — the shadow of a man as he operates a heavy ma
chine is silhouetted on the screen. The familiar noir
ingredients are visualized within the frame: the pipes,
the bold lines across the screen at obtuse angles, the
shadows. The opening line of dialogue jars, "Has he seen
the whole family?" However, we quickly realize that this
question is not as ominous as it sounds. The circumstance
is unveiled: an old man, an eccentric inventor who works
in the basement of his company, is responding to his
daughter’s news that she is about to get married.
The tone of the film now perceptibly changes. There
is dancing and a cut to Powell who is shaking cocktails;
although, at first (noir-like) the audience does not see
his face. Powell places the drinks on a tray, removes
two, gives them approving sips and then moves forward. At
this point, one of the most popular players in many of the
screwball comedies enters; it is Asta, the terrier dog who
is dragging Myrna Loy behind him by his leash. Powell and
Loy sip their martinis and banter about Christmas pres
ents. All the while, Asta ignores Powell's commands.
51
Screwball comedy is at its best when making otherwise dull
or expository scenes come alive with playful adjuncts, in
this case, the dog's antics. Playful scenes abound in The
Thin Man. An ensuing scene finds Loy in bed, hand-over
head with an obvious hangover. The phone rings. She
stumbles out of bed, answers the call and then asks, "Is
there a Mr. MacCaulay in the house?" Powell takes the
receiver. As he talks, they playfully mug and slug with
each other. In the process, neatly obscured by their hi-
jinx, the murder mystery details are unraveled. We soon
learn that the mystery centers around the MacCaulay family
which includes a nubile daughter, a pedantic son and a
frazzled mother. The mother, of course, has a gigolo.
But the mystery is secondary in the film.
Shorn of the Nick-and-Nora byplay, The Thin Man
is actually a routine film, with a confusing
and not very interesting story. . . Yet the few
exchanges between Powell and Loy lingered in
the minds of audiences and critics turned an
ordinary film into a huge success.H
Dull points of exposition are consistently enlivened
by Nick and Nora's breezy, loving banter. One such scene
finds Powell stretched out on the couch, shooting balloons
off the Christmas tree with a miniature gun Loy has given
him for Christmas. Asta views his gunmanship with a dis
approving eye. Fearing the worst, the pooch retreats
quite sensibly to the bedroom. Powell accidentally blasts
52
out a window. He grins sheepishly, rolls over and then
pulls Nora lovingly onto the couch.
Another scene of mystery exposition occurs outside the
New York hotel where the two are staying. They are walk
ing the dog and discussing the case. Nick has "detectiv-
ing" to do, and he doesn't want Nora involved, fearing for
her safety. He hails a taxi. Naturally, Nora gets in
first. Nick then instructs the driver to take her to
Grant's Tomb, thus getting her out of the way and out of
danger — she is a trifle miffed. Asta, however, he de
cides to keep with him. The dog will assist him on his
mission. Taking the timid terrier along on a big case, of
course, underscores the lighthearted nature of the movie.
Both Powell and Loy received critical accolades for
their performances.
William Powell, who by now is a past master in
the art of sleuthing is thoroughly in his ele
ment as Nick Charles, a retired detective, who
undertakes to solve the series of crimes com
mitted by an extraordinarily artful individual
. . . Myrna Loy as Nora, Charles's wife, aids
considerably in making this film an enjoyable
entertainment. She speaks her lines effec
tively, frowns charmingly, and is constantly
wondering what her husband's next move will
be. 12
The understated endearment, the loving affection
Powell and Loy feel for each other ("It's just that I'm
used to you, that's all.") is the film's raison d'etre.
The Thin Man grandly demonstrated the private fun a man
53
and woman can have together, especially when they don't
take the outside world too seriously, even murder capers.
After The Thin Man was the first of the sequels to
follow The Thin Man. It was quickly released by M-G-M in
1936. Its screenplay was written by the husband and wife
writing team of Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett, who
at first had some trepidation about accepting the
assignment. They accepted the assignment when they
learned the focus was to be on the husband and wife
relationship, not the mystery itself.
As Frank S. Nugent noted in The New York Times:
If After The Thin Man is not quite the delight
The Thin Man was, it is, at the very least,
one of the most urbane comedies of the season.
. . Dashiell Hammett's sense of humor has en
dured, W. S. Van Dyke retains his directorial
facility and William Powell and Myrna Loy
still persuade us that Mr. and Mrs. Nick
Charles are exactly the sort of people we
should like to have on our calling list on New
Year's Day and for all the rest of the
year.13
My Man Godfrey, made in 1937 at Universal, combined
many of the common ingredients of screwball comedy: an
upper class setting, abundant visual farce and the roman
tic escapades of a determined female pursuing a somewhat
reluctant male. The film was nominated for six Academy
Awards, although it did not win in any category. It
remains a favorite today, appearing often on late night
television and at revival houses.
The New York Times gave it a rave:
Rushing the calendar, the Radio City Music
Hall has decided to have its April Fool's Day
in September. With Universal's compliments,
it presented yesterday the daffiest comedy of
the year. My Man Godfrey, from the novel by
Eric Hatch, is on the order of the Three-
Cornered Moon of a few seasons ago — except
that it is slightly more insane. There may be
a sober moment or two in the picture; there
may be a few lines of the script that do not
pack a laugh. Somehow we cannot remember
them. It's nonsense, of course, but it's
something to relish on a damp September
morn.I4
William Powell, coming off a peak of popularity begun
with The Thin Man, was loaned to Universal from M-G-M for
this picture. Recently divorced from actress Carole Lom
bard, Powell nevertheless insisted on using Lombard to
play the part of the female lead, the willful, spoiled,
charismatic Irene Bullock. Director Gregory LaCava was
delighted, having originally been told that Constance
Bennett was considered for the part. The film was later
remade in 1957 with David Niven and June Allyson in the
Powell and Lombard roles.
Of the many comedies of the Depression years
to deal with the antics of upper-class fami
lies, none was as successful or as amusing, as
Universal's My Man Godfrey. . . . Very much a
film of its time, it juxtaposed the giddy and
fatuous world of fashionable society and the
drab, despairing world of the hobo colony,
with memorable r e s u l t s .15
While Godfrey dealt with the economic horrors of the
time, it did so only peripherally. The out-of-work were
55
shown briefly in the film's beginning and end. But main
ly, Godfrey focused on the rich as personified by the
eccentric exploits and escapades of one Park Avenue fam
ily, the Bullocks.
My Man Godfrey was developed from a popular magazine
serial of the time titled "1011 Fifth Avenue." To be
sure, the film is not an indictment of a particular econ
omic system or even of the idle rich. The opening credits
appear over a panoramic, neon Manhattan skyline. A pan
down from the lofty credits finds Godfrey (William Powell)
at a riverside dump. He is accosted by two rich and
spoiled sisters (Carole Lombard, Gail Patrick), who need a
"forgotten man" for a charity scavenger hunt they are
competing in. Powell shows his contempt for their
thoughtless endeavor by threatening to spank the willful
Cornelia Bullock (Gail Patrick). Powell, however, is
somewhat intrigued by her equally willful, but endear
ingly wacky younger sister Irene (Carole Lombard). He
consents to become her "forgotten man" and is led back to
their charity event. The scene of the charity ball is as
potent a satire of noblesse oblige as any political-
economic tract. Charity is the least of these partici
pants' concerns.
Chaos abounds at the charity ball as Godfrey is usher
ed in by Lombard. Mr. Bullock (Eugene Pallette), Irene's
56
millionaire father, is disconsolate and annoyed, standing
at the bar while his wife cavorts about with other eccen
tric, high society types. We hear fragments of nutty
dialogue. The inimitable Franklin Pangborn plays the su
percilious scorekeeper of the event. Not surprisingly, a
dithering artistic gigolo of Mrs. Bullock's flutters
about. The room is packed, complete with animals, inclu
ding a monkey and a goat. Powell looks on apprehensively
but bemusedly. Lombard wins the contest with Powell as
her "forgotten man." She then spontaneously offers him a
job as her butler; he reluctantly accepts. The scene ends
on a fade out. The action moves to the next day as Powell
enters the back door of the Bullock mansion, ready to
begin work.
In the kitchen, the comic maid whips up a Bloody
Mary. Powell reveals his sophistication by adding Tabas
co. His first task is to deliver it to the hung-over
Mrs. Bullock. It is to be his first official encounter
with the family, and the maid forewarns they are an ex
tremely odd bunch. Servants don't tend to last very long
under the rigors of their zany, capricious, unpredictable
ways. Powell nods, understanding. He enters Mrs. Bul
lock's upstairs room. The wind chimes jingle. The sound
comforts her. Godfrey is next dispatched to Irene's
room. She is delighted to see him, although she barely
57
remembers him. She wants to sponsor him as her protege.
Godfrey, uneasy to be in her room, quickly exits. He then
encounters the gruff head of the household, the beleagured
father. Mr. Bullock is jaded, he has seen it all and ex
pects anything. He is informed there is a horse in the
library but in the nutty Bullock household, what else is
new? The behavior, it is obvious, is going to get more
eccentric. Godfrey, however, remains impassive.
Godfrey again meets his nemesis in the Bullock family,
the sexy, icicle-cold Cornelia (Gail Patrick). She is the
one family member who is mean-spirited; the rest are mere
ly goofy. Irene is despondent. "She hasn’t been well
since her Pomeranian died," Mrs. Bullock explains.
Upper class snobbery is manifested in the Cornelia
role. She is insensitive, self-centered and condescen
ding. Mr. Bullock, disgusted with the family bickering,
does the only sensible thing; he takes a tray of martinis
to his room. Irene is now completely smitten with the
older, charming Godfrey. She makes several advances
toward him. But Godfrey remains aloof although it is
obvious he is enamored with her: again, the screwball
leitmotif of the headstrong girl, charming and willful,
falling in love with the more conventional, down-to-earth
man. The man, nonetheless, in his own honest way, is able
to deal with her affections, but only after initial
58
difficulty and exasperations, succumbing in the end to her
setter, irrational judgment.
At a party, Lombard's whimsical nature is evidenced as
she suddenly announces she is engaged, albeit to a buf-
foonish suitor whom she had previously dismissed. It is
nutty and wonderfully amusing to see her friends and rela
tives blithely reacting to her announcement of marriage.
Her sister's maliciousness comes into the picture now
as she plants a piece of jewelry in Godfrey's room. This
scheme backfires on her, as Godfrey discovers it and foils
her attempt to have him arrested. The audience, however,
is not clued to what Godfrey will do with the jewelry, but
implicitly trusts him. Indeed Godfrey later comes through
and saves the day by using the jewelry as collateral to
keep Mr. Bullock's failing business afloat by buying his
stocks during a particular downspin in the stock market.
Again, there is a reference to the Depression; but rather
than being a social or economic statement, it is more of a
device for Godfrey to save the day. He may as well be
rescuing the Bullocks from Indians.
Lombard, in the meantime, goes to Europe to forget her
party-announced engagement. Upon her return she dramatic
ally faints in Godfrey's arms. He puts her in the show
er. She comes running out in wet delight — "Godfrey
loves me, he put me in the shower," she enthuses. Her
59
logic is correct. Godfrey would only do something that
brash to someone he truly cared for. In short, screwball
logic may be understood as logic that disregards social
conventions and interprets unconventional behaviour in a
perceptive, if idiosyncratic way.
My Man Godfrey was followed by a rash of imitative
comedies involving eccentric families whose members could
be charitably deemed as nuts. They have been safely lost
in film archives.
Bringing Up Baby, made in 1938, produced and directed
by Howard Hawks starred Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant.
It is one of the most frantic, fast-paced zany comedies in
the history of American cinema. An attempt to duplicate
the style and theme of Baby was made by Peter Bodganovich
in What's Up Doc? in 1972, but that picture never moved
with the felicity or grace of the Hawks' picture.
The humor in Bringing Up Baby emerges in large part in
the dialogue between the antagonist lovers, Hepburn and
Grant.
Bringing Up Baby has been called quintessential screw
ball comedy.
This film satisfies all the requirements.
Everything about it is a reversal. Even the
infant of the title is a leopard, and the only
way to keep it happy is by serenading it with
'I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Baby.'
The collection of incidents which passes for a
plot is exclusively concerned with the defla
tion of pretensions and the loss of dignity.
60
The stars, both known for witty and sophisti
cated comedy-dramas, are required to fall on
their faces, or behinds, with great regu
larity . 1®
It features a shy retiring man who is, against his powers,
sped along into a cavalcade of zany events by a head
strong, intelligent female. He unwittingly finds himself
having a great deal of fun, liberated by her enthusiasm
from his humdrum lifestyle. It is set in upper class sur
roundings and involves a relentless array of zany charac
ters: circus men, chicken truck drivers, animals, as well
as a number of stuffy, plutocratic types.
Hawks, however, realized that comedy must be played
seriously, and the characters in Baby are indeed earnest
!
and serious. Hawks recalled:
I approached Cary to do the role of the pale
ontologist. 'I wouldn't know how to do a
thing like that,' Cary told me. And I said
'You've seen Harold Lloyd, haven't you?' He
nodded. That gave him a clue— the innocent
abroad. Katie was by contrast fascinated with
her part. She had not been trained in comedy
at all, but she wanted to play comedy. We had
a little trouble when starting the picture,
because Katie rather thought she had to be
'funny.' She kept laughing, and she took the
comic situations too comically. I tried to
explain to her that the great clowns, Keaton,
Chaplin, Lloyd, simply weren't out there ma
king funny faces. They were serious, sad,
solemn, and the humor springs from what hap
pened to them. They'd do funny things in a
competely quiet, somber deadpan way. Cary
understood this at once. Katie d i d n ' t . 17
Gerald Mast further illuminates on Hawks' comic style,
commenting on his straightforward approach to comedy:
61
As is typical in a Hawks comedy, the tension
between surface madness and underlying feel
ings is implied but never stated. Katharine
never verbalizes her feelings or her inten
tions but Hawks conveys them in a brilliantly
cinematic way. One sequence of Bringing Up
Baby reveals Hawks' command of cinematic dis
tance and composition. Hepburn's first close-
up in the film comes almost 30 minutes into
it— at the moment when she learns that Cary is
engaged to be married. As she hears this
news, Hawks cuts to an unexpected close shot
of her face, and the action and dialogue sud
denly pause. After a few vague flickers of
conflicting feelings on her face, the fast-
paced talk and action that resume in a longer
shot gives great power to those special mo
ments when the pace slows and the camera leaps
very close.18
i
Always, Hawks played comedy against the grain. In re
sponse to a question about the lighting of Bringing Up
Baby, that it was darker, less high-key than most come
dies, Hawks responded:
They're inclined to start a comedy with a very
funny main title and animated stuff that seems
to say, 'Now we're gonna be funny. In Hatari,
we started almost with tragedy and not until
they discovered the man was going to live did
it become funny. It crept up on people; they
weren't told to laugh. And the more dangerous
and the more exciting, the easier it is to get
a laugh.
However, if Bringing Up Baby does not start out with
the classically light frothy introduction of most comedies
of that era, it does begin, as screwball comedies were to
begin, in noticeably rich, upper stratum surroundings.
With the theme song of "I Can't Give You Anything But
Love, Baby," the now classic Jimmy McHugh song, playing
62
over the credits, a shot of an elegant mansion begins the
movie. The credits are followed by a closeup of the name
plate of The Stuyvesant Museum of History. Hawks cuts to
the interior of the museum as a bespectacled Cary Grant,
in Harold Lloyd-type glasses, assiduously examines a large
bone; it is the last bone he needs to complete the struc
ture of the brontosaurus that he has been working on. His
officious, zealous fiancee (Virginia Walker) reminds him
they are getting married tomorrow. It seems to have slip
ped his mind. In the next breath she shrewishly dismisses
their honeymoon, telling Grant that he must continue with
his work. No fun-lover, she. "Our marriage must entail
no domestic entanglement of any kind," she warns. Grant
is obsequious, absent-minded and obviously already married
to his research. She reminds him he has to play golf that
day with a Mr. Peabody, a prospective donor who represents
a possible windfall in the form of a $1 million endowment.
Grant is next seen on a golf course, awkwardly playing
with the prospective donor, Mr. Peabody. Hopelessly out
of place, he keeps interrupting while Peabody makes his
!
strokes. As he flounders, Hepburn, with light-headed as-!
I
suredness, plays his ball. She knocks it with athletic
grace, totally befuddling Grant.
Hawks plays the characters very straight. Hepburn is
brahmin, unflappable. Grant is aggravated, out of his
well-ordered scholarly world. The humor from his charac
ter is realized through humiliation and exasperation.
Hepburn locks his fender at the club parking lot and
drives off with his car. He frantically gets on the run
ning board. As she drives him past the perplexed Peabody,
Grant dutifully waves goodbye to the befuddled philanthro
pist. He yells to the incredulous Peabody, "I'll be with
you in a minute, Mr. Peabody." a line that comically re
curs.
The scene is vintage screwball, an elaborate party in
the stately Plaza Hotel. Grant enters in tails and top
hat, very nervous. He immediately drops his hat, picks it
up, and walks skeptically toward the bar. Hepburn is
playing games with the bartender. She drops an olive
which sets off a chain of events, causing Grant to fall on
his hat. She says, "It all fits perfectly." And so it
does. She drops her olive and he falls on his hat; the
quintessential screwball situation: illogic becomes logic.
Bringing Up Baby builds its comic world with
careful increments of absurdity. In the rest
aurant, for example, the series of comic hap
penings begins with David slipping on the
olive and landing on his top hat. The pro
gression continues as, through a mistake made
by Susan, David is accused of stealing a
woman's p u r s e . 20
The aforementioned mistake is blithely explained by
Hepburn. "All people who behave strangely are not insane,
but screwy." Grant tries to comprehend her statements,
64
but he notes, "It never will be clear as long as she is
explaining it.” They clearly can’t communicate: Hep
burn's notions and outlooks are obviously different from
Grant's. Grant tries to get away from her, but she won't
let him go and accidentally tears his coat. Hepburn
stalks off, but Grant accidentally steps on her dress,
tearing it in the back and exposing her slip. He is mor
tified. As she walks off through the crowded room with
the large gap in her skirt, he hurries up behind her and
sticks his top hat on her derriere. She is surprised, and
annoyed at this seemingly boorish behavior. His inten
tions are good and he persists, telling her what has hap
pened. They draw smirking glances as he walks behind her,
snuggling up to her hips, literally up her back through
the crowded dining area. Grant sees Peabody, and says,
"I'll be with you in a minute, sir." The now running gag,
as well as Grant's frustration, picks up the comic
momentum.
So the story is set — opposite personalities both
young and attractive, alternately attract and irritate one
another. The male stodgy and pedantic; the female, care
free and frivolous. Grant is pursuing a goal of respected
academic endeavor. Hepburn is rich and not career-
oriented. But she notices a spark in him, and is attrac
ted to him.
65
Another allure for characters in Hawks' films is the
desirability of irresponsibility to counter the pressures
of life. In Bringing Up Baby that is wonderfully con
trasted by characters, the career-orientation of the Cary
Grant character who is betrothed to an ambitious single-
minded harpy and the carefree nature of the rich girl
played by Katharine Hepburn. It is, in a sense, confine
ment versus freedom. The charm of a life of irresponsi
bility clashes with the forces of convention. In the next
scene, Hepburn tells Grant (he is thunderstruck) that she
is a close friend of Mr. Peabody's.
The comic antics pick up as she sets on her mission to
attract him. Hawks does not hold long on sentiment, how
ever; Grant trips on the phone cord and locks the roaming
Baby in the bathroom. (The leopard is called Baby because
he is docile when the theme song "I Can't Give. You Any
thing But Love, Baby" is played.) Grant finally leaves
and Baby follows him. Hepburn allows it; it is her ruse
to keep him near her. She is now, obvious to the audi
ence, infatuated with him. As Grant determinedly walks
down the street away from the apartment, the leopard fol
lows him, scattering pedestrians along the way. Grant
stops in horror when he discovers the leopard. He has no
other recourse but to hop into the car which Hepburn is
"coincidentally" driving alongside the sidewalk.
66
In the car their different natures become more appar
ent: his caution contrasts with her spontaneity. She
drives wildly. Again, adversity approaches — this time
a chicken truck comes their way. Hepburn unintentionally
runs it off the road. All the chickens run off. Hawks
economically fills in the upshot: Baby with a mouth full
of feathers.
Again, Grant notes their different ways, their differ
ent reactions to the accident. "You look at everything
upside down," he says.
The aunt declares with certain finality and unknowing
wisdom "There's not a bit of sense in it, of course."
She's right, but not as she perceives it. There is sense
in a screwball comedy — everyone has his reasons. It
is just not apparent to the uninformed.
Holiday also starred Katharine Hepburn and Cary
Grant. It was adapted from the 1920s play by Philip
Barry. Donald Ogden Stewart, a witty playwright, novelist
and screenwriter (a member of the Algonquin Club) wrote
the screenplay. Of upper middle class background himself,
Stewart brought a personal polish and finesse to the
I
screenplay. To the notion that screwball comedy is a 30s
phenomenon concerned with promoting an escapism from the
horrors of the Depression, it must be noted that Holiday
flourished on Broadway during the affluent 20s. It was
67
not born of any 1930s economic dislocation and was previ
ously filmed in 1930.
Sophisticated and witty, it is a romantic com
edy with serious undertones. Underlying the
intelligent, urbane banter and critical view
of the rich is the struggle of two kindred
spirits to overcome social and psychological
obstacles.
The conversation was rapid and scintillating, enhanced
by George Cukor's careful, perceptive direction. Cukor's
static direction, concentrating his camera on the players,
was his characteristic style. The strength of his films
derives largely from his respect for the written word of
the script and for performance. While remaining faithful
to the carefully worked out, verbally polished script,
Cukor of course realized that a movie only showing actors
speaking their lines is inherently uncinematic, and can
thus be deadly. A movie must be more than a filmed play;
it must possess a filmic dynamic.
This dynamic for Cukor was realized through the thrust
and flow of the dialogue.
In Holiday, the clipped rhythm of Hepburn's
speech and her almost sing-song delivery im
part an active, anxious quality to her lines
and are an outward manifestation of Linda
Seton's internal state. John Case's (Cary
Grant's) double back flip-flops provide a sym
bolic, motion-filled gesture expressing his
personal style and attitude.22
Cukor's style, although differing from Hawks', also
relied on understatement and by running counter to obvious
68
comic expectations. He realized and portrayed the strong,
physical attractions between the Grant character and the
Hepburn character through suggestive nuance.
Again, Hepburn is the quintessential screwball hero
ine, bright and playful. However, before Holiday, Hepburn
had been placed at the head of the "box-office poison"
list of movie stars by the Independent Theatre Owners As
sociation. This surely did not help Holiday at the box
office. While the film was a moderate financial success,
critics displayed an ambivalent attitude toward both the
film and Hepburn.
The New York Times' Frank S. Nugent wrote:
So it remains Mr. Barry's play, slight perhaps
as a story, but cleverly written and providing
in its framework for a number of amiable char
acterizations. Columbia, like Nelson, has
expected every man to do his duty and it has
found more than a dutiful cast. Miss Hepburn
— the "New Hepburn," according to a publicity
copy— is very mannish in this one, deep
voiced, grammatically precise (she even remem
bers in moments of stress, to say "this must
be he") and is only a wee bit inclined to
hysteria. We can't get over our feeling that
her intensity is apt to grate on a man, even
on so sanguinary a temperament as Cary Grant's
Johnny C a s e . 23
Characteristic of screwball comedy, Holiday begins
with a full panoramic shot of the New York skyline. It
then abruptly cuts to Johnny (Cary Grant) visiting the
Potters. Potter is a college professor. He and his wife
are a delightful, bright couple, full of playful spirit.
69
Grant announces he is in love. They are ecstatic for him,
grabbing him and throwing him onto the sofa.
Johnny is thrilled, "I've found a perfect playmate."
He is very happy. Again in the screwball comedy, love is
equated with fun, with playing. In the next scene Johnny
drives up to a Fifth Avenue mansion. He is slightly in
timidated by it and goes around to the back entrance. He
enters through the servants' quarters. They think this is
odd because the woman he is coming to see, much to his
surprise, is not employed there. She lives there. Off-
the-wall dialogue: "Did I get home all right last night?"
flutters in the mansion. It is eccentric, matter of fact,
and deliciously loony. Johnny is in the midst of a rich,
idiosyncratic family. He is delighted by the place, not
because of the wealth, but because it is so huge and un
familiar to him. He goes up in an elevator, a great pro
cess which delivers him one story above. Down to earth
Grant notes, "I could have walked that."
His girlfriend (Doris Nolan) enters. She is beauti
ful, intelligent but unabashedly materialistic. One sen
ses theirs is not a meeting of the spirits. She is proud
of him. She realizes he is a good catch but primly haras
ses him about the impropriety of his tie.
She notes, however, that he will fit well into the
family. "Darling, you're going to make millions yourself,"
70
she resounds. Grant, it is clear, never thought of this,
at least, as a primary goal. She explains he'll have to
see her father to get their engagement approved in the
proper way. And, they'll have to go to church. He, the
romantic, responds, "I hate the thought of sitting down
with another man and being practical about you." She ack
nowledges the sentiment, but really does not understand it.
The younger sister Linda (Katharine Hepburn) enters
the room. She is witty, lively and animated. She remarks
that the family, as portrayed by their portraits, is
"ghosts wearing stuffed shirts." Grant and she hit it off
immediately. She announces, "I think I like this man."
It is clear she does not make idle assessments.
Grant and his prospective fiancee attend the family
church. Following the service, the father, in patriarchal
businessman manner, comments on the sermon. Grant is to
meet him at the home afterwards. He is reprimanded to
come to the front door this time. Once he gets there, he
is informed "You're expected in the playroom." The invi
tation, the servant notes, is from "Miss Linda (Hepburn).
Grant enters the playroom which is way at the top of
the mansion, out of the way. He is intrigued. Hepburn
gives him a bite of an apple. He says, playfully, that
the bell captain sent him up. She confesses it is "The
one room in the house where people could have some fun."
71
The notion of fun springs up again. It is something the
screwball leads need in their lives. Hepburn is exuber
ant, delighted that Grant has taken a liking to her room.
It brings back old memories of her younger years with her
brother when, "He and I used to hang by our knees and spit
at each other." Grant rides a tricycle around. He is
having a great time. He admits, that although he's at
tained financial success, "I do not call what I've been
doing a living." His philosophy, he explains, is "retire
young, work old."
i
Ned, the brother, (Lew Ayres) enters. He wonders what
they are doing up there. Then Nolan enters, once again
:confounded by Grant's choice of tie. She berates him with
the biting grace of a social lioness. She reiterates the
occasion's importance. Much to the delight of Hepburn, he
admits "When I'm in a situation like this, I think what
would General Motors do? Well, I'd do the opposite." j
This burns his fiancee. !
As Grant and the brother leave, Hepburn gushes, "Doj
you realize that life walked into this house this morning?j
He's like a breath of fresh air." Hepburn suggests giving)
i
a party up in the playroom, an idea which Nolan discour
ages. As the two sisters walk down the stairs, the good-1
natured Hepburn advises Nolan not to let Grant slip out of
her hands. "Don't let father bully you," she cautions.
The family gathers in the drawing room: the two
daughters, the brother and the father. The butler, along
with Grant, enters. The father immediately tries to get
rid of Hepburn. She protests, "I'm 30."
The fact that the Hepburn character was 30, tantamount
to spinsterhood in 1938, is significant. It shows her
particularity of character. It is clear she could have
had many a husband had she not been holding out for some
one special, someone she could play with.
Grant endures his interview. He tells how he worked
his way through Harvard; the family is not overwhelmed.
Hepburn is agitated by their upper crust disdain and pro
vincialism. The father recognizes that Johnny is wearing
his tie. Johnny admits, "Ned and I thought it might bring
me luck." Grant passes, although Hepburn is horrified by
the way he has been treated. It is clear she is beginning
to think he is too good for the family. Like My Man God
frey, the snobbism of the rich is portrayed.
Julia insists on a big party to celebrate, but Grant
is not particularly enthused. He acquieses, however, and
the elitism of the family during the course of the party
is further punctuated by the pretentious attitude of the
family cousins. The Potters, whom Grant has invited,
counterpoint the snobbery of the affair. The butler mis
takenly takes off Mr. Potter's shoe in his boot. Amazed
73
and amused, the down-to-earth Potters get in the elevator.
It is great theatre, as far as they're concerned.
Potter's remark, "It seems to have been some sort of
residence at one time," is tellingly perceptive. When
they arrive at Linda's room, they recognize her vitality.
The Potters inquire, "Your sister Julia, is she anything
like you?" They are distressed when they find she is not.
Ayres enters, playing a flute. He is followed by ser
vants, carrying liquor, and finally by Grant and Nolan.
Nolan is deeply concerned that everyone is neglecting the
real party. The Potters find some puppets and play.
This is yet another scene in screwball comedy where
fun is emphasized, cherished. The grown-up, the sophisti
cated, the proper are seen as shams, and therefore not
real. The contrasts are emphasized when two relatives en
ter the party. They are clearly snobs who can't catch on.
Hepburn announces "It's the witch and Dopey." Grant is
having a great time with Hepburn and Ayres. The father
enters along with Nolan. He informs Grant "There'll be a
desk waiting for you at the bank." Grant declines the of
fer, noting there is more to life than accumulating money.
Nolan disagrees. "There is no such thrill in the world as
making money." she asserts. Hepburn is distressed and
Nolan, greatly confused and angered, leaves. Grant re
mains, but even Hepburn tries to prod him down to the
74
party. The New Year is coming in, and it is evident that
Grant wants to stay with her. They nearly kiss. He mana
ges to muster, "Linda, you’re so sweet." Reluctantly, she
moves away from a possible mutual hug. They both realize,
reluctantly, they have fallen in love. Grant uneasily
exits as Ayres enters.
Hepburn, a teetotaler, is distraught. She wants an
escape. She asks Ayres what it is like to get drunk. He
resonds, "Grand." He senses something is the matter with
her. Desperate, she asks for some wine and admits, "I
love the boy, Eddie."
At the party, as the orchestrated frivolity moves to
ward the New Year, all is stolid, proper and lifeless. A
Viennese waltz plays; happiness and prosperity are wished
for in the New Year. Happiness is clearly equated with
prosperity in this world.
In Hepburn's room, Ayres nods off. Hepburn turns off
the light and reluctantly walks down the hallway, down the
stairs to the party. She kisses Grant as others ask,
"Where's the lucky boy?" Someone notes, "I haven't seen
the lucky boy since the announcement." "Lucky" rings
!
darkly and ironically.
Grant and Nolan meet on the terrace. She is angry, i
I
Grant said things to her father he "had no right to say."
They argue while Hepburn searches for Grant. She goes to
75
the kitchen. There is no sign of him. The party winds to
a close; it is evident that Grant and Nolan have no future
together. The action moves quickly, jumping in time as
Hepburn arrives at the Potters. They are ecstatic to see
her. "Run over to the drugstore and get some champagne,
will you darling?" Potter says. Hepburn is desperate;
she has been hunting for Grant since the party. Finally
Johnny and Linda come together once again. They end up
sailing off together, two spirits who have overcome mutual
distaste for conformity, convention and materialism.
While the screwball comedies were primarily made at
Columbia and Paramount, Warner Brothers followed suit with
their own attempts at screwball comedy. Known for their
gangster movies of the 30s, Warner brothers placed screw
ball elements in their 1941 film, The Bride Came C.Q.D.:
In The Bride Came C.O.D., Bette Davis and
James Cagney take leave of their somber drama
tic parts of recent film successes and plunge
headlong into gay, fast-motion nonsense. Cag
ney has done comedy previously, but this is a
wide departure from the dramatic roles that
brought Miss Davis two Academy awards. This
very thing makes for a comedy build-up with
the fans' old formula that dignified people
are funniest when they get the slapstick
treatment works in this case. Fans who see
Bette picking cactus needles out of the seat
of her riding breeches and on the receiving
end of the good old Cagney brand of slam-bang
will howl with g l e e . 24
Despite many pleasing ingredients, The Bride Came
C.O.D. is a contrived film. Warner Brothers seemed out of
76
their element with comedy. It had the standard screwball
plot of having a rich girl and working guy fall in love,
but its chemistry didn't completely blend.
At Warner Brothers, stringent budgets and
assembly-line production methods were hardly
conducive to sophisticated comedy (which cal
led for care, elegance, and expensive sets),
but within their limitations, they managed to
turn out a brand of film comedy uniquely their
own. Like the "backstage" musicals and gang
ster melodramas, the comedies and farces were
styled for Depression audiences seeking rapid
ly paced, professionally honed entertainment.
What the studio lacked, however, was the com
edy star power of Fields, Mae West, and the
Marxes. (Fields' first sound feature, Her
Majesty, Love was made for Warners in 1931,
but he left directly afterwards for Para
mount.) There was also a shortage of stylish
comedy performers who could deliver witty di
alogue with the aplomb of Claudette Colbert,
Irene Dunne and Cary Grant.25
Indeed, The Bride Came C.O.D. starts out in typical
gangster film fashion with the blaring of a siren as squad
cars speed along a city street. Among the first charac
ters we enounter are a reporter and a cop, setting the
I
tone for intrigue. The reporter complains it's been aj
slow news night, and he's yearning to drum up something to
meet his deadline. Behavior may become unconventional, we
sense.
The scene shifts to a nightclub, "The Embassy Club."
A dancer swirls hotly as the club orchestra stomps out an
audience-pleasing number. A smug soloist, played by Jack
Carson, announces to the audience he is engaged to a young
77
lovely heiress (Bette Davis). The ensuing dialogue by
Julius and Philip Epstein is brittily nutty — "Three
quarters of the fun of getting married is getting married."
One more time we have the formulaic story of a foolish
heiress involved in capricious marital plans with someone
obviously not right for her. And, not surprisingly, a
character enters the picture who will not only save her
from her plight but eventually marry her. The character
is James Cagney. The plot involves a pilot (James Cagney)
who runs a commercial airline business. To save his busi
ness, he agrees to transport the heiress back to her
father who objects to her engagement. And the role of
Cagney is the same abrupt, .down-to-earth type of guy as
Clark Gable played in It Happened One Night.
Other secondary characters spice the production. The
character of the newspaperman (Stu Erwin) adds a cynical
and idiosyncratic view to the production. Eugene Pallette
contributed his gravel-frog voice to that of the rich old
father - (he played a similar role as the irascible old
patriarch of the Bullock family in My Man Godfrey. A
practical man, he fears his daughter's fiance is a gold-
digger. He disdainfully refers to him as "that piano
player."
In a wacky exchange between the film's two crustiest
males, Pallette and Cagney, Cagney agrees to deliver Davis
78
to him. He determines he will charge the normal freight
fare of $10 a pound for the delivery. He clearly does his
business by the book.
Cagney manages to snatch Davis. "I cannot be kidnap
ped. I'm just about to be married,” she declares, demon
strating the loony heiress' sense of propriety. But Cag
ney having duped the newspaper reporter and bridegroom,
takes off with Davis in his plane.
As they fly off, she disapprovingly surveys him. "You
know you do not look like a kidnapper." It seems an ad
venture for her; she is saucy and more than a little
thrilled, ultimately equating her abduction as one of her
typical larkish escapades. She inquires if Cagney has a
mob. He deadpans, "No, they call me the solo kid." She
continues with, her cross-examination. "Have you always
been a criminal? . . . How much are you asking for me?"
She is outraged when she finds out the poundage sum. She
declares she is worth at least $100,000.00.
She fumes, "You're the strangest kidnapper. You're
not even good enough for the cuss words I know." She now
offers him double that amount if he will not let her go.
But he has made his deal and will not renege. Frustrated,
she spots a parachute, puts it on and tries jumping from
the plane. In one of its craziest, wildest scenes, Cagney
turns the plane over to prevent her from jumping.
79
Despite their antagonistic positions, it is now evi
dent that each has a grudging respect for the other. She
is spirited and he seems to like that. She is impressed
with his sense of integrity, not letting her buy him off.
The tone is clearly one of bantering comedy; there is no
real danger involved. There is no real urgency even when
the plane comes down with engine trouble. Cagney is for
ced to land in the desert.
Farce is a major element in the film.
This comedy is built on that soundest of far
cical premises— the higher they come, the
funnier they fall— and Miss Davis is just
about at the top of the Hollywood heap. She
drops into not one but three beds of cacti
during the course of proceedings, is pelleted
with a sling shot by Cagney, is carried kick
ing and screaming to jail, later dirtied up in
a mine cave-in. In other words, she takes a
terrific amount of physical punishment, takes
it like the trouper she is— even seeming to
enjoy it.26
Here Davis lands on a cactus, getting stuck in the rear by
the prickly plants. In one of the film's most suggestive
scenes, Cagney chivalrously, but grumpily, pulls the
cactus needles from her rear. The two argue about whose
fault the accident was. Cagney declaims, "Glamour girls,
a bottleneck in the progress of man."
Once again we have the common screwball romantic plot
of man and woman together on the road. Whether it be
Powell and Loy on a case, or Gable and Colbert on a back
woods bus ride, it's essentially two on the road; two in
80
it together while at the same time two against each other.
All the while (much as they hate to admit it or fight
against realizing it), they are falling in love.
They move on and soon stumble upon an old ghost town.
Davis is less than enthralled, "It's not even much of a
ghost town." A roof nearly collapses on her; chickens run
about. They enter an old saloon, deserted except for a
mule and a rooster. It is scary. Both are more than a
little apprehensive, especially when a voice appears out
of nowhere. It is an old hermit (Harry Davenport) and he
offers to rustle them up some breakfast. He asks what
they'll have with their eggs. Cagney says ham; she, nat
urally, says bacon. The hermit declares, "You'll take ba
con too. I don't feel like cutting into the ham."
He is a curious old coot; a bird sits on his arm.
Verbal gags from writers Julius and Philip Epstein punctu
ate the story. The hermit asks how they want their eggs,
up or over. Cagney says up. Davis says over. The hermit
says, "You'll have them up, too. I don't want no confu
sion." The old man is cynical. He says he likes people,
but the fact that he doesn't see many of them "keeps me j
liking them."
He asks if the two are heading to Las Vegas to get
married. Davis exclaims, "Certainly not." But Cagney,
playfully knowing how to get her goat, kisses her, as if
81
they were already married. She slaps him. She tells the
old hermit she is being kidnapped. He ruefully notes,
"Ain't much difference between kidnapping and marriage."
Indeed, there is an undercurrent of iconoclasm
throughout the film. Social institutions are always fair
game, and conventional marriage is certainly a target in
this Warners' release.
But facing adversity in the desert prompts a grudging
but growing attaction and admiration between the two.
"You must have been up against this sort of thing before.
There must have been some sort of crisis at the Stork Club
or the waiter brought the wrong wine," Cagney consoles.
Davis demonstrates strength as their entrapment continues.
Beneath the spoiled-rich-girl exterior is the resilience
of a trouper.
They become trapped in a mine and fear death. Davis
reflects. Her whole life is passing before her. She de
clares in sorrow "such a wasted life. After all, who is
there to mourn me, except for my father and a few head-,
waiters." She admits she only knew her fiance for four
j
days. "I've got nothing to show for my twenty-three!
(
years."
Cagney also reflects, drawn in by her candor. He ad
mits life has not amounted to much, either. All he has is
his plane and that is not even paid for . She then catches
82
him, learning he has been married twice before; neither
worked out. She extends her hand, "I want you to know
that I forgive you for everything." He moves closer to
her. They begin to kiss; then she jumps up. "Mustard,
you've been eating," she declares. She pummels him. He
sheepishly leads her out of the mine. Outside the suitor
arrives along with a judge. Cagney declares "You can't
marry that man. You've only known him four days. You've
known headwaiters longer than that." She nonetheless de
clares she wants to get married in Las Vegas. Cagney will
not give up. He needs an idea and quick. He won't let
her go and ends up in a fistfight with the fiance. The
younger man keeps knocking him down, but Cagney keeps get
ting up. Davis looks on in sympathy for Cagney as the
suitor resorts to brass knuckles. It is obvious that Cag
ney and Davis will soon have a date at the altar.
83
FOOTNOTES
1 Frank Capra, Frank Capra: The Name Above The
Title (New York: MacMillan, 1971), p. 162.
2 Joseph McBride, "Frank Capra Sees Emerging Sense
of Comedy & Idealism Among Student Film-Makers," Daily
Variety, 16 April 1975, p. 3.
3 Arthur Knight, The Liveliest Art (New York:
Macmillan, 1957), p. 172.
4 Ted Sennett, Lunatics and Lovers (New Rochelle:
Arlington House, 1973), p. 93.
5 Knight, p. 172.
6 Knight, p. 173.
7 Mourdant Hall, review of "It Happened One Night,"
New York Times, 23 February 1934, p. 23.
8 Lillian Heilman, "Introduction," The Big
Knockover, by Dashiell Hammett (New York: Vintage Books,
1972), p. xvii.
9 Louis Black, "The Thin Man," Cinema Texas, 13,
No. 5, (1978), p. 43.
10 Black, p. 44.
11 Sennett, p. 165.
12 Mourdant Hall, review of "The Thin Man," New
York Times, 30 June 1934, p. 18.
13 Frank S. Nugent, review of "After The Thin Man,"
New York Times, 19 September 1936, p. 18.
14 Frank S. Nugent, review of "My Man Godfrey," New
York Times, 19 September 1936, p. 18.
15 Sennett, p. 152.
84
16 Leslie Halliwell, Halliwell1s Hundred (New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1982), p. 41.
17 program Notes for "Bringing Up Baby," Los
Angeles County Museum comedy series, 3 August 1976.
18 Gerald Mast, The Comic Mind (Indianapolis/New
York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1973) p. 254.
19 David Hull, review of "Bringing Up Baby,"
Dartmouth Film Society (Hanover, New Hampshire), 1978, p.2.
20 Juliette Friedgen, Magill's American Film Guide
(Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980), p. 488.
21 Lauren Rabinovitz, Program Notes for "Holiday"
Cinema Texas, 7 Nov. 1977, p. 22.
22 Rabinovitz, p. 23.
23 Frank S. Nugent, review of "Holiday," New York
Times, 24 June 1938, p. 15.
24 Rosalind Shaffer, review of "The Bride Came
C.O.D.," The Hollywood Reporter, 3 July 1941, p. 3.
25 Ted Sennett, Warner Brothers Presents (New
Rochelle: Arlington House, 1971), p. 176.
26 Theodore Strauss, review of "The Bride Came
C.O.D.," New York Times, 31 July 1941, p. 26.
85
CHAPTER III
Eight screwball comedies have as their plot structure
lovers separating and eventually reuniting. Their efforts
to get back together are quintessential screwball behav
ior. In short, the lovers find they cannot live happily
separated — neither divorce nor physical separation can
keep them apart — and try every trick in the book to
win back their mate. They are soulmates who have become
divorced or separated through misunderstanding or because
of their own high-spirited ways. The screwball comedies
which fit the plot pattern of lovers reuniting include His
Girl Friday, Twentieth Century, The Awful Truth, Mr. and
Mrs. Smith, The Philadelphia Story, My Favorite Wife, The
Palm Beach Story and Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife.
His Girl Friday is another Howard Hawks screwball com
edy in which the participants must choose between solid,
predictable lifestyles and stimulating but unpredictable
careers. Based on the Hecht/MacArthur play The Front !
Page, the film stars Cary Grant as an energetic, flamboy
ant managing editor and Rosalind Russell as his former
wife/star reporter who is now engaged to be married to an
insurance salesman (Ralph Bellamy). Russell is seeking a
: ' 86
stable, suburban life free from the high pressure, dead-
lined career of a journalist. Grant is still in love with
her and spares no wile or guile in saving her from sub
urbia .
His Girl Friday is one of the fastest-paced of all
movies, both in terms of rapid dialogue and in the con
stant physical movement. In addition to highly charged
speed, this Front Page remake is precise in its farcical
aspects, which are orchestrated with the flow of plot it
self. As Manny Farber noted:
A line is never allowed to reverberate but is
quickly attached to another, funnier line in a
very underrated comedy that champions the sar
donic and quick-witted over the plodding, so
ber citizens.i
A recurring theme of Howard Hawks' films was the al
lure of irresponsibility. He championed unconventionality
over conformity. His Girl Friday is a celebration of the
unconventional. Further, Hawks was cynical, as Richard
Corliss noted:
His Girl Friday is Howard Hawks' best comedy,
and quite possibly his best film. . . . Hawks'
steady pace never gives us time to question
the characters' motives. Molly Malloy jumps
out the window and is promptly forgotten.
Walter kidnaps Bruce's mother and is promptly
forgiven. Only in retrospect does this de
lightful comedy reveal itself as possibly the
most subtly cynical film Hollywood has pro
duced . 2
Howard Hawks claims he got the idea for filming His
Girl Friday at a dinner party he was giving. He thought
87
it would be a good idea for the guests to amuse themselves
by doing a reading of The Front Page, the Ben Hecht and
Charles MacArthur play. He handed the male reporter's
part (Hildy Johnson) to one of the new women while he took
the managing editor's lines (Walter Burns). After a few
pages of dialogue, Hawks grew excited and decided that the
play was better with a girl playing Hildy Johnson. He
contacted co-author Hecht and suggested changing the re
porter's sex for a future project. Hecht liked the idea
but had other project commitments; so Hawks hired Charles
Lederer to write additional dialogue for a new script.
Lederer, who had scripted the 1931 movie version of
The Front Page, directed by Lewis Milestone, had helped
1Hecht on other screenplays. On His Girl Friday, he worked
with Hecht (who receives no screen credit) to revamp char
acters and dialogue.
But Hawks stressed the physical aspects of the pro
ject: that is, the visual speed, including movement, dia
logue delivery and rapid cutting.
I think that motion is far more interesting
than just talking. Anybody can stand still
and talk, and even in motion I've tried to
make my dialogue too fast, probably twenty
percent faster than most pictures. Sometimes
we put a few unnecessary words on the front of
a sentence and a few on the end, so that i
people can overlap in their talking and you
still get everything they wanted to say. . . .
We did it in a picture called His Girl Friday.
And If you have actors who are good enough,
it's a lot of fun to do. It gives you a sense
88
of speed. . . . If you can't just sit back and
analyze how bad it is.3
His Girl Friday starts out breezily, rapidly as former
reporter Hildy Johnson (Rosalind Russell) strides purpose
fully, airily into a congested city newsroom. Inside his
managing editor's office, Walter Burns (Cary Grant) is
hurriedly shaving. Russell makes her way through the busy
throng. Like all newspapers, chaos seems to reign. It is
clear this newspaper is comprised of high-strung, high-
spirited people. Russell and Grant greet each other.
Both are wary, but it is clear there is a flame flickering
between them. Grant is very wily, obviously a games
player. He is very articulate and very manipulative.
Russell is his match, it seems.
A convicted murderer is to be executed the next day
and the paper has a strong interest. As Grant explains,
"We're the only paper in town defending Earl Williams, and
if he han.gj3...tomorrow, we're washed up./ It is clear his
allegiance to Williams is self-serving, but we do not know:
how far this may be a mask that covers his true feelings.
Nutty banter and verbal fencing between the two en
sues. He complains that she divorced him. Their views
are idiosyncratic. Of his divorce, he states, "You've got
the old-fashioned idea that divorces are something that
last forever— till death do us part. Why a divorce doesn't
89
mean anything today. It's only a few words mumbled over
you by a judge." It is clear: he wants her back.
Grant's disdain for societal convention and his good-
natured glibness make him endearing; it is clear Russell
is affected by his banter. He goes on, "Let's not fight,
Hildy. Tell you what. You come back to work on the paper
and if we find we can't get along in a friendly way, we'll
get married again.” She is impressed but still wary.
She, it seems, has fallen for his line too many times be
fore. "Walter, you're wonderful in a loathsome sort of
way," she retorts.
She announces that she is engaged to an insurance
salesman, an occupation so sensible and staid that it
I
!comes in for immediate derision from Grant. She notes de-
fensively that her fiance is in the building. Grant,
goaded, wants to meet him. Russell is not so sure, but
Grant triumphs. They meet the fiance in the outer office.1
He (Ralph Bellamy) is indeed a careful sort, rain coat and
an umbrella. He is bumbling, well-meaning and dull-i
witted. Grant inveigles a luncheon date with them, much
to Russell's dismay; Hawks quickly dissolves to a!
i
I
restaurant. j
The restaurant is a familiar watering hole for Grant,!
who knows the waiters by name. To put Bellamy further at
ill ease, Grant sits on him as they jockey for position at
90
the table. This piece of business is not in the working
script, but the comedy heightens a possibly dull transi
tion. Russell promptly kicks Grant under the table for
his actions, but inadvertently kicks the waitress. The
characteristic screwball slapstick's comedy emanates from
sophisticated professional people: a newspaper's managing
editor, a reporter and an insurance salesman - not your
silent reel clowns or tramps.
The dialogue proceeds wackily along with a social
punch to it. Bellamy states, "I figure I'm in the line of
business that really helps people. Of course, we don't
help much when you're alive ... but afterwards ... that's
what counts."
Grant, now clearly after Russell, proposes that Rus
sell cover the story of the execution. It is a plum
assignment and she nearly bites, but then catches herself.
She will only cover the story if Grant agrees to buy a
large life insurance policy from Bellamy.
Hawks fades out and then fades in on the reporters'
room at the state prison. The reporters are a motley cyn
ical bunch. They are playing cards. Russell fits in with
them, taking their jibes and dishing them back. She puts
on a pair of stockings and slips a pair in another repor
ter's desk. Hawks cross-cuts to Grant's office. Grant is
being examined for his insurance policy. He manages to
91
bring the gullible Bellamy to tears with an outlandish sob
story about how he never deserved Russell. It is clear
Grant is trying to get her back, and he will use every
means necessary. He is slick, articulate and winningly
sympathetic. His ruses are hilarious, especially when
hurled against the dull, unimaginitive Bellamy character.
Grant, of course, has no intention of ever paying for the
policy. He enlists a hanger-on to pick the pocket of Bel
lamy once he leaves the office.
The film is alive with the quick interchanges between
[the fast-talking characters. In the press room, Russell
banters with the other reporters. They are skeptical
about her getting married, feeling it a waste of a good
reporter. She retorts, "I'm going to be a woman, not a
newsgetting machine." She is, however, charged with the
excitement of a big story. "Where's my hat?" she asks.
It's on her head. The reporters, however, are a cynical
lot. When a woman jumps from the press room window out of
sympathy for Williams, only Russell is affected. j
The scenes continue with a rapid, quick-cutting ca-J
dence, moving along with a speed that a play couldn't!
match. Quick cuts: to Earl Williams in his cell, to the
press room as a rat-a-tat-tat of guns rings out. Panic
and cries of a jail break. Russell grabs her coat and
rushes into the street where pandemonium ensues. Squad
92
cars speed by; sirens scream; people dash. The reporters
are back to the press room, frantically calling in the
news: Earl Williams has escaped. Russell dashes into the
press room as the other reporters run out. A revolving
doors tempo pervades like a Mack Sennett comedy. Russell
phones Grant. She recounts how Williams escaped through
the bumbling of the sheriff and the screwy psychiatrist.
Then Williams himself appears in the press room. Russell
hides him in a rolltop desk. Grant is impressed. He
makes a quick decision, the story is so big he will run it
even if it means cutting out a page of ads.
The sheriff and the mayor enter the press room. They
are a couple of corrupt boobs, representing established
and, in this case, corrupt authority. In the screwball
comedy there is a consistent lack of respect for estab
lished authority by the protagonists. Those in power are
seen as pompous, inept and ultimately corrupt.
A fat man, weirdly neurotic, enters with a reprieve
I
for Williams. To the politicians, however, there is more
at stake than a man's life. There is an election at
stake. The mayor tries to bribe the man with a job at the
city sealer's office. The man is too much of a bumbler to
even realize he is being bribed.
The little midget, Louis, from Grant's office enters
with the money to give Russell for the insurance policy.
93
Russell is skeptical, realizing he is not to be trusted.
She suspects Grant is up to something.
The pandemonium continues, players enter. The future
mother-in-law of Russell arrives. She is obnoxious and
alienates Grant who has suddenly appeared upon the scene.
He orders, "Louis, take this lady over to Polack Mike's
and lock her up. See that she doesn't talk to anyone on
the way." The short feisty Louis hoists the enraged huge
woman up over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Grant
frantically follows Russell around the room.
He chatters non-stop as the phones constantly ring.
Bellamy enters on this loony scene. Grant barks into the
phone. "No, leave the rooster story alone, that's human
interest." He clearly thrives on this insane, frantic fe
ver of filing against deadlines. Russell, it is obvious,
has the same enthusiasm. Burns, however, is not above
supplying a little verbal sugarcoating, encouraging her,
I
trying to trick her into staying on after the story —
it is his means of courtship. He says to her "Do you
realize what you've done? You've taken a city that's been
graft-ridden for forty years under the same old gang, and
with this yarn you're kicking them out and giving us a|
chance to have the same kind of government New York's!
having under La Guardia." Clearly, this is a left-handed
compliment to New York.
94
By this time, Bellamy, out of his element, has had
enough. Further, Russell ignores him. She is wrapped up
in the story. He irritates her. She barks, "I'm not a
suburban bridge player, I'm a newspaper man." Grant is on
a roll.
Bellamy leaves. Grant senses victory, as he and Rus
sell now turn their attention back to the escaped Wil
liams. Grant swishes air into the roll-top, in which
Williams is hiding.
The high-jinks and duplicity on Grant's part con
tinues. It is clearly something Russell admires and
generally approves of, although she is constantly wary of
him. His disdain for convention and, in particular, dull
routine stimulate her.
An effete reporter, owner of the desk in which
Williams is hiding, enters. He is from the competition
and Grant sidetracks him. He goes through an elaborate
ruse to get the reporter off the scene. Grant sends the
reporter back to his newspaper to report in and then, when
he leaves, calls his city desk, instructing them to keep
this fellow writing poetry for a while and then to kick
him out. Grant uses unorthodox, not completely legitimate
methods to deal with the competition, flaunting standard
journalism ethics. But to him, in journalism and love,
all is fair.
95
The reporters hurriedly enter. They discover Williams
while the sheriff and the mayor look on. Grant and Rus
sell are arrested, but the man with Williams' pardon
arrives. Grant and Russell now expose the corrupt admini
stration. It is clear the condemned man Williams was only
a pawn in a corrupt political game played by the politi
cians .
Grant and Russell have triumphed. They have accom-
!plished something together and have had a lot of fun doing
it. As Grant says, "As long as we were in there together
pitching — they couldn't lick us. Well, it's been a
lot of fun." Again, fun is a need for the screwball pro
tagonists. It is a bonding force between the lovers.
Ball of Fire, produced by Samuel Goldwyn for RKO/Radio
was relased in 1941. It featured a screenplay by the
writing teams of Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett based
on a story "From A to Z" by Wilder and Thomas Monroe. The
film was later remade in the 50s as A Song is Born star
ring Danny Kaye but that film did not have the verve of
the original, although it was also directed by Howard
Hawks.
Ball of Fire starred Gary Cooper and Barbara Stanwyck,
with Cooper playing the cautious, pedantic professor'
Bertram Potts while Stanwyck played Sugarpuss O'Shea, a
street-wise moll and showgirl. It followed the plot format
96
of the full-of-life female cajoling spirit out of a
stodgy, albeit intelligent male. In the case of Ball of
Fire one might say eight males as Stanwyck liberates a
house of pedants from their routine, detached academic
refuge. Similar to Bringing Up Baby, which also featured
the beguiling female orchestrating the actions of the
male, Ball of Fire results in the two falling in love and
eventually marrying. Similar to Topper it represents the
liberation of regimented spirits, in this case the academ
ics, from their life of patterned routine.
It was one of the last of the screwball comedies, per
haps the last classical screwball comedy. Ball of Fire
featured a screenplay by Charles Brackett and Billy
Wilder. It was directed by Howard Hawks, thereby making
it one of the fastest-paced comedies of its time. Hawks
distilled it from a final screenplay draft from Wilder and
Brackett that ran 165 pages. The running time of the film
was 111 minutes, a testament to Hawks' cutting and no-stop
pacing. Numerous scenes were not utilized in the final
movie, and a number of scenes were distilled by quick
cross-cutting.
Ball of Fire contains two characteristic Hawks' ele
ments. First, as Robin Wood notes:
Again the favorite Hawksian clash of opposite
worlds: on the one hand a world of serious
(even when absurd) dedication to learning, on
the other a world of total irresponsibility.
97
Only this time the film comes down firmly —
though not without qualifications — on the
side of culture and dedication, with the bar
barians unequivocally routed.4
Second, the film again toys with the unexpected notion of
male/female behavior: the woman is more aggressive, more
worldly than the man, who is passive and scholarly.
Yet, Hawks' pacing was not as brilliantly executed in
this film as in Baby. The film slows in certain spots,
especially in a scene in which Stanwyck sings, but despite
these few scenes, the fact that Hawks was able to compress
in under two hours (commercially right for a comedy) a
film from a largely verbal 165 page script is a testament
to his acumen. The film was promoted with a poster of a
dashing Gary Cooper embracing a scantily attired Barbara
Stanwyck as she fetchingly looks up to him. Above the
picture ran the caption "I love him because he doesn't
know how to kiss — the jerk I "
Cooper, one of eight professors commissioned to write
an encyclopedia, plays an out—of—touch, well-intentioned
academic who cautions his cohorts, "We're working under
pressure. Let's not bog down in the middle of the letter
S." He rules over his small isolated domain with a cau
tious rationality which is under the good auspices of a
private grant, the donor of which is becoming increasingly
impatient over their painstaking scholarly ways. The
Cooper character constantly admonishes his staff not to
98
split infinitives. They are indeed an effete aggregation
lorded over by a housekeeper, a comic servant who relishes
bossing them around. They cherish the order she brings to
their impractical, helpless ways.
Stakes are set. They are admonished early on to fin
ish their research. As the lawyers decree, "Slap it to
gether." Cooper, however, is no pussycat. He remon
strates, "We are not the slapping together kind." Though
cautious, his is a strong character. He is able to charm
his benefactor into granting them a reprieve. It seems he
can adjust to the outside world when he has to, and in his
own specific area of research it is essential — he is
compiling a list of popular slang. This is no endeavor
which can be fulfilled in the safe confines of a library
and Cooper earnestly takes to the streets in search of
colloquialism. He strikes up a friendship with their gar
bage man who coaches him on some of the finer points of
everyday slang. Cooper is enlightened by this talk. He
laments, "I've just finished my article on slang. Twenty-
three pages, compiled from a dozen reference books." He
wisely, painfully throws it in the wastebasket, calls for
his hat and Macintosh and goes "out to tap the sources of
slang."
Hawks moves the plot along with a montage of shots of
the naive Cooper gathering slang: in Times Square around
99
noon; in the subway; in the bleachers at Yankee stadium;
at a campus and at a pool room in the Bowery.
One scene not in the script has Cooper in an expen
sive, but squalid looking nightclub. Female singers gy
rate to the beat of a drummer (Gene Krupa) who beats out
"Drum Boogie." Cooper catches himself as he starts to tap
along. This brings a quick glimpse into Cooper's under
lying lively nature and, in addition, provides a pulsating
beat for some cross-cutting backstage to a dressing room
where two thugs approach a dancer (Barbara Stanwyck).
They tell her she has to take it on the lam, that a cer
tain Mr. Joe Lilac (she is evidently his moll) is mixed up
in a murder. Rapid storytelling.
Hawks, not adhering to the Wilder/Brackett script, has
the determined Cooper meekly knock on her door. He wants
some first-hand slang instruction from the dancer, but his
explanation, "I'd like to speak to Miss O'Shea in regard
to an investigation I'm conducting," is misconstrued by
the mobsters in the room. They think he is from the
D.A.'s office. She asks how many men are on the job and
he responds, "eight." There is some hilarious dialogue in
this first encounter between Stanwyck and Cooper. She
finally fathoms he is not from the D.A.'s office but "Just
a square from Delaware." .He asks to observe her for a few
days for the purposes of his slang research. She has had
100
odder requests but perfunctorily dismisses him. Yet, af
ter he leaves it occurs to her that his place would be an
excellent spot for laying low. Hawks dissolves to the li
brary of the professors, as Cooper smugly explains slang
to his colleagues. They are enthralled. More than one is
enraptured with the image of the dressing room and night
club he paints.
It should be noted that so far in the film the profes
sors have been introduced and Cooper has set out and en
countered a girl. This is page 40 in the script. That
only so little in the way of story has occurred is an
obvious indication of the over-writing. Not enough has
happened to justify 40 pages, even considering that dia
logue takes up more page space than action. Yet the film
has moved with remarkable facility, quickly. There is no
1:1 page to minute ratio. Hawks has cannily altered it to
a higher, in this case more expeditious ratio.
Stanwyck now shows up, a clock indicates that the time
is 12:25, way past the good professor's bedtime. Cooper!
opens the door and she announces, "hi-de-ho." She enters,
provocatively attired and surveys the place. She com-
' !
ments, "Who decorated this place, the mug who shot
Lincoln?" Prom above, the other professors curiously gape1
down the stairway, behaving like a group of ogling, under-
sexed schoolboys.
101
She's obviously a night person and wants to start in
with her slang tutoring immediately, but the professors
are way past their bedtime. Instead she propositions
Cooper, "Let's get ourselves a couple of drinks and light
the fire." This brings forth an awkward demurral on his
part. She acquiesces and gets ready for bed, causing him
to stutter when she takes off her stockings, revealing
some luscious legs. Cooper is so flustered, he wants to
send her away, but the other professors rally to her
cause. One professor declares, "Why take a chance with
valuable material?" cooper is still rattled. "This is
all highly irregular," however, is all that he can muster.
He is very worried that her presence will come to the at
tention of the foundation and jeopardize their already
shakey grant situation. But Stanwyck persists and the in
sistence of the others prevails. They all watch her walk
upstairs, smitten. The action now dissipates to plot ex
planatory scenes of the cops questioning the hood, Joe
Lilac (Dana Andrews).
The next few scenes center on the disruption Stan
wyck's presence brings to the house. All the professors
want their pants pressed at once; for instance, like Hep
burn in Bringing Up Baby, Stanwyck in Ball of Fire brings
an earthy vitality to otherwise overly cautious males. As
Cary Grant was a paleontologist in Baby who was obsessed
102
with getting a research grant and knew little of life,
Cooper's character in Ball of Fire is similarly shackled
iby the dictates of a grant.
As the studio promotion poster boasted, "the story of
a sedate professor who knew all about dead languages and
nothing about live ladies until a night club gal crashed
his bachelor quarters and rhumbaed right into his heart."
Recently, other films have tried the same formula. So
Fine, starring Ryan O'Neal as a tenure-seeking professor
becomes involved with a sultry model (Marianna Mangelo)
and falls in love with her while trying to save his fa
ther's clothing business. Not surprisingly, this film was
written by Andrew Bergman, who wrote the 30s film history,
We're In The Money. At best, So Fine was a contrived ex
ercise; it was a box-office flop.
However, Ball of Fire assuredly moves along as the
scholarly Cooper and his contemporaries become more and
more infatuated and intrigued by Stanwyck. They are en-
j
raptured with her and even want to learn to dance, method—
ically drawing diagrams on the floor, assiduously studyingj
I
the technique. Again, Stanwyck levels their overemphasis!
i
on study. "Grind it, grind it like it was coffee," she
exclaims.
But the housekeeper is ever-wary. She counsels Cooper,
"That is the kind of woman who makes whole civilizations
103
topple." Certainly she has toppled the quiet order of
their small sanctuary. Cooper is clearly ambivalent in
his feelings toward Stanwyck, in much the same way Cary
Grant was toward Katharine Hepburn in Bringing Up Baby
when she brought so much havoc and disorder into his
narrow, defined lifestyle.
Involved with the case impending against her gangster
boyfriend, Stanwyck is, however, still only making time
with the professors, prepared to desert them at any mo
ment. Two thugs appear at the door for her. They give
her a wedding ring from Joe Lilac. She is delighted until
she hears the reasons, a wife cannot testify in a criminal
hearing against her husband. But she is still smitten, as
one of the gangsters flatters her by saying, "He gets more
bang out of you than any dame he ever knew."
Meanwhile, the effete Cooper has decided that indeed
she must leave. She has disrupted the order of their
study. "For the last four days we've been drifting, Miss
O'Shea," he admits, "I shall regret the absence of your
keen mind. Unfortunately, it is inseparable from a dis
turbing body." This is the closest he has come to ac-|
knowledging his sexual attraction for her. She is taken.
She smiles and says, "You're a regular yum-yum type." She,
then moves closer to him, stands atop a stack of reference
books and kisses him.
104
Startled, Cooper bolts upstairs past peeping profes
sors. Cooper soon returns and enters the library where
Stanwyck is waiting. She calls him a patsy. He acknowl
edges and then asks, "Would you yum me once more?" But
the staunch housekeeper pleasedly announces the arrival of
the taxi.
The film has reached a decisive point; either Cooper
must make his move or lose Stanwyck. To make it would in
effect be a renunciation of his entire life. She, at the
same time, is secretly studying grammar. He sheepishly
comes to her bedroom "to clarify our relationship." He
gives her a wedding ring. He has crossed the bridge. It
is miniscule in comparison to Joe Lilac's ring, but she is
deeply touched. He recites from Richard III for her.
"Dust just piles up on their hearts and it took you to
blow it away." He proposes, but she demurs. "Potsy,
you'd better take another turn around the park."
The plot now begins to unfurl. Lilac calls her. He
has to meet her. She pretends, for Cooper's benefit, she
is talking to her father. Earnestly he takes the phone
and asks for her hand, explaining he makes a salary of
$3,200 a year. Later, the gangster says to Stanwyck,
"That Jack was made to order."
From Stanwyck's reaction it is apparent that she has
become increasingly attracted to Cooper, especially in
105
view of her gangster/fiance's boorish behavior. But she
promises to meet the thug at a lodge. He cautions her to
watch out for the Washington Bridge, which will be swarm
ing with cops.
Cooper and the other professors find out the plight of
Stanwyck and set out, albeit in top hats, to rescue her.
However, they must be aided by the "barbaric illiterates,"
in this case, the garbage man who transports them in their
rescue attempt in his garbage truck across the bridge.
Yet, the professors still look to bookish help in con
fronting their situation. Cooper, ever the theoretician,
seeks out a boxing book to learn how to fight. When he
finally confronts Lilac, he is, of course, floored. But
the professors happily win the day and in the movies, this
means the guy gets the girl. Despite the logical explana
tions of the professors to Stanwyck why she should marry
Cooper (the explanations are all grounded in academic the-
i ory), she acquiesces. It is an emotional decision on her
part, as it is on his. Cooper and Stanwyck have made the
irrepressible decision, which in the world of screwball
comedy is the correct one.
A sparkling romantic screwball comedy came from Pres
ton Sturges in 1941. It was titled The Lady Eve and star
red Henry Fonda and Barbara Stanwyck. It contained some
wild slapstick and had the standard screwball lead roles,
106
a well-meaning but dull male and a worldly, determined
woman who falls in love with him.
In short, Barbara Stanwyck's role as an attractive
young cardshark on a luxury liner out to bilk herpetolo
gist Henry Fonda out of his money is not unlike her role
in Ball of Fire. And, as in Ball of Fire where she even
tually fell in love with the pedantic professor (Gary
Cooper), she falls in love with the scholarly, earnest
Fonda in this film. Fonda is the snake-studying son (he
has just returned from the Amazon) of a wealthy brewer.
Stanwyck and her crafty, loquacious father think he is a
ripe rube and plan to cheat him at cards.
The Sturges film is loaded with slapstick, beginning
with Stanwyck's tripping Fonda as he passes by her table
on the ship; she claims that he has damaged her heel and
lures him to her cabin. He is captivated, admitting to
being overcome by her perfume. She charms him into a
friendly card game with her father, preparing him for the
set-up. All the while she charms him, but his mind is
still on his snakes and the jungle he has just come from.
He confesses, "You're certainly a funny girl for anyone to
meet who's been up the Amazon." Unwittingly, she begins
to fall for him, for his innocent, unpretentious manner
and for his genuine naivete. She especially likes his
107
distaste for beer and his family fortune. "The Ale that
won for Yale," he says glumly.
Fonda is even more glum when the eventual card game
materializes, but Stanwyck is now in his corner. She is
in love and will not allow her father (Charles Coburn) to
take Fonda. In the game, she tricks her father and Fonda
comes up losing only a pittance. But, after she leaves,
the father manages to corner Fonda into playing another
game. Fonda loses $32,000. The father bluffs embarass-
ment, carrying out his ruse. Fonda writes him a check.
Both Fonda and Stanwyck are genuinely in love, but
Fonda now finds out about the set-up. He is crushed and
disillusioned. Stanwyck tries to explain but, of course,
her explanation rings false. She says she loves him,
"which wasn't in the cards." Feeling hurt and more than a
little sheepish, Fonda states that he knew of their plan
all along, a lie which Stanwyck swallows. She now vows to
get even. They are now competing contestants, with the
prize being each other. Like Grant and Dunne in The Awful.
Truth, and Grant and Russell in His Girl Friday, they use
every trick in the book to get back together again.
Stanwyck meets up with an old fellow cardshark who,
coincidentally, knew Fonda since he was a young awkward
boy. The cardshark now happens to be a houseguest of
Fonda's family. Stanwyck has a plan: she will come to
visit him there as his niece.
Stanwyck arrives with her "uncle" (Eric Blore) at a
lavish party Fonda's family is throwing. Fonda is thrown
by her similarity to the woman he knew on the ship, liter
ally falling all over in slack-jawed amazement. She en
trances him and gets him to eventually marry her, but
revenge is still oh her mind. On their honeymoon she en
rages him by telling him of a string of fictitious marri
ages she has gone through. Sturges punctuates her tales
with the whistles and roar of the train. Fonda, not sur
prisingly, flees the train, and in one of the many rever
sals of mood, Stanwyck decides she does indeed love him
after all. But he is off to the Amazon. She follows,
this time under her original identity. And the film ends
happily as the two sail away together.
While uneven and contrived, The Lady Eve is a delight
ful screwball romance, much in the style of such other
screwball romantic comedies as Bringing up Baby, It Hap
pened One Night and Ball of Fire. Structurally, it
features the savvy, sophisticated female luring the staid,j
1
i
earnest male. i
i
Yet another screwball comedy from Howard Hawks is’
Twentieth Century. Twentieth Century was actually Hawks'
first screwball comedy, preceding Bringing Up Baby and His
109
Girl Friday. As in his other later screwball comedies,
Twentieth Century features a man vs. woman confrontation,
highlighted by their varied ruses to get what they want.
It is the story of two characters who need each other, but
who, at the same time, antagonize one another. In the
film, John Barrymore played the male lead of Oscar Jaffee,
and Carole Lombard played the female lead. Her perfor
mance launched her into stardom:
John Barrymore pulls out all stops character
istically, making Oscar Jaffee a kind of out
rageous but likable monster. Lombard here
shows the ability to combine both high and low
comedy in a single performance, an ability she
was to develop more fully in the late
thirties.5
Twentieth Century is listed by Andrew Sarris as the
best American film of 1934.
Like other "screwball" comedies of the 30s,
this film is built on wisecracks, nasty and
brutal dialogue and outrageous characteriza
tions. But the directing by Howard Hawks
places 'Twentieth Century' ahead of its time.
Hawks never employs obvious devices; he relies
on a subtle precise use of gesture, camera
placement, and editing which makes even long
dialogue scenes cinematic. The witty script
is enhanced by Hawks' innovation of overlap
ping dialogue, the characters constantly in
terrupt each other, creating a wonderful
chaos.^
Like most screwball comedies, Twentieth Century begins
in an upper-class Manhattan-style setting. The camera
tilts down on a theatre marquee, with the name of Oscar
Jaffee splashed all over it, showing quite clearly that
110
Oscar Jaffee is the producer of the show. Inside, the im-
I
perious Jaffee is on the floor of his elaborate office.
It is obvious that we are not viewing a movie with conven
tional characters. Barrymore has a large scarf draped
around his neck, and he noticeably surveys his secretary's
bottom. He is demanding and cantankerous. He is in re
hearsal on his latest production.
He now enters the stage area as Lombard rehearses her
entrance. She does it all wrong. The imperious Barrymore
marks complicated chalk lines all over the stage floor.
His lines resemble the grid of a big city railroad line,
impossible to follow.
Hawks now wipes to a later time. Many more lines are
now all over the stage floor. This simple visual transi
tion shows the complex, demanding character of Barrymore
without verbal belaborment. Additionally, the farce per
sists; Barrymore sticks his assistant in the butt with a
pin.
The plot moves quickly. A wipe to audience applause
tells us that the play is a hit. Hawks shows Barrymore's
reaction from a stairwell. He is pleased. A few quick
cuts follow to Lombard's dressing room. Lombard lounges
in lingerie, covered only in a slinky bathrobe. Her bed
resembles a huge boat with statuary on it. It is garishly
tasteless. She changes her clothes, provocatively, behind
Ill
a divider and then reappears in a tight dress with a fur
draped over her shoulder. Barrymore enters in black top
hat and cape. He feigns to jump out of the window upon
seeing her. She playfully sinks to her knees in adoring
tribute
The exposition in Twentieth Century continues at a
rapid pace. Hawks moves quickly; wipes and fade-outs move
the plot. Barrymore sips his morning coffee. He is up
set, frantically nervous. He talks to a detective on the
phone. It is obvious he has fallen for Lombard, and it is
obvious that the two had engaged in some sort of post
opening, whirlwind affair. He has become possessive, tap
ping her phone. His interest in her is obsessive, and his
secretary, one of the few straight characters, disapproves.
Barrymore rages. The phone tap has revealed that Lom
bard has other lovers. He staggers onto the stage, wildly
wiping out all the marquees. "I close the iron door," he
emphatically announces. He is telling Lombard he is
through with her, personally and professionally.
More wipes and fade outs, and then a cut to an Illin
ois marquis of "Joan of Arc," and then to two men outside
of a motel (they are Jaffee's two assistants and are re
marking that he has lost his touch). They look at a maga
zine with Lombard on the cover. Her star, without Jaffee,
is on the rise.
Hawks wipes to the "Twentieth Century" train. A fraz
zled Barrymore enters in outrageous costume. Then a wipe
to the train pulling out. An interior shot of Barrymore's
compartment tells us something crazy is going to happen.
Barrymore is putting on a fake nose. He is, we learn,
hiding from the police for non-payment of debts. Barry
more desperately needs Lombard, but won't openly admit it.
Lombard, upon learning that he is on the train is adamant;
she will not go back with him. Besides, she is now
engaged.
Much of the humor arises from the screwball cast of
supporting characters on the train. There are two bearded
Russians who want to appear in Barrymore's "Passion Play"
and a mousy little man with a penchant for placing stick
ers throughout the train reading, "Repent, for your time
is at hand."
Despite their mutual antagonism, the two have an af
fection for each other: Lombard cherishes a souvenir pin
from Barrymore (a memento from when he once pricked her);
Barrymore, in his high-handed manner, makes an overture to
her on the train. With his arm in a sling (for sympathy),
he barges into her compartment, bellowing about an outlan
dish theatrical project involving hundreds of camels. She
orders him out. Ruse after ruse fails to get her atten
tion. Finally, Barrymore feigns he is dying. Lombard,
113
;overwhelmed, tearfully signs a contract with him. He
i
recovers.
Twentieth Century ends, happily, like it began, with
the two at rehearsal, at each others' throats.
Arguably the best screwball comedy ever made was The
Awful Truth, released by Columbia in 1937. It was one of
the most successful of three other film versions, based on
a Broadway play written by Arthur Richmond. It paired
Cary Grant and Irene Dunne as the romantic leads. It was
directed by Leo McCarey from a screenplay by Vina Delmar.
It was well received by the critics at the time of its re
lease. Bosley R. Crowther wrote in The New York Times:
Its comedy is almost purely physical — like
i that of old Avery Hopwood marriage farces —
j with only here and there a lone gag to inter-
1 rupt the pure poetry of motion, yet its
unapologetic return to the fundamentals of
comedy seems, we repeat, original and dar
ing. 7
In his review of a recent Los Angeles revival festi
val, Los Angeles Times critic Kevin Thomas also had high
praise. "Elegant, bouncy, yet always coursed with an un
dercurrent of genuine sentiment, this film epitomizes what
people mean when they say a picture is the kind of movie
they don't make anymore. More's the pity."
Again, the credit for this may well rest with Leo
McCarey. His obituary of July 7, 1969 in Daily Variety
noted:
114
He had a bubbling sense of humor, a knack for
elevating low comedy to sophistication, and
while he took his work seriously and was jeal
ous of his prerogatives as a writer/director
and producer, he was much more modest than
many a colleague who had only half of his
talent.8
Although many screwball comedies justifiably rest with
the unique talents and visions of a group of highly tal
ented, highly idiosyncratic writers, what distinguished
The Awful Truth from its wacky, delightful counterparts
was its gentleness, its unobtrusive meshing of farce with
scintillating dialogue. Never does it seem brash, never
too high speed or hyperkinetic. McCarey understood people
and could work easily and well with them.
Indeed, McCarey, although admitting he always stuck to
the script, emphasized in The Hollywood Reporter's 18th
anniversary issue:
In my time I have worked with a number of the
old-time comedians even the two-reel kinds
like Charlie Chase, and I know these men in
troduced as many ideas into their pictures as
all their writers put together. They didn't
hesitate to change even the outcome of a se
quence as long as it supported and did not
interfere with the general story line.9
A comparison of the final shooting script with the
film itself reveals several changes, several cuts, as well
as several additions that enhance and enliven an already
sparkling and vivacious script.
The film begins frothily, elegantly as a party invita
tion book liltingly lists the credits. It then cuts to
i 115
|the impressive Manhattan skyline, then to a clock, and
|
jthen to the cornerstone sign of the Gotham Athletic Club,
iInside, Cary Grant is getting a rubdown in a steam room.
The dialogue is bright and involving. We quickly learn
that Grant has indulged in a brief fling. He was suppo
sedly in Florida but actually stayed in New York. He is
jquickly trying to acquire the tan and glowing look to im
plement his deception. In the script some ponderous dia
logue detailing his wife's perfections is cut. In short,
the scene is brisk and tantalizing.
McCarey now quickly cuts to an apprehensive but assur
ed Grant as he enters his mansion. He has a bag of oran
ges under his arm for credibility. The maid and his dog,
Mr. Smith, greet him. Grant is ecstatic to see the dog,
playing with it, throwing its ball. He quickly moves to
the living room and mixes some egg nog, all the while giv
ing lavish attention to the dog.
Friends drop in and he adroitly gives the phony ex
planation of his Florida trip, wincing slightly as he does
(one of the guests is his friend from the club who is
privy to his ruse). Grant's wife's imperious Aunt Patsy
(Cecil Cunningham) is among the guests who casts a suspi
cious eye at him. They speculate on where Grant's wife
(Dunne) is. Then, Dunne enters along with a handsome,
I 116
I
European male (Alexander D'Arcy) whom she claims, prepos
terous as it sounds, is her piano teacher. McCarey uses
four intercuts to the dog during this awkward explanation
and confrontation. The dog provides quizzical reacton
shots to the explanation which would seem pretty fictiti
ous to all in the room. The others diplomatically take
their leave so Grant and Dunne may to work out their sus
picions .
f
They directly confront each other. Grant does not be
lieve her story about being stranded with the piano teach-
i
jer. He has her on the defensive until she notes one of
I
the oranges he has supposedly brought from Florida: a
'closeup reveals the stamp of California. She tosses it at
i
i
jhim; he catches it and realizes he has been exposed.
Dunne immediately calls her lawyer. In one of the
film's funniest intercut scenes, the lawyer keeps telling
her that "marriage is a beautiful thing," all the while
his own wife berates him for talking on the phone while he
should be eating dinner.
McCarey now quickly wipes to a court corridor as the
maid emerges from the courtroom with Mr. Smith, chastising
the animal for not behaviing itself in the court. McCarey
now cuts inside to the divorce proceedings. It seems the
paramount issue in dispute is who shall have custody of
the dog. Solomon-like, the judge says to send for the
I 117
I
I
dog. He will conduct a contest, placing the dog midway
between Dunne and Grant. Whomever the dog goes to will
.
win custody. The dog is lead in to this bizarre scene and
placed between the two. It is a hard decision for the
lively terrier, but Dunne finally wins by enticing him
with one of his favorite toys she has hidden in her hand.
Grant laments, "I ought to see the dog twice a month."
The tone, as it will continue to be, is light. How
ever, it is immediately obvious that the separation was
not made in heaven. The ensuing scene of a glum Dunne in
her aunt's apartment shows much of the zest and spirit has
been taken from her. The previously vital young woman now
jsits before the window, moping. At least with Grant, even
!
jwhen they fought, she had spirit and energy. Her aunt
tries to induce her to go out, to no avail. Finally, the
aunt decides to go out on her own. The aunt leaves. She
gets on the elevator at the same time a well-attired young
i
man (Ralph Bellamy) does. McCarey uses an insert shot of
the elevator dial going down and then coming back up to
1
i
|state visually what must have been a fairly traditional
,conversation, her inviting him back to their apartment for
ja drink. He has transcended the banality of perfunctory
dialogue, done it economically in the space of one shot.
Indeed, the bright script of Vina Delmar ran 177 pa
ges, roughly 50 pages too long for a commercially viable
118
comedy. Though scintillating, it was an often wordy, re
dundant script from which McCarey excised many repetitive
i lines of dialogue and exposition.
The aunt and Bellamy enter the apartment where Dunne
still broods with the dog, Mr. Smith. The aunt introduces
Bellamy. Again, in this scene, there is much dialogue
cut, dialogue belaboring the intricacies of the divorce
agreement including visitation rights to Mr. Smith. In
the film Grant merely shows up for his allotted visita
tion. Other minor changes occurred during production: in
the script, Grant plays tug of war with the dog. In the
film, perhaps because of McCarey's love of the piano,
Grant plays the piano while the dog howls along. It
drowns out some routine conversation between Bellamy and
Dunne as they awkwardly become acquainted. Further,
Bellamy goes on to explain about oil wells, underscoring
his simple, Oklahoma ways; again, this is cut from the
film. He is a boob; it is obvious. No need to bore the
audience by belaboring the fact with awkward dialogue.
McCarey fades out on the scene on Dunne giving Grant a
furtive kick as he walks out the door. Bellamy then re
turns to his room, and McCarey cross cuts the next few
scenes in the script.
The first intercut includes a scene of Bellamy with
his starchy old mother as he talks about Dunne; then a cut
119
to Dunne and her aunt toasting bread as the aunt tries to
cheer her up and put in a few good words for Bellamy; cut
back to Bellamy and mother, and then final cut back to
aunt and Dunne as Dunne checks the toaster. The toast
smoulders just as Dunne claims she does not love Grant.
This is an obvious and effective visual counterpoint to
her contention, an emphatic exclamation to the fact that
yes, she obviously still has feelings for Grant. Again, a
fade out punctuates this fact.
The next scene takes place in an expensive supper
club. Grant, with a blonde on his arm, enters with his
characteristic savoir faire. In the foreground, Dunne is
dining with Bellamy. Grant and Dunne notice each other,
cagily eyeing the other on the sly. It is clear both are
jealous and annoyed to see the other with a date. Grant
makes the first move and invites himself and his date to
their table. He has glibly intruded on the good-natured
awkward Bellamy. Grant is curious, putting Dunne on her
guard. She knows the kind of things he can pull.
Grant gamily directs the conversation toward Bellamy,
no verbal match. He leads him on, bringing out the fact
that Bellamy hopes to be engaged to Dunne and that they
live in Tulsa. She is clearly wavering. Grant presses
on, letting Bellamy run on about Oklahoma and its indigen
ous virtues, all the time slyly noting the uneasy Dunne's
120
reactions. He teases, noting Dunne always had enjoyed the
shops and shows of New York, and he wickedly consoles,
"You can always run over to Oklahoma City for a weekend.
Sometimes a big change like that does a person good."
Bellamy, of course, takes it as a compliment. Dunne
clearly is mortified at the thought of living in Oklahoma.
But she quickly takes the offensive when she notices that
Grant's date is a bimbo girl from the South who wants to
make it as a singer. She is also the entertainer at the
club, and she leaves the table to perform with the
orchestra.
She takes the microphone and begins singing an abys
mally saccharine song. Every time she utters the word
"wind" a blast of air shoots up her skirt, blowing it up
around her waist. Grant looks on nervously as Dunne
smiles smugly. In the script, her panties disappear dur
ing one of these blasts and plainsclothesmen arrest the
young girl. McCarey wisely excised what would have been a
startling, tonally upsetting, far-fetched event from the
film.
A delightful sequence follows, not in the script.
Couples start to dance, and Grant goads Bellamy into dan
cing with Dunne. It seems Dunne and Grant are terrific
dancers. They have danced at all the best parties until
121
the wee hours, and Grant (as well as a nervous Dunne) sen
ses that Bellamy is all left feet. Grant is further en
thused when Bellamy guilelessly admits that he can pick up
his toes. Grant cons Bellamy into sweeping Dunne out onto
the dance floor. Bellamy's style is strictly Oklahoma
barn dance, gleeful footstomping, but completely out of
place with this Manhattan crowd. From his seat, a de
lighted Grant applauds. Bellamy leads a fearful, embar-
jrassed Dunne around the dance floor, crashing into a num-
jber of fellow dancers. Dunne is further mortified when
the other dancers stand back to let the two dance alone.
Not to let her off the hook, Grant slips some money to his
waiter for the bandleader as a bribe to play the song once
more. And, once again, an enthused Bellamy charges the
flustered Dunne around the dance floor to the amusement of
the other dancers and diners.
The next scene contains the reported improvised bit in
which McCarey highlighted the dubious musical talents of
Dunne and Bellamy. Bellamy cajoles Durtne into accompany
ing him on "Home on the Range." Their rendition is hilar
iously dreadful. During their singing Grant arrives. It
is clear he still has eyes for Dunne as he glimpses her
i
fetching leg. Bellamy's mother now arrives. She is a
strong-headed, domineering old fashioned woman. Further,
she is clearly upset, bursting at the seams. She has been
122
to some sort of women's function where gossip concerning
Dunne and the piano teacher abounded. She wants an ex
planation. Grant is thoroughly amused, teasing both the
mother and Bellamy while getting in a few jibes at Dunne
with left-handed compliments. In exaggerated style, he
expounds about how faithful she has been and how caddishly
he behaved in "using up the best years of a woman's life."
This draws an apprehensive glance from Bellamy. Grant
continues throughout the scene to plant seeds of doubt in
Bellamy's mind. Upon departing, Dunne furtively kicks
Grant.
The next scene continues their duel as Dunne enters
her apartment to find Grant singing "Home on the Range."
Again, this is an improvised extension not in the script.
(In the script he is looking through the dog's basket of
toys — no doubt a good scene itself). They talk, and
it is clear that Grant still carries a torch for her. At
the same time he seems very vulnerable. He says, "No
body's going to hurt me anymore." As he speaks the piano
jlid falls on him, bringing a potentially sad, tonally
(incongruous moment back to slapstick pitch. The scene
picks up momentum as Bellamy raps at the door. Dunne mo
tions for Grant to hide. He slips behind the door. She
stands in front of him, carefully shielding him as she
talks to Bellamy, trying to get rid of him.
Bellamy has, to her dismay, composed a poem for her.
He recites it. It is awful. As he recites, Grant play
fully pinches her, causing her to react with quick giggles
and squeals. Her reactions are misinterpreted by Bellamy
as approval. Grant again is having a good time at her ex
pense. This added bit of business also was not in the
final shooting script. It is yet another addition by
McCarey, possibly improvised by the players. Other writ
ten scenes such as an ensuing scene with Grant at his club
discussing tennis is omitted. It does not forward the
plot in any way, serving merely to enforce our already se
cure knowledge of the formidable sophistication of the
Grant character.
The film is marvellously paced, rhythmically alterna
ting between Grant's embarrassment and Dunne's embarrass
ment, fluidly meshed with their alternate longings for the
other. As such, the audience sides with both, having been
given an overall perspective. It is a film in which there
are two people to root for, opponents no less. Each makes
overtures toward the other which end up actually worsening
the situtation of their separation, but never enough to
terminate their "wooing." Both are sophisticated, digni
fied, resilient and in love. And they nimbly manage to
salvage their pride (in the long run) while all along ap
preciating the inventive antics of the other.
124
One such scene has a frantic Grant charging in to see
Dunne. He flips an attendant out of the way and then
bolts full-speed into the studio room to find she is giv
ing a recital. Dunne gives a knowing amused smile as
Grant tries to unobtrusively seat himself- in the back of
the capacity-filled room. Naturally, he causes further
commotion by falling out of his seat. McCarey dissolves
from Grant's situation to later in the day back at the
apartment with Dunne and her aunt. The aunt guides the
conversation, talking of an old beau who got away. She
clearly sees that Dunne still is smitten with Grant.
Dunne relates the incident at the piano recital, giggling
about it. She admits, "I'm still in love with that crazy
lunatic." The piano teacher now enters in top hat. He
places it down. Dunne explains that she'd like to patch
it up with Grant, and he agrees to do everything he can to
assist her. As they talk, the dog runs to the door. From
the noises on the other side, it is obvious that Grant has
now arrived.
Dunne gestures the piano teacher to take refuge in the
bedroom, out of sight. She then opens the door for Grant.
He is on all fours to greet the dog. He smiles at Dunne,
embarrassed, and straightening up, he enters. He takes
his top hat off in greeting, while Dunne furtively hides
j 125
|
-the piano teacher's similar hat. Grant has come to apolo-
f
jgize for the fiasco at the recital. He is sincere. Dunne
I is taken with his gesture.
He then sits down and begins a game wth the dog, who
is fascinated with playing a hide-the-hat game. Reaction
shots of the dog, together with its cute tricks cleverly
pace the scene. The dog puts its paws over its eyes as
Grant hides the top hat. This scene, basically a concili
atory discussion between Grant and Dunne, is enriched by
|the playful antics of Grant and the dog. Dunne, of
'course, is uneasy. The existence of two hats has her
i
;vexed; she is afraid Grant will discover the wrong one.
| He does. In one especially funny shot, he puts the hat
| on. It droops down over his ears. He looks quizzically
into a mirror, dumbfounded; it had fit a few minutes ago.
Dunne is agitated.
At this high-charged juncture a rap comes on the door.
It is Bellamy and his mother. They have come to make
amends with Dunne. Perhaps, they have agreed, they have
judged her too harshly. Grant immediately takes off for
the bedroom. The consummate gentleman, he does not want
to further sabotage any chances Dunne might have with Bel
lamy. As Grant nestles up against the door, he spots the
piano teacher. He is crushed. Cooly, he takes the over
sized hat and hands it to the piano teacher. Then McCarey
126
breaks back to the living room, as pandemonium breaks out
in the bedroom. The offscreen encounter between Grant and
the piano teacher is rendered supremely effective by the
reactive shots of Dunne, Bellamy, the aunt and the mother;
not to mention the dog. Sounds of crashing and banging
occur offscreen, heightening the excitement of the encoun
ter but never diminishing the Grant character by showing
him fighting.
As the confounded assemblage in the living room looks
I
|on, Grant chases the piano teacher from the bedroom. Aunt
I
!Patsy calmly hands an explanatory note to Bellamy and his
mother, who depart in horror. Their worse suspicions
[about Dunne have seemingly been confirmed. Not only has
i
Dunne lost Grant, but she has lost even Bellamy.
In the script a scene occurs that has Grant visiting
the office of the father of a high-society debutante. He
is explaining his worthiness; obviously he has begun cour
ting another. The film transcends this explanatory scene
with a montage of Grant and the attractive young woman
courting: at the polo grounds, speedboating, at the ra
ces, at the Army vs. Navy game. It is obvious they adore
each other. A society page insert gives news of their
engagement.
At this juncture in the script (it is page 111) Dunne
painfully reads the news in the paper. Even considering
127
jthat film scripts dominated by dialoge usually take less
screen time, the fact that Delmar's script is already at
page 111 demonstrates its overwritten tendencies.
Intervening scenes, Grant with the society girl as
well as the attendant scenes of jealousy which they spark
in Dunne are culminated when Dunne appears at Grant's fi
ancee's mansion. Dunne is pulling out all stops to embar
rass him and prevent his marriage. The scene is not writ
ten this way in the script. In the script, Dunne does not
arrive out of the blue; Grant brings her along as his sis
ter, after much dallying dialogue between the two in which
Dunne practically pleads he take her back. Such scenes,
self-admissions of dependence between Grant and Dunne,
would have completely disrupted the give and take between
the two. They may behave outlandishly to express their
love, but they never verbalize it as such; they never go
down on their knees. Accordingly, Dunne's intrusion on
the stuffy drawing room affair, though an unmistakable
indication of her love, does not necessarily mean she is
putting down her dukes.
Her presence is a total embarrassment to Grant. He
is, after all, being interviewed and scrutinized by the
girl's family. Stuffy conversation about the Ivy League
dominates. Dunne destoys the solmenity. She acts cheap
I 128
I
land accuses the group of stealing her purse. She punc-
i
i
jtures Grant's claims to being a Princeton man by claiming
i
l
ihis father was a groundskeeper there. Grant, at once mor-
|tified and entertained, becomes quickly a persona non
grata with this blue blood, WASP family. Dunne culminates
her performance with a parody of Grant's date's number at
i
the dinner club where her skirt flew into the air at the
mention of the word "wind."
Other scenes from the script (in which the two walk to
the car and argue about the evening; a scene of Dunne
|driving through New York traffic) are expurgated from the
i
final cut. In the film, they leave together. Grant is of
course, exasperated. They go to the car. He has to drive
her home since she arrived in a cab. Something is wrong
with her car and he checks under the hood. She playfully
blows the horn and he bumps his head. Although he has
been embarrassed, he actually doesn't blame her for it.
He appreciates her, adores her as a worthy opponent and
lover.
i
I
| In the original script, no such appreciation exists as
J he bawls her out along the drive. "You were disgusting,"
I
| he intones. Such an unchivalrous retort at this juncture
i
| in such a playful, albeit no-holds-barred love spat would
1 have been a low, niggling blow. Certainly an audience
j
| would have recognised it as a sign of peevishness, and it
I 129
(would have diminished their affection for Grant's charac
ter. Critical to the success of this comedy is that the
audience has equal affections for both characters. The
viewer understands both viewpoints and cheers their at
tempts at reconciliation. Both are good losers when the
other has trumped them. They do not whine or complain.
Rather, they reach up their sleeves for further tricks.
During their drive, two cops note their erratic course
and give chase. Grant pulls over. Dunne induces the cops
to make him walk the line. While doing so, she loosens
the brake on the car and it goes cascading over a ravine;
| in short, she has a plan. She wants to get the cops to
!take them to their nearby cabin retreat. By getting rid
I
iof the car, her ruse will be accomplished.
i A quick cut to the two motorcycle cops with Grant and
i
|Dunne respectively riding double behind the cops reveals
an annoyed Grant. But Dunne is having the time of her
life. She sounds the cop's siren, much to everyone's dis
pleasure.
j They arrive at the cabin, unexpected by their faithful
I caretaker. Dunne immediately goes upstairs, "tired,"
Grant takes the adjoining bedroom. An interior shot of
her room reveals her fastening up her nightgown; a cat
lies languidly on the bed. The door opens and Grant in
over-sized nightshirt and white socks sheepishly enters.
130
i
McCarey tilts to the clock; it is 11:00. Grant resignedly
leaves. This scene repeats itself at 15 minute intervals
as both Grant and Dunne maneuver ploys to open the door
that adjoins their room. Some wonderfully nutty screwball
dialogue follows as each makes overtures. Grant says, "I
meant that things could be the same if things were differ
ent." It is his way of saying he wants to get back to
gether. She says, "Things are the same as they ever were,
but you're the same as you were too. So, I guess
things'11 never be the same again."
Swing High, Swing Low was Paramount's most profitable
picture of 1937. Similar to The Awful Truth and His Girl
Friday, it has the boy-meets-gir1/boy-loses-girl/boy-gets-
girl elements. Swing High, Swing Low starred Fred Mac-
I Murray and Carole Lombard who was at the zenith of her box
office popularity. Based on the play Burlesque, Swing
contained many delightful encounters between the trumpet-
playing MacMurray and Lombard.
The film begins very romantically. Stars twinkle in
the background behind the credits, and then it fades out
to the Panama Canal military zone. A ship moves through
the locks. A quick series of wipes finds Lombard in a
beauty parlor seated next to a fat woman caked with mud.
She spots MacMurray strolling alongside the ship. The
film cuts quickly to later that night as they meet at a
I 131
i
Inight club. She announces to him in the midst of a well-
i
joiled group, "You could not be very bright to like trumpet
i
Imusic." He plays the trumpet. While mutually attracted,
i
i
they antagonize one another. Their relationship is
quickly revealed through montage. A montage of courting:
(under the tones of trumpet music) includes rapid dating
jscenes: boxing matches, horse races, etc. Another mon-
tage: clapping and champagne documents their progress and
his quick musical successes. But their relationship soon
hits snags. They split up; he plans to send her passage
money but then foolishly loses it at the track. But still
an old lady lends her the fare. She sends a telegram to
jhim, but a former flame of his intercepts it. She shows
| up for their supposed rendezvous, but he is not there,
iMisunderstandings abound. Similar to The Awful Truth,
each makes overtures toward the other but they are
misinterpreted. Problems escalate.
Finally, the two meet again. He plays to her in a
club. As he looks toward her, he is overcome with emo
tion. His playing is awful. He walks off the stage.
'Despite this, she consoles, "You can make it.” She says
they will stay together until "death do us part." He
begins to play like the trumpeter of old.
In general, there are certain themes verbally trumpet
ed throughout the film, most dealing with the nature of
132
love. Lombard sings, "If it isn't pain then it is not
love. If it doesn't drive you insane, it can't be love,"
in a dimly lit scene. While a series of montages bring
some life to the film and cut down on needless exposition,
they give it a dated look. The film's numerous songs, "I
Hear a Call to Arms," "Panamania" (the title song sung by
Dorothy Lamour) never really give it the zest or high-
spirited sense of other screwball comedies. Although
Lombard surprised audiences at the time with her singing,
the movie is undistinguished and the dialogue often pon
derous. Using the tired formula of opposites attracting
and then fighting, save for a very few cute verbal misin
terpretations, Swing High, Swing Low missteps as a screw
ball romance.
The New York Times' Frank S. Nugent noted the film's
shortcomings:
Carole Lombard and Fred MacMurray skip through
the formula devices of Swing High, Swing Low
(nee Burlesque) with their usual ease at the
Paramount, raising a routine story to a
routine-plus picture. The plus is extremely
small, sometimes being almost invisible. We
recall being impressed by the photography of
the Panama locks, by a shot of Mr. MacMurray
with a beard, by Charles Butterworth's tropic
wardrobe of overcoat and muffler. The rest is
so much surplusage: a thin excuse for a film
that requires an hour and thirty-five minutes
to trace the rise, the fall and the potential
ascendancy of a trumpet king.10
133
Another screwball comedy that had the unmistakable im
print of an individual style upon it (in this case, a
director's stamp rather than a studio's) was the Alfred
Hitchcock directed Mr. and Mrs. Smith. It was released by
R.K.O. in January 1941. The screwball genre was a form
Hitchcock had never worked in, nor would he ever direct
this specific type of film again. Although droll, mordant
comedy was an ingredient in all Hitchcock's films, there
is dispute whether he wanted to be involved in Mr. and
Mrs. Smith at all.
After completing Foreign Correspondent, Hitchcock had
no immediate project in view. His friend, Carole Lombard,
asked him to direct her in a new movie for R.K.O. John
Russell Taylor notes:
This was quite unlike anything he had done be
fore, or was to do subsequently, and if
Rebecca could not be regarded in his terms as
a 'Hitchcock picture,' this certainly could
not. But as a favor to Carole Lombard he was
willing to undertake it; in any case, the
challenge amused him, and it was approaching
the problem of his first completely American
movie from a very unexpected direction.H
Donald Spoto in his recent biography of Hitchcock
gives somewhat the same view of Hitchcock's willingness to
participate on the film.
It was true that he wanted very much to work
with Lombard. But it is also true that he was
wild about this particular idea. 'I want to
direct a typical American comedy about typical
Americans,' he said the first week of shoot
ing. And he was even more enthusiastic than
134
Lombard was about the original story and
screenplay by Norman Krasna that had been
bought by the studio in November 1939.12
However, Mr. and Mrs. Smith probably owes more to
Krasna's script than Hitchcock's interpretation. After
all, Krasna was one of Hollywood's leading romantic comedy
screenwriters. Nonetheless, Mr. and Mrs. Smith is unargu-
ably a screwball comedy. To be sure, it contains certain
indelible and distinct directorial imprints from Alfred
Hitchcock.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith begins in typical screwball fashion
with a shot of the Manhattan skyline during the credits.
A tilt to an auspicious Park Avenue residence on East 72nd
Street, and a tilt upwards past the imposing entranceway
awning to the door of the Smiths begins the story. In
side, the camera reveals the remains of a party. In
typical Hitchcock viewpoint, we enounter half-eaten food
and debris. A maid enters with a breakfast tray, and goes
to the bedroom in which are Carole Lombard and Robert
Montgomery. It is clearly the morning-after for her, or
as the maid notes, the morning-after-many-afters. There
are few remaining dishes, and the maid complains that Lom
bard and Montgomery have been ensconced in their room for
three days.
A law student enters, an employee of the firm where
Montgomery is a partner. Montgomery perfunctorily signs a
j 135
paper. The law student, stuffy and officious, reacts to
what he considers the cavalier behavior of Montgomery who
has been notably absent from the firm's office. We learn
the reason for this: Lombard and Montgomery have a rule;
"You can't leave the bedroom after a quarrel." (It turns
out their record time was eight days.)
This unorthodox but obiously personal love rule is,
(as has been shown before) characteristic of the logic of
characters in romantic screwball comedy. Their approach,
definitely idiosyncratic, is nonetheless a serious ap
proach. But, above all, their adherence to the rule is
playful, loving. "We've got respect for each other as
persons, that's our big trick," Lombard notes while she
shaves the bearded Montgomery. Although harmless, the
sharp razor stroked across Montgomery's face and neck im
part a sinister feeling to the playfulness, vintage Hitch
cock. "A man and woman are all right. But person to per
son, that's important in marriage too," Lombard intones.
In 1941 when the film was released, this notion had not
made its way into the minds of most married couples, if it
has yet.
Hitchcock's camera work, with shots of their feet
linked together as they cuddle and eat, visualize their
'fondness and respect for one another. Yet, they are nearly
j 136
;obsessive about making rules, rules that will not inter
fere but rather promote their love and affection. Lombard
!is perhaps compulsive about rules, Montgomery notes.
There is an edge of testiness to their conversation. She
questions, "If you had to do it all over agin, would you
| have married me?" His flippant response, "I would remain
i
single," leaves her crestfallen. She is miffed and tells
him if he wants his freedom he can have it. The best he
can muster for staying married is "I'm used to you." He
then hugs her and tells her she is his little girl.
Quickly, they make up. She walks him to the door, and he
finally goes to the office.
A shot of his office building establishes the setting
and then cuts inside to his law firm, Smith and Custer. A
new client, a small, oddly shaped bald man named Mr. Dee-
ver enters his office, peculiarly staring at Montgomery.
He asks Montgomery leading, inappropriate questions about
his marriage. Montgomery is curious and then agitated
when the man informs him that through some technicality
Montgomery's marriage is not legal.
Montgomery is at once confused, flustered and amused.
He calls Lombard, arranging to meet her that evening at a
place they used to frequent before they were married.
Then he pencils her in his notebook as his mistress. As
137
such, the conflict of the film has been established —
we realize the lovers will part and then try to get back
together.
Lombard too learns of the situation from Mr. Deever
immediately after he tells Montgomery. She asks her maid
for her marriage suit. She can't fit into it, but manages
to wiggle in as best she can. Her ploy is to enter his
law office with that winning dress when they go out that
evening to their spot, MaMa Lucy's Pizzeria. Old feelings
are not rekindled at MaMa Lucy's. "Either our noses have
changed or they've built a livery stable around here," is
Montgomery's decidedly unromantic assessment. Hitchcock
further sabotages the romance by showing a cat licking off
a man's plate. Then, the cat sits on their table as they
awkwardly, tensely complete their meal.
She tries to get information out of him, not letting
on she knows about the marriage situation; but she is so
desperate that he soon proposes to her. She needs the re
affirmation of their love. A phone call comes to Lombard
from her mother. The mother is extremely worried about
her daughter's situation. Lombard unconvincingly stres
ses, "He's teasing me. He thinks he is being romantic
about it." Her sense of humor, however, is clearly run
ning thin. She admits to her mother, "If worse comes to
worse, I'll spend the night with you."
138
She returns to the table, but Montgomery still toys
with her. They return home, and he gets champagne from
the kitchen. Clearly, the thought of having a mistress
appeals to him. Lombard will take no more. She smashes
the bottle of champagne and confronts him with the situa
tion. She rages, "You were going to throw me aside like a
i
squeezed lemon." She tells him to get out, takes his
clothes and heaves them at him.
I
j
Cut to Montgomery's club, "The Beefeaters' Club." He
paces up to the desk, distracted. The next scene finds
jhim wearily sitting in a steambath, at first comically
i
isitting on someone else in the steam-filled room. He
I
talks to the other steamer (Ralph Bellamy) who immediately
.assesses his conditon. Bellamy say, "I had a fight with
!
I
j my wife too." Montgomery asks for advice. Bellamy sug-
igests he ignore Lombard's action, assured by the confident
male, macho belief that the woman will always come back.
In many ways, this film can be compared to the 1937
screwball comedy The Awful Truth where a couple becomes
separated because of real and suspected marital infidel
ity. Yet, they really are in love and want to get back
together. But in the course of ther eventual reunion they
must overcome many strange and exasperating obstacles,
created by themselves.
A series of misunderstandings and misinterpretations
j crop up in Mr. and Mrs. Smith just as in The Awful Truth.
! in one scene Montgomery jumps in a cab that is carrying
Lombard and barks out "All right, we'll get married." She
I
retorts, "That's a nice snarling proposal." It gets nas
tier. He finally blusters, "I'm not going to support you.
j
What do you think of that?"
Clearly from the economic position, he has the upper
hand. It was the early 40s after all; women usually did
not work outside of the home and, if they did, it was in a
support position to the males. Lombard's economic plight
is clearly evident, as she takes a job as a clerk in a de
partment store. Montgomery, however, has begun to stalk
her, and he approaches her in the store.
"Something in ladies lingerie?" she sarcastically
greets. They argue, observed by her supervisor. Lombard
is now pre-emptorily fired. An allusion is made to the
employment crisis. Although the film was released after
the worst of the Depression, it pointed out the economic
reality of the day: the dependence a woman had on a man
for support.
Attempts by friends, notably Montgomery's partner, to
get them back together fail. A "coincidental" meeting at
a dinner party proves an utter failure. Further, Montgom
ery is turned off by some overly practical, cold legal
I 140
I
i
jadvice he receives on his situation. Obviously, he wants
i
JLombard back, and despite his dominant legal position, he
I
I is above trying to pull anything on her. Other attempts
j to cheer him up by setting him up with eligible women are
disturbing to him. Again, in a scene reminiscent of The
Awful Truth, where Cary Grant shows up at a nightspot with
a Southern bimbo only to find his love/ex-wife Irene Dunne
with a simple oilman, there is a scene with Montgomery at
The Florida Club with a bimbo. His date crudely munches
on celery but perceptively notes his obvious distraction.
"I've been busy at the office," he says. Impressed, the
woman coos, "Oh, you work in an office?" She nuzzles up
to him, much to his annoyance.
Meanwhile, Lombard is faring no better. She, too, is
out on a date. She spots Montgomery and from her reac
tion, she is furious, albeit jealous. Montgomery notices
her and puts on a ruse that another more impressive, beau
tiful woman is his date. He whispers in her ear. Her
tough boyfriend, however, notices this and is not amused.
Desperate, Montgomery goes back to his girl, embarrassing
ly gnawing celery with her. He swigs at his drink, but
bumps his nose and gets a nosebleed. The floosie throws
him to the floor to alleviate the bleeding. A crowd gath
ers. The scene ends with a subjective shot, showing Mont
gomery's point of view as he lies spread out on the floor
141
with a curious crowd above him. Hitchcock tilts to an odd
angle, adding emphasis to his disorientation.
In the ensuing scenes, Lombard fares no better with
her beau. One marvelously delicious Hitchcock touch has
Lombard and her date riding ferris wheels. She is enthus
ed, loves the exhilaration. Her date is frightened, fears
for his life. In a scene auguring things to come in Ver
tigo , Lombard swings spiritedly at the apex of the wheel's
ride; her date clutches the handle in fright. A subjec
tive shot showing the distant ground gives a heartstopping
scare to the viewer. While ensconced at the top, it
begins to rain which doesn't disturb the fun-loving
Lombard. She goes into a reminiscence about Montgomery,
recalling what a hypochondriac he was. In the next
breath, she suggests going to her date's apartment. Her
date is startled. A reactive shot of him indicates his
surprise; this, after all, was 1941.
Once at his apartment, she is enthralled. "It's the
most tasteful man's bedroom I've ever seen," she oozes.
This glowing compliment, of course, gives him all the
wrong clues. As she quite unceremoniously dries her hair
before his fireplace, he re-enters the room, attired in a
tuxedo. She in turn pours him a huge glass of brandy.
This does not suit him. He quite fussily explains that he
eats four different vegetables a day and never touches
142
"likker." Then he starts to sneeze. She counters, "This
is not alcohol, Jeff, this is medicine." He dutifully
chugs it, then hiccups, retiring quickly to the bathroom.
Clearly,this man is not robust enough for the active, fun-
loving Lombard character. Emerging from the bathroom, she
tells him he may kiss her. He defers; he is getting a
cold but nevertheless acquiesces. It is a lousy kiss,
signalling the end of their brief relationship.
The film now cross-cuts to the frustrated Montgomery,
seated in a cab watching for Lombard. The cabbie,
obviously misled by Montgomery, asks, "How did you ever
become a private detective, anyway?" Montgomery pines for
Lombard.
In a denouement reminiscent once again of The Awful
Truth (when the fighting pair finally get together at a
romantic cabin), Mr. and Mrs. Smith ends up with the two
embattled lovers reuniting at a bucolic resort at Lake
Placid.
Lombard is, naturally, invigorated by the snow and
cold weather, but Montgomery, less the outdoor person,
falls face first in the snow when he encounters Lombard, j
She is concerned. He is plastered, having been drowning
his sorrows. Lombard, with loving concern, manages to
toss him into bed. Although she is matched with a date,
her concern is for Montgomery, whom we now realize is
I 143
i
j faking it, trying to get her attention. It is a very
effective ruse. He simulates a death rattle; she is
overcome. As a gesture of love, she wants to shave him
one more time. Her fiance companion sees through the
chicanery, but he is an upright fellow and does not inter
fere. In any event, her eyes are still for Montgomery as
she literally peeks into his window and sees him up and
about and healthy. She is furious. Storming into his
room, she tosses a bottle at him. She yells at him. He
grabs her. "Ann, I don't care what you say. You are in
love with me." He continues, imploring. "I've been
thrown out of my own home, threatened by cops, chased
around in taxi cabs and neglected my job, only because I
loved you and wanted you back again." She struts out.
Later that evening Lombard and her beau take a sleigh
ride. Her thoughts are with Montgomery. She fears he
will take to drinking. She admits she thinks he is bril
liant. She sees through her anguish. She realizes she is
still in love with him. She decides to take action. She
settles on a charade, noting that the walls at the lodge
are paper thin.
The charade begins as she and her date come back to
the room. She screams in horror, "Put me down." This
naturally attracts the attention of Montgomery next door.
He is irate and storms into her room. She is thrilled he
144
has come to her defense and wants him to hit her date.
Just then the parents enter and defuse the situation.
They suggest that they get Lombard and Montgomery a guide
and go cross-countrying.
The next and final sequence shows Lombard with Mont
gomery in her room putting on her ski boots. Montgomery
|
playfully pushes her into a chair, then unloosens his tie,
putting it calmly on the bed. She puts the boot back onto
jits clamp on the skis. He stands over her. She reaches
i
up and pulls him down. The skis cross, telling the audi-
j ence they have come together again.
t
i Again, like The Awful Truth, Mr. and Mrs. Smith ends
i
iwith a final visual filip. In the former film, the audi-
i
Jence understood that Grant and Dunne were getting back to-
i
gether when the male character on the cuckoo clock follow
ed the female into her door. Like The Awful Truth, Mr.
and Mrs. Smith is a comedy of verbal and visual misunder
standings, between two reasonable people who do and say
i
unreasonable things in their misunderstanding. The raison
d'etre for their behavior is simply to get back together
again. That they try outlandish ruses is in accord with
the screwball manner of behavior and approach to life.
Two bright, high-spirited people do not let normal, mun
dane social conventions stand in the way of their love and
need for each other. Of course, because these comedies
145
'flourished at a particular time in the social history of
this country, the woman is dependent economically on her
male partner. Such would not necessarily be the case, if
this film were made today. The Lombard character would
probably be a high-powered career woman, but still their
essential problem would be the same — how to get back
together again. They would go through different experi
ences, just as exasperating, just as loony and just as
outlandish but the societal parameters would be different.
In any event, screwball characters are never in harmony
I
’with mainstream social protocol, be it in the 30s or be in
i
in the 80s.
! a screwball comedy which fell into the lovers/separa
ted/lovers get back together mold was The Philadelphia
i
Story. It was based on Philip Barry's acclaimed 1920s
play. Released by M-G-M in 1940, the film gathered an
Academy Award for James Stewart and for its screenwriter,
Donald Ogden Stewart.
Bosley Crowther noted in The New York Times, "It has
been a long time since Hollywood has spent itself so ex
travagantly, and to such entertaining effect, upon a
straight upper-crust fable, an unblushing apologia for
- 13
plutocracy."
In The Philadelphia Story Katharine Hepburn plays a
priggish society girl and is matched against Cary Grant,
146
her imperious and witty ex-mate. James Stewart plays a
reporter who, ashamedly, works for a gossip publication
and has been assigned to do a story on Hepburn's upcoming
marriage, her second.
The film follows the same story pattern of two lovers,
in this case ex-mates, trying to get back together again.
As such, it is similar to films already discussed, inclu
ding The Awful Truth, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, My Favorite Wife
and His Girl Friday. It is also set among the American
aristocracy, the elite of the East Coast. Insofar as it
reveals and humorously exposes the foibles and idiosyncra-
j sies of the rich, it is also a comedy of manners, as in-
i
i
.deed all screwball comedies are to certain degrees. More
over, the recurring screwball theme that everyone needs to
let loose for a while, that letting down one's hair is the
only way to sanity is reiterated in some of the film's
moretelling lines, notably, "We'll all have to go haywire
at times and if we don't, maybe we ought to."
j The story was specifically written by Philip Barry for
j Katharine Hepburn. She hired him, having hit an impasse
i in her career where studio executives thought she was box-
i
office poison. The play became a Broadway hit and, Hep
burn owning the rights, was able to strike a favorable mo-
!
| tion picture deal with M-G-M; in addition to starring, she
was able to choose her own director and select her costars.
| 147
The project, of course, relied on the erudite and of
ten scintillating dialogue of Philip Barry. George Cukor,
who was to direct the film, was so impressed with the di
alogue that he followed a recording of a performance of
the play as his guideline for the film.
The plot is relatively simple, focusing on the day
before Hepburn's high-society wedding. A journalist for a
romance/scandal magazine (James Stewart) and his photogra
pher admirer (Ruth Hussey) are assigned to cover the
wedding, to get the inside dirt. They have obtained the
assignment through the auspices of Hepburn's former hus
band (Grant), who has promised it exclusively to Stewart's
publisher if the publisher foregoes publishing a far more
lurid story about Hepburn's father's philanderings.
Indeed, although Grant initially acts caddish and upper
handed toward ex-wife Hepburn, he is a sympathetic charac
ter, trying to protect Hepburn and her father from the
embarrassment of a scandal.
Underlying the film are two love stories: Grant and
Hepburn's, which is in deep peril owing to the simple fact
that Hepburn is engaged to be married the next day, and
Stewart and Hussey's, which is in a state of limbo due to
Stewart's overly-conscientious ways. Similar to His Girl
Friday and The Awful Truth where Rosalind Russell and Irene
| 148
iounne were engaged to dull middle-class fellows (coinci-
i
jdentally in both cases played by Ralph Bellamy), Hepburn
'is likewise engaged to a gray, earnest Babbitt, but one
|who is also a social climber (John Howard).
The film uses visual humor very effectively although
Cukor did not shoot it in the typical blazing screwball
Ifashion. Indeed, the film opens farcically with Grant
|leaving Hepburn's mansion with his suitcase. Hepburn an-
!
grily tosses his set of golf clubs after him, then delib
erately takes one club from the bag and breaks it over her
knee. Grant then turns and shoves her, sending her top
pling back into the house. Cukor fades out.
j Unlike Hawks, who seemed to relish the slapstick as
pects of his screwball comedies, Cukor kept the physical
mayhem to a minimum in The Philadelphia Story.
There is a civilized tone about much of the
film's critical voice that belies the screw
ball nature of this film. Thus, it is too
classy a film to make George as ridiculous as
he obviously could be, and it staunchly re
sists a gesture like bringing Father's dancer
along as a guest to the wedding. Screwball
normally loves to promote the kind of farcical
mayhem such an act would have produced.
The plot moves rapidly along, much in the manner of
Frence farce. Grant lets Hepburn in on the „real reason
the two journalists are covering the wedding, to save the
publisher from running an article about Hepburn's father.
Hepburn is at first outraged but then agrees to the scheme.
149
In one particularly hilarious scene she leads Stewart and
jHussey on with a perfectly daffy conversation in French
'with her younger sister, providing the skeptical journal
ists with an outrageously stereotypical view of high
society.
All the while, we come to see that Hepburn's fiance is
an insufferable social climber and that Grant and Hepburn
do seem to enjoy each ther. Hepburn, at a party given by
one of ther roustabout uncles, begins to drink (something
she normally doesn't do) and quickly becomes enthralled
with Stewart — she has read some serious poetry of his
i
| at the local library. They both are tipsy and go for a
;moonlight swim, floundering around the pool just as Hussey
| returns, seeing Stewart carrying Hepburn over his shoulder
up to her room. The young woman, who clearly holds a
torch for Stewart, is crestfallen.
The next morning, Hepburn finally tells her fiance the
wedding is off. After all, he is not the type of man who
has enough energy for her. Indeed, while drunk Hepburn
stresses, "Everybody should have a good time." And, it
seems, the best times she ever had were with Grant.
Hepburn realizes that, after all, Grant is the man for
her and even manages to light some fire into the Jimmy
Stewart character, who proposes to Hussey. The film ends
with a wedding, with the marriage march and then a freeze
150
frame as Gershwin-like music romantically resounds in the
background.
My Favorite Wife also follows the formula of a husband
and wife who get back together again. While certain
screwball comedies such as Mr. and Mrs. Smith had the
couple separating because of legal misunderstandings, the
plot in My Favorite Wife involved a physical separation.
My Favorite Wife contains the classic screwball ele
ments of upper class setting, verbal wit, slapstick and
the typical screwball conclusion of the couple reuniting.
Many of the settings were the inileu of the upper crust: a
Yosemite resort hotel, an exclusive beach club, Lake Arrow
head and numerous trendy nightspots.
Irene Dunne has been shipwrecked for seven years and
husband Cary Grant, having given up on ever seeing her
again, becomes engaged to another beauty (Gail Patrick).
Dunne returns, and screenwriters Bella and Samuel Spewack
have added a further complication: the day she returns is
Grant's and Patrick's wedding day.
An AFI preview program in 1981 had the following to
say about the comedy:
One of the last and best screwball comedies.
The screenplay is based on the unlikely pre
mise that Irene Dunne, stranded for seven
years on a desert island with only Randolph
Scott for company, returns home to discover
that her husband (Grant) is- gaily setting off
on a second honeymoon with another woman.
There are innumerable complications, ribald
151
misunderstandings, suspicions, impersonations
and cross purposes. Director Kanin manages
this farce with a fine feeling for its de
lightful sophisticated comedy. Grant is char
mingly bewildered and suspicious, and Irene
Dunne - wacky, contrary, mocking, finally sen
timental - turn in excellent performances.
The script was nominated for an Academy Award, but it
was not received well critically. Otis Ferguson, for
instance, in his review in The New Republic issue of
June 17, 1940 had the following to say:
There is some of the best comedy work in My
Favorite Wife, a sort of nonsense-sequel to
The Awful Truth. There is also some of the
worst plot-making. The story was written by
Bella and Samuel Spewack and I am not going to
tell on it; but apart from its being quite
impossible, which may be called comic license,
it forces its best people to treat each other
with an aimless viciousness that even Boris
Karloff might hesitate to reveal to his
public.
Indeed, the plot was thin and despite some deft slap
stick, including a hilarious scene at the swimming pool of
j a posh Pasadena hotel in which Irene Dunne gets dunked,
i
the film was a prolonged 88 minutes. It was, by the stan
dards of the time, a big-budget production at $1 million.
On a high roll of success with the 1941 release of
Sullivan's Travels, writer/director Preston Sturges began
work on a new comedy in late summer of 1941. It had a
working title of "Is Marriage Necessary?" Sturges inten
ded it as a screwball, satirical lampoon on the institu
tion of marriage. The Breen Office objected to the title.
152
Sturges retitled the project "Is That Bad?" with produc
tion slated to begin in November 1941. His script focused
on the premise of how far could a young lady go with a
good pair of legs. In short, Sturges was lampooning the
importance physical attractiveness has in American soci
ety, and how beauty alone is often the primary factor in
attaining financial success and peer-approval.
Sturges retitled the film one more time before produc
tion began, calling it The Palm Beach Story. It starred
J Claudette Colbert and Joel McCrea. The film had a budget
jof nearly $1 million, with Colbert taking in $150,000 her-
j self.
I While often hilarious, the film was a sometimes vitri-
I
jolic indictment of American values. While other directors
i
were cranking out wartime material designed to boost Amer
ican patriotism, Sturges took delight in going the other
direction. It has been called "a satirical comment on
success and marital tensions and exposes the importance
and manipulative capacities of sex in an allegedly puri-
i- • i • *. 17
tanical society.
The Palm Beach Story opens to the furious strains of
the William Tell Overture as a bound Claudette Colbert
struggles to get out of a closet. The scene cuts to a
wedding ceremony; the minister nervously waits at the al
tar. A cut back to the closet finds Colbert kicking her
: 1531
Iway successfully out, and then back to the wedding cere-
!
Irnony of Colbert and Joel McCrea. The frothy line "And
'they lived happily ever after" follows the ceremony, and
i
then, pause, is followed by "Or did they?" With a quick
I
montage the years float by, taking us to later m the mar
riage. The setting is, again, a typical screwball open
ing of a Park Avenue apartment. Colbert and McCrea are
experiencing monetary difficulties; the scene intercuts
|between Colbert at their lavish apartment and McCrea in a
jbusiness meeting. Their situation is dire; they are
j
|forced to rent their apartment.
i
| A prospective renter, a short, shriveled, nearly deaf
i
man wanders into the apartment (Robert Dudley). Deafness
I has not dampened his loquacity; he can carry on entire
t
i
jconversations without hearing a word the other person has
uttered. He is able to hear well enough that Colbert
i
needs money, so he hands her a wad of bills. She objects
but he insists. He is, after all, as he states, "The
Wieniie King."
McCrea returns from work, despondent. He has not made
the big deal (selling a dippy design idea of a futuristic
airport) and knows the rent is due. He is astonished when
the doorman informs him that the rent has been paid.
He enters the apartment with suspicion, further
aroused by the sight of a new dress on Colbert. She tells
i 154
j
| him she has paid the rent, bought a new dress and still
has $14 change. In an equally matter-of-fact manner she
informs him they must get divorced; he is being held back
by her, she says. "You'll never make a success with me
around," she tells him. She has decided to search for a
j"good provider," and is not intimidated by her chances.
i
"You have no idea what a long-legged gal can do without
doing anything," she tells him. She adds, "Just because
I'm a useless wife doesn't mean I cannot be valuable to
you as a sister," she counsels. He is upset and furious,
but she is insistent on the divorce, business-like. It is
clearly evident that the film has a cynical, detached view
| of marriage, regarding it as an instituion predicated on
ieconomics. Colbert is blunt, "You know we don't love each
i
l
jother any more. We're just habits." Her dress zipper be-
icomes stuck, however, and McCrea assists her. He starts
i
i to tease her, kissing and hugging her. They embrace on
t
| the couch. Sturges goes in for a close shot on her toes
as they curl. McCrea carries her to the bedroom. Fade
out.
McCrea awakens to find Colbert dressed and writing him
a note. She starts to pin the note to the sheets but gets
him in the rear instead. He gets up and she darts off.
McCrea pursues, but she makes it to a taxi. "Where's the
155
best place to get a divorce?" she asks the driver. "Palm
Beach," he says.
So far the film has revealed the prototypical screw
ball characters: the adventurous, daring female and the
bright but practical male. In addition, they are clearly
attracted to one another, despite Colbet's declarations
that they've become a habit. Yet, again this is another
reiteration of the screwball litany: routine and habits
when they become dull, are made to be broken. The credo
jof the screwball hero or heroine is you've got to have fun
I
| at what you're doing, and above all, you've got to have
fun with your spouse.
Sturges, through Colbert, goes .on to prove that a
young lady with a great pair of legs can easily get by.
Colbert manages to pull a ruse by getting on a Palm Beach-
bound train, amid a group of revelling conventioneers, a
loud and dim-witted bunch called the Ale and Quail Club.
Sturges, it seems, is letting the club-men of the Rotary,
Lions, Kiwanis, etc., have it all in one satirical blast
through this stupid and crazy aggregation of semi-senile
members. However, the members are delightfully played by
some of the more venerable Sturgean regulars: William
jDemarest, Robert Grieg and Roscoe Ates. In addition, one
|particularly effete and ludicrous fellow-traveler is a
156
multimillionaire named John D. Hackensacker III (Rudyj
Vallee) who is in search of a wife.
Vallee is a methodical prig, keeping detailed records
of the tiniest financial items. He lends Colbert his pa-
| jamas. After all, she has not had time to adequately
i pack. She has the berth above him, and in one of the
film's loonier farcical moments, she steps on his pince
nez, smashing them.
Meanwhile back in New York, the Wienie King has now
rallied McCrea to go after his wandering wife. That the
McCrea character needs this convincing makes him seem an
unsympathetic wimp. One of the major problems of this
production is that one does not sufficiently feel that
Colbert and McCrea should be together; not, at least, in
the same way one rooted for Gable and Colbert in It Hap
pened One Night, for Grant and Dunne in The Awful Truth,
i
or Grant and Russell in His Girl Friday.
Further, the story itself suffered from script inade-
i
quacies. Bosley Crowther noted about Sturges in The New
York Times:
. . . his paper-thin story is told pretty much
in dialogue, which is neither remarkably witty
nor very precise in its point. And the few
promising complications which occasionally
take form are permitted to fade without
toppers.IS
Once in Palm Beach, Colbert is assiduously wooed by
the methodical Vallee. He buys her things and even tests
157
her reaction to children by renting a couple of them to
see how she interacts. Colbert's most amusing times come
with Vallee's promiscuous sister, an often-married play-
girl whose most amusing contribution to the film is the
fact that she calls Vallee by a wonderfully stupid nick
name, "Snoodles."
But to complicate things for Colbert, McCrea has show
ed up. She introduces him as her brother. He does not
object, at least does not contradict her. Her grand de
sign is to inviegle the money McCrea needs for his airport
design out of Vallee. For this, she has to put up with
Vallee's serenading.
The plot now further gives way to a climactic con
trivance. Colbert reveals McCrea's true identity to
Vallee, who is naturally disappointed. But he perks up
considerably when he learns that Colbert has an unattached
twin sister and that McCrea has a single unattached twin
brother — perfect for his playgirl sister. So, the
film culminates with a group marriage, a triple wedding
ending with the words, "And they lived happily ever af
ter." Then, one hears dishes crashing in the background
to counterpoint.
While The Palm Beach Story boasted some chaotic, fun
slapstick in the train scene with the conventioneers
shooting off their rifles and hunting dogs howling, the
158
film’s farcical moments did not make up for the threadbare
storyline. It does have the typical screwball "happy" en
ding (in this case a cracked ending, as it were); one is
not particularly satisfied with the pairing of Colbert and
McCrea. In form and style, the film was screwball. In
execution, it was uneven and seemed to over-stretch to
make thematic points.
Bluebeard's Eighth Wife was directed by Ernst Lu-
bitsch, and sparkled on occasion with the light, stylishly
elegant and raffish touch for which the director has
become admired. The screenplay was by Charles Brackett
and Billy Wilder, and while it contained many mirthful mo
ments, it was not one of their more even efforts.
Gary Cooper starred as an often-married millionaire in
this 1938 film. He meets the attractive daughter (Clau
dette Colbert) of a penniless French aristocrat on the
Riviera and falls in love with her. Their meeting in a
department store is one of the film's most hilarious
scenes. They argue over a pair of pajamas; she wants to
buy only the bottoms of the pair of pajamas, while he
wants only the tops.
A scene of Colbert on the beach with another admirer
(David Niven) follows. He proposes, but she is not taken
especially with his seemingly off-handed manner. He
states, "I believe in snap judgment, and that is the
159
secret of success." She agrees, but nevertheless tells
him there is "no need to be married."
While not the main male character, Niven's philosophy
that snap judgments are the best is not out of whack with
the prototype screwball character's belief in spontaneity,
in letting emotion triumph over rationality.
But her pajama friend Cooper is a more determined
suitor, tenaciously wooing her. She receives pressures
from her father to accept Cooper's proposal, but she is
turned off by his officious manner and his stilted sense
of courtship. Finally, she acquiesces; but only if he
agrees to a prenuptial agreement. She will get $100,000 a
year for the rest of her life if they are divorced.
Cooper, smitten, agrees to the terms and they are married.
Although there is some witty dialogue and some amusing
encounters between Cooper and Colbert, one never really
gets the sense that they belong together. If the Niven
character weren't so milquetoast, one would actually con
sider him to be a more suitable match. At least he can be
spontaneous. As such, the film fails to engage on an emo
tional level, especially when the plot takes a rather
heartless turn as Colbert proceeds to drive Cooper toward
a divorce; she has opted for the money guaranteed in the
prenuptial pact. No true screwball heroine would opt for
160
the money: they opt for love, adventure and fun, never
just money.
Cooper, it turns out, has been married seven times
(six wives have died) and this adds, of course, an element
of black comedy to the production. Further darkening it,
Cooper suffers a nervous breakdown and is placed in a men
tal hospital. Now, incredibly, Colbert decides she really
does love him and seeks him out. The film asks, "Why does
a woman put a man in a strait jacket?" It answers, "Be
cause she loves him." With that, Colbert kisses him and,
inspired, Cooper manages to free himself and kisses her
back.
While it may be classified as screwball romantic com
edy in the sense that the lovers do end up together and
the fact that their reuniting represents a triumph of
spontaneity over traditional socially-expected behavior,
the film is flawed in its tonal plot shifts, from light
comedy to black comedy. Even the character of Cooper as
the debonaire millionaire doesn't possess the inner sparks
of life that other surface-straight screwball male heroes
had. In fact, Cooper seems miscast as the worldly aristo
crat. Still, Bluebeard's Eighth Wife includes many genu
inely funny scenes, with the pajama scene being worth the
price of admission alone.
161
FOOTNOTES
1
Friday,
Lauren Rabinovitz, Program Notes for "
" Cinema Texas, 13 No. 1, 1977, p. 81.
His Girl
2
Rabinovitz, p. 81.
3
Rabinovitz, p. 80.
4
Cinema
Holly Chacona, Program Notes for "Ball
Texas, 12, No. 2, (1977), p. 55.
of Fire,"
5 Ted Sennett, Lunatics and Lovers (New
Arlington House, 1973), p. 266.
Rochelle:
6
Chacona, p. 55.
7 Bosley A. Crowther, review of "The Awful Truth,"
New York Times, 5 November 1937, p. 19.
8
Daily Variety, 7 July 1969, p. 8.
9 Leo McCarey, "Sticking to the Script,"
Hollywood Reporter, 11 October 1948, p. 52.
The
10
Low, "
Frank S. Nugent, review of "Swing High
New York Times, 15 April 1937, p. 19.
, Swing
11
Books,
John Russell Taylor, Hitch (New York:
1978), p. 171.
Pantheon
12
York:
Donald Spoto, The Art of Alfred Hitchcock, (New
Hopkinson and Blake, 1976), p. 237.
13
Story,■
Bosley A. Crowther, review of "The Philadelphia
New York Times 27 December 1940, p. 15.
14
No. 2,
Olive Graham, "Program Notes," Cinema
9 April 1981, p. 95.
Texas, 20,
15
1986.
American Film Institute preview program, 8 July
162
16 David Deschner Program Notes for "My Favorite
Wife,” Los Angeles County Museum comedy series, 10 August
1976, p. 2.
17 Kathleen Walker, Program Notes, for "The Palm
Beach Story," Cinema Texas, 8, No. 41, 31 March 1975,
p. 2.
18 Bosley A. Crowther, review of "The Palm Beach
Story," New York Times 10 December 1942, p. 35.
163
CHAPTER IV
The screwball philosophy regarding material wealth can
be summarized by the title of one of its most sterling and
popular comedies You Can't Take It With You. That money
and the accumulation of wealth can often be a curse rather
than a blessing is evident in such screwball comedies as
Easy Living, You Can't Take It With You, Mr. Deeds Goes to
Town, Topper, Midnight, and Bachelor Mother.
That wealth cannot bring happiness is trumpeted in
Topper and You Can't Take It With You, especially. In
fact, the lead characters in both these films have become
slaves to their wealth — Cosmo Topper to his daily
routine and George Kirby to his business empire. In all
these comedies excessive wealth is satirized, with big
business in particular taking it on the nose.
Individual happiness is often impeded by excessive
concern for material gain. These screwball films, with
varying degrees of social satire, lampoon the pretensions
of wealth and castigate the often dire personal conse-j
I
quences which result from single-minded pursuit of money.!
There are roses to be smelled, these comedies remind us.
164
Easy Living is one of Preston Sturges' best-remembered
films, although he did not direct it. The film was a sty
listic departure for Mitchell Leisen who had directed more
sedate drawing room comedies. But it was a welcome change
of pace for him.
The film begins in typical screwball comedy upper
class surroundings with a tight shot of a woman putting on
a necklace. The credits roll past, then a cut to a floral
arrangement. The milieu is established. Then Leisen
fades out on a man cascading down the stairway, landing at
the foot of an unflappable butler. This beginning scene
was Leisen's addition. It was not included in Sturges'
script. The Sturges screenplay opened with a sumptuous
breakfast as J. B. Ball (Edward Arnold) puruses his bills,
now the film's second scene. Arnold gripes about the
costs and berates his son (Ray Milland) for frivolous ex
penditures. The son argues back. Yet, it is obvious he
feels intimidated, squelched by the success and power of
his father, who pays little attention to his offspring.
"How old are you?" Arnold imperiously asks Milland. Then
he hits the roof as he encounters a bill for a sable coat
costing $58,000. "Have you any idea how many dollars
fifty-eight thousand dollars is?" Arnold confronts his
wife with the bill in front of her huge, well-stocked
closet. Again, Leisen interjects slapstick not called for
165
in the script as Arnold wages battle with his wife's nu
merous closet doors. He argues with his wife, and they
wrestle over an overcoat.
All the while, Leisen cuts to reactive shots of the
servants who view this crazed physical exchange. Arnold
rages, "Nobody thinks of my blood pressure at all." He
chases after his wife through the house. They emerge out
on the roof where they struggle. Arnold throws the coat
off the roof.
The coat lands on the lap of a young lady (Jean Ar
thur) riding on a bus. She is seated next to an odd-
looking Indian. She regards the coat off-handedly, gets
off the bus and begins in earnest to seek the owner of the
coat.
Further reactive shots continue at the Arnold house
hold. The chef chastises Arnold. "You go fry yourself in
lard, you dirty capitalist," he frantically intones. The
chef yanks off his apron, and throws it in Arnold's face.
In short, the film has the typical melanges of colorful
supporting characters.
An additional farcical scene of this sequence called
for in the script but not included in the final shooting
was a car chase scene between the character J. B. Ball and
the cook.
166
Jean Arthur locates the industrialist and tries to
return the coat. The disgrunted Arnold asks her "Do you
work for a living?" When she says yes, he presents the
coat to her.
She then promptly asks him for ten cents to get to
work. He is impressed by her forthright manner and her
gratitude. He states, "Sometimes nice things happen to
people. If they didn't, we'd all be bookkkeepers and
stenographers the rest of our lives." Again, the recur
rent screwball anti-routine theme emerges.
Arnold then has his limo driver drop her at her place
of employment, a magazine called "Boys Constant Compan
ion." On the way he tries to explain finance and percen
tages to her but she is engagingly daffy and does not un
derstand mathematics. She vexes him. "You don't have to
get so mad just because you're stupid," she says when he
is dumbfounded by her illogical math. He next orders his
driver to stop off at a hat shop to get her a hat. They
encounter an obsequious clerk (Franklyn pangborn).
Arnold, it is clear, prefers more direct behavior. "It's
recherche," says the clerk. "That's the trouble with it."
retorts Arnold.
Arnold finally lets her off at her office. She re
marks, "You did not tell me your name," but he is off in a
flurry.
167
Arnold enters his office. His secretary informs him
that his wife has left him and that his wife's lawyer is
already on the phone. The day is shaping up, unusually
frantic.
At her office, Arthur is accosted by disapproving
glances from the shrewish staff of females who ironically
work at this boys' magazine. They gaze at her coat. She
is reprimanded by her superior. "This is a boys' maga
zine, you know," the boss intones with a prude's severity.
A cross-cut to Arnold at his office finds him exasper-
atedly checking the ticker tape. At the same time, an
other cross-cut reveals Louis Louis, a hotel owner, is
waiting to see Arnold, smoking a cigar and kissing a rab
bit's foot. Arnold summons him into his office with the
admonition, "Take your hat off." Arnold has the option of
foreclosing on Louis and his hotel, but instead he opts to
give him a week to come up with the delinguent payments.
Leisen now cross-cuts to Arthur being fired from the
"Boys Constant Companion" and then fades out from this
scene to the exterior of a skyscraper. Louis Louis stands
outside the building peering up at it. The haberdasher
comes by, fawning "The Bull of Wall street" was in his
shop that morning. At this point there is a sequence
where tramps look disconsolately at help wanted signs.
Arthur herself is at an employment agency.
168
Although the conditions of the Depression are evident
in this comedy, they're not germaine to it. The Depres
sion is merely a social backdrop. It is part of Arthur's
Ipredicament. She could be, for the purposes of this
story, the only person unemployed in the country.
In her apartment, Arthur empties all her purses, des
perately looking for some money. Her rent is due. She
breaks her piggy bank open and then she crawls around the
floor, retrieving its contents. As she crawls, a telegram
slides under her door. It reads "Can I see you at once?
Urgent!" It has come from the Hotel Ritz, Louis Louis'
hotel.
This is part of the zanily inspired ruse of hotelier
Louis. He calculates that if the girlfriend of the "Bull
of Wall Street" is residing in his hotel, Arnold will not
foreclose. From the news from his haberdasher friend, he
is convinced that Arthur is indeed Arnold's mistress.
Arthur arrives at Louis' office. He informs her, much
to her surprise, that she has to live in the hotel. He
promptly and obsequiously takes her up to the splendid im
perial suite. He shows her around the posh quarters, ex
tolling its many virtues. There is a good deal of slap
stick in this scene also. A ladder falls on him, and
while he demonstrates the exercise horse, he nearly falls
off. Even after a nutty verbal exchange, Arthur is still
i 6 ~ s r
ipuzzled. She says, "It's cozy all right, bat I don't
think I understand exactly." He agrees to rent it to her
for $7 a week, the amount she is currently paying for a
very modest, small apartment. He explains to her he wants
her in it because he wants lights on in his building. He
says that the lights in the other hotel buildings rooms
are simply the result of bell boys running up and down the
floors turning lights on and off. If his hotel is to keep
its standing, it must look occupied, he explains.
He instructs her to tell Arnold that she is living
there. She still, however, does not know who Arnold is,
never having gotten his name. He leaves, and she walks
around her ultramodern bathroom. "Golly," she says.
(Leisen got his film start designing the elaborate bathtub
scenes for Cecil B. DeMille and he has included his par
ticular specialty in the movie.)
Leisen economically shows her reactions to the varied
rooms of the suite through a series of dissolves, using
them as transitions as she dashes from room to room. His
last dissolve in the sequence is to her entering an auto
mat.
There are a host of comedic-looking characters inside
the automat. She looks hungrily at a fat guy slurping his
meal. Milland walks past her. He has left home and is
working in the automat. He eyes her, thinks he recognizes
' ” ' ~ “ ' 170
her and with the naivety peculiar to his social order
asks, "Were you in Palm Beach in February?" She dryly re
torts with mock seriousness, "Not in February. You
weren't in Saint Moritz for Christmas, were you?" She
then takes her nickels and tries to select something to
eat. She puts change in for coffee, but loses it to the
machine. She admits to Milland that she does not have
enough nickels. He tells her he will manipulate the win
dows from the back, if she will only point to what she
wants. Above, however, a security eye watches them.
He triggers the doors open for her and is promptly
fired by his irate manager. In anger, Milland justifiably
punches him. Dishes fall as the two wrestle. The automat
detective tries to get to his feet. He reaches out to
grasp for balance, and accidentally pulls a lever which
opens all the windows to the machines. What follows is
one of the most famous, hilarious, slapstick scenes in
movies, silent or sound. The customers scramble for food,
and a food fight ensues. People rush in, running off with
trays of food. There are plenty of prat falls as people
slip on the food-covered floor. All the while, Arthur
calmly sits, eating her food. A bum runs outside yelling,
"Food, food," More pople rush in. It is a triumphant
scene, the hungry getting food from the mechanized,
callous machines.
171
The love relationship between Arthur and Milland be
gins as the young man pulls her out of the melee. As they
leave, one of the bums puts pepper in the fans, turning
the automat into one huge sneezing arena.
Arthur takes him up to the hotel, and gives him the
grand tour. He sits on top of the bathtub and inadver
tently turns on the water, soaking them both. They're
having fun, loosening up with each other. She describes
the funny man named Ball she has encountered. He replies,
"That's funny. . . . my name is Ball." The film moves
rapidly: the two young people begin to fall in love, al
though they are unaware of each other's backgrounds and
common link through Arnold, Milland's father and Arthur's
benefactor.
Word gets around that "girls” do all right at the
Hotel Louis. A throng of hookers decides to move over to
the hotel. "It's crawling with bankers." one exclaims.
The power of the media is lampooned in a montage sequence,
elaborating on Arnold's love affair and his imminent fi
nancial demise.
The pace quickens. The industrialist, not only trying
to resolve his family problems but a sagging business as
well, is constantly talking on two phones.
Life is equally frantic for Arthur who is continually
harassed by salesmen, trying to sell her outlandish
172
products. One stockbroker, in particular, wants her to
find out how Arnold feels about steel. She innocently
asks Milland, who replies it is going down because the
weather is bad. Leisen fades out on this bit of goofy
business wisdom.
All the while Arnold fumes, fidgets and tears at his
!
ticker tape. The stock exchange itself has run amok. It
is out of control. This dignified institution is reduced
to lunacy by the comic vision of Sturges and Leisen.
Again the screwball comedy, like the silent comedy, uses
farce to lampoon dignified people and powerful institu
tions .
To add to the chaos, Arthur next enters a pet store,
sees two sheepdogs and two birds and the headline "Ball
and Company tottering." Naturally, she buys the sheepdogs.
A rapid succession of scenes follows: Arnold arguing
with his wife; Milland entering with the dogs on a leash;
Arnold frantically pulling phones from their sockets as he
tries to get in touch with the Hotel Louis. The dogs run
through the offices, even into Arnold's office. All the
while, the harried Arnold checks the tapes.
Arthur saves the day and the Ball fortune by dizzily,
but accurately, predicting the way steel is going on the
Exchange. Still, she retains her goodness and fun-loving
173
instincts. She retains, in addition, her dignity and
independence.
Easy Living honors female initiative and independence,
as did the other screwball films. Arthur is the focal
character:
Leisen also brings an emphatic female view
point to the comic tensions in Sturges*
script. Mary Smith is presented as the cen
tral, most self-conscious and capable charac
ter in the film, even though the comedy is
predicated on a series of misassumptions of
which she is denied the most knowledge.
Leisen allows his self-sufficient female to
dominate the film visually and personally (he
uses close-ups exclusively on Mary), and he
tends to relegate the men to positions as
Mary's foils. Leisen's female perspective
reverses Frank Capra's use of women (frequent
ly Jean Arthur) as foils for men and differs
from Howard Hawks' pitched battles in which
men and women act as mutual foils. In this
respect, Leisen is most like George Cukor, who
was known as a "woman's director."i
Although Easy Living is regarded as a classic social
comedy of the 1930s, it made no big impression at the time
of its original release. It barely earned its cost back
at the box office, despite a large advertising campaign
for the film by Paramount. Perhaps, despite its Cinder
ella-like plot, Sturges' satirical and ironic sense of
humor may have been too cynical for the tastes of late
1930s audiences.
Very similar in plot to Easy Living is another comedy
directed by Mitchell Leisen, Midnight. The film was re
leased in 1939 and starred Claudette Colbert and Don
174
Ameche. It was scripted by Billy wilder and Charles
Bracket from a story by Edwin Justus Mayer and Franz
Schulz. Witty and charming, it was the story of a stri
king young girl from the Bronx who arrives in Paris with
only a stunning gold lame gown and less than a franc in
her purse. She is picked up by a taxi driver (Don Ame
che), a kind man who tries to help her. Instead, she
meets up with an older distinguished gentleman at a party
(John Barrymore) who convinces her to assist him a ruse to
win back his wife from a Paris playboy.
In turn, Barrymore sets her up at the Ritz in order to
lure the playboy (Francis Lederer). Cab driver Ameche
decides he has fallen for Colbert.
As in Easy Living, where Jean Arthur suddenly found
herself in an expensive apartment for only $7 a month,
Colbert is soon ensconced in high trappings, with Barry
more deluging her with clothes, limos and expensive gifts.
While skeptical, she undertakes the task at hand, to win
Lederer, something she is not adverse to doing since he is
charming and handsome.
While it boasted some nutty and bright dialogue and a
fine cast of farceurs, the film is not one of the better
screwball comedies. More accurately, it may be labelled a
Cinderella comedy, as Ted Sennett notes:
The first Cinderella comedy to appear in 1939
was not only one of the best of the group but
175
came closest to matching the original tale of
the hapless duck who becomes a beautiful swan
for one glamorous evening. This was Para
mount 's Midnight, released in the spring. Un
der the direction of Mitchell Leisen, who had
helped to make Hands Across the Table and Easy
Living, two of the most diverting comedies of
the period, it was a witty and charming film
that boasted a sparkling screenplay by Charles
Brackett and Billy Wilder. . . 2
In the end, Ameche wins over Colbert by sending out
the entire cab fleet of Paris to track her down. He shows
up at the expensive house where Colbert is, attired in
tux, and announces himself as her husband, the Baron Czer
ny. Ameche now confesses to the baffled Colbert that he
loves her. But she is not impressed; she is beginning to
enjoy her lavish life. At this point, the story buoys up:
Ameche tries to win her by announcing to the gathered that
their three-year old (non-existent) daughter is seriously
ill. Outflanked, Colbert calls Budapest, engaging in a
fake conversation with her i mother-in-law, ascertaining
that the "child" is well. Then Ameche is discovered as a
cab driver and, naturally, everyone thinks he's nuts.
Still, they believe Colbert is married and she must now go
through a divorce with Ameche.
The film climaxes in a zany courtroom scene before a
cantankerous and sharp judge (Monty Woolley). Colbert de
mands divorce on the grounds of "mental cruelty." Woolley
176
fumes, "Oh, that again." They are taken to a reconcilia
tion room where Ameche cultivates his insanity, realizing
jthat an insane person cannot be divorced. He convinces
i
the judge who sends them off home. The film ends with the
startling announcement by Colbert to the judge that they
are now going off to be married.
The plotting, while inspired, is uneven, and one never
really roots for Ameche and Colbert to get together, espe
cially in light of the fact that Colbert and the playboy
Lederer seem to be so well-suited. In short, Sennett's
assessment seems correct, it is a "Cinderella" story, with
some bright dialogue and goofy ruses, surely two screwball
elements. But the film lacks other elements we have noted
in the classic romantic screwball comedy: the need for
the lovers to have fun together, and the rejection of
"normal," routine life.
Another film which fit the Cinderella mold of screw
ball comedy was R.K.O.'s Bachelor Mother, released a few
months after Midnight. It starred Ginger Rogers as a de
partment store clerk who is mistaken as the mother of an
abandoned baby. After feverishly disputing the error,
Rogers agrees to raise the child. The son of the store
owner (David Niven) is initially infuriated at her reluc
tance to care for the child and, indeed, some of the
film's most hilarious scenes involve his reactions to what
177
he consideres her cold-blooded behavior. Eventually/
Niven falls in love with Rogers. At the film's end, he
"confesses" to being the father of the child, much to the
delight of his own father, who has strangely insisted all
along that the child has a resemblance to him.
While Bachelor Mother has the winning ingredients of
the poor girl winning the rich boy, it is not essentially
screwball, lacking the give-and-take banter between the
two leads and the urgency that these two must be together.
Topper, released in 1939 by M-G-M, was produced by the
venerable slapstick director Hal Roach. Topper blended
fantasy into the structure of the screwball comedy. The
film was based on the book The Jovial Ghosts by Thorne
Smith and featured Roland Young as Cosmo Topper, a weal
thy, strait-laced banker, and Billie Burke as his snob
bish, domineering wife. Cary Grant and Constance Bennett
as George and Marion Kirby played a dashing, fun-loving
younger couple who were principal stockholders in Topper's
bank.
The heroes of screwball farces are usually
wealthy, like the Kirbys, and oblivious to the
problems of the Depression; their sole purpose
is to be humorous. Topper is an excellent ex
ample of the screwball genre. Considering all
the films which attempted to utilize the var
ious aspects of screwball cinema, it is amaz
ing how few have retained a freshness over the
years. Topper is worthy of recognition as one
of the best.3
178
The cast also included such venerable screwball char
acter players as Eugene Pallete, playing a hotel detective
and Arthur Lake playing a hotel elevator operator. Alan
Mowbray rounded out the screwball cast, portraying an un
flappable butler. It was a typical screwball melange of
supporting characters.
In synopsis form, Topper is the story of the Kirbys
who try to liberate Cosmo Topper from his Babbit-like com
pulsions. The wrinkle is that they have been killed in an
automobile accident and can make themselves visible and
invisible at will.
As such, Topper provides many deft satirical looks at
i
conventional marriage and business, through Cosmo Topper's
carefully-regulated life and the Kirby's larkish attempts
to free him. Topper opens in a breezy, sophisticated man
ner. It begins at a restaurant the Kirbys frequent, The
Rainbow Club.
The device of using the quasi-invisibility, of course,
lightened the tone of the film. It made the Kirby's mis
sion essentially a playful one. The novel did not have
that invisibility or "ghost" element.
In the book, Topper went to buy a car, and it
had been owned by a couple named the Kirbys,
who had died but were very "attached" to their
car. There is no logical reason for the
Kirbys to become ghosts and help Topper. I
thought about the idea for some time and how
it could be made into a picture before I con
ceived the idea of having the accident which
179
is the crux of the whole picture. In the
movie, after the Kirbys are killed, they
appear as ghosts sitting on a well and she
says, "Well, where do we go from here?" and he
says "Simple, we knock on the Pearly Gates and
tell them the good deeds we've done." So, she
says, "Well, what good deed have you done?"
But they haven't done any good deeds, so there
is no use knocking on the Pearly Gates. Their
need to do a good deed is the motivation. . .4
One of the funniest aspects of having transparent
characters, as such, is the use one can make of reactive
characters, which Roach did abundantly.
The full-speed-ahead nature of George Kirby as por
trayed by Cary Grant is revealed in an early scene. He
says, "Resting is something you have to work up to gradu
ally." He and Bennett are indeed a vivacious, sociable,
fun-loving couple. They sing at a piano lounge into the
wee small hours even though they have a morning board
meeting. The two are avid all-nighters, having more spir
it and energy than the average person. A good deal of
slapstick is included in this scene, including one in
stance where Bennett falls down, landing unceremoniously
on her rear. She is not angered or at all embarrassed byj
this social faux pas. As they depart the club in the!
i
early morning, a milkman is already making his rounds.
Like the comic drunken Irish servant, the milkman is a
barometer of 'normal' people's schedules and inclinations.
He is delighted when the carousing couple buy one of his
bottles as they wind down their night.
180
One of the film's many sparkling scenes occurs next as
Grant has to make an appearance at a board of directors
meeting at the National Security Bank. Since it is im
practical to go home at the late hour, Grant and Bennett
park outside the bank, arriving before the early morning
white collar workers. A pugnacious cop confronts them
asking "You going to a costume ball?" Grant blithely
gives the cop their empty milk bottle; the cop tosses it
away in exasperation.
The film now cross-cuts to a gray-suited banker, Cosmo
Topper (Roland Young). He lives a life of quiet despera
tion, it seems, as evidenced by his morning routine. His
manservant intones during Topper's morning shower "It is
three minutes after eight, sir." Topper, on schedule,
comes down stairs for breakfast. But there is no beating
the clock in the life of Cosmo Topper. His wife (Billie
Burke) reprimands, "You're late." The servant, during the
course of the hurried breakfast notes, "It's 8:42, sir."
Topper gets up, hustling for his commuter. His wife fur
ther chastises, "Don't run, dear." The servant notes,
"It's 8:45, Mr. Topper."
Juxataposed against the harried, overly-ordered life
of Cosmo Topper is the carefree world of Grant and Ben
nett, dozing in their flashy car in front of the bank.
Regular, five-day-a-week employees pass by hurriedly.
181
Grant awakens reluctantly and then enters the bank; he has
a task to get through. He enters an auspicious, power-
designed reception room. He exclaims to the receptionist,
"I made it." Grant is at once proud of himself, as well
as relieved, certainly not at all familiar with the work
day world. He leaves the door to his office open. Topper
perfunctorily enters the bank.
The board of directors' meeting commences in a staid,
conservative board room. The setting further contrasts
the free-spirited Grant and the driven, regimented Topper,
indeed, if screwball comedy as it has been claimed, pits
the free spirits against the regimented pillars of soci
ety, this scene illuminates those two contrasting and con
flicting approaches to life. Grant dizzily hums during
the meeting while the other stuffy board members try not
to notice, indulging him. They are obviously miffed at
Grant's behavior but condescend. Finally, Topper adjourns
the meeting. It is a yearly necessity even he finds hard
to endure.
Grant now blithely enters Topper's private office.
Bennett is already there, sitting fetchingly atop Topper's
desk. She teases Topper. The fragrance of her handker
chief drives him to distraction. His very officious,
prudish secretary notices disapprovingly.
182
The scene fades out on the obvious source of disagree
ment between Topper and his fun-loving board members,
Grant and Bennett. Bennett teasingly tells Topper he
should slow down, should get more fun out of life. But
Cosmo Topper is not one who will stop and smell the roses.
Grant and Bennett drive home from the meeting blazing
along. They discuss Topper. Grant notes, "He's like a
nice successful sheep." His driving, however, is very
erratic. After some near misses, they crash, plummeting
wildly off the road. It is a serious and apparently fatal
crash. But magically they metamorphosize in faded form.
Bennett tells Grant, "You're growing transparent." In
fact, they are now dead and can assume only a flat, non-
dimensional shape. They stumble, and the scene fades out
to the Sunday dinner table of the Cosmo Toppers.
Topper is feeling feisty, no doubt spurred on by his
previous encounter wth Bennett and Grant. He grouses,
"Why must we always have lamb on Sunday?" His wife does
not understand his crotchety complaint. He has always
been the most docile, predictable of providers. Topper
further laments, "Why should we be middle-aged?" Indeed,
the mid-life predicament becomes more clearly the focus of
the film. His conservative lifestyle is being called into
question. He himself is beginning to question it. The
servant enters and announces that a man is outside who
183
"Wishes to see you about a contraption he's brought with
him. H
Cut to the outside of the Topper mansion as Topper
surveys a sporty, fancy automobile. He is thrilled. His
wife, however, is upset. "You could never own a car like
|this." she reprimands. He is, after all, an upstanding
member of the community. A banker, no less. He says —
and this is a central theme to Topper — "We used to
play together once. We could again."
Clearly Topper feels this sense of loss. As has been
emphasized, one central theme of screwball comedy is the
necessity for adults to have someone to play with. A
male/female relationship is not total unless the couple
can play together. In Bringing Up Baby, It Happened One
Night, as well as the various versions of The Thin Man,
the partners play with each other. Topper desperately
wants a playmate.
Topper rebels against his wife's reprimand and pur
chases the car. He speeds off in his new play toy, driv
ing like crazy. He nearly runs off the road, now driving
more in the manner of the Grant character than the bash-1
i
i
ful, brahmin Cosmo Topper. As he speeds along, Grant and|
I
Bennett manifest themselves in their dead, flat dimension-!
al shape. They can not, however, appear too often in
j 184
j
•visible form. The plot explanation is that they only have
|so much "ectoplasm" available for appearances.
i
! Topper is beginning to loosen up: that is the "good
deed" which Grant and Bennett have set out to perform, to
let the sheep-like banker live a little. Their modus
operandi is to make life as startlingly different as
possible for Topper, to expand his horizons. To accom
plish this they thrust him into a number of undignified
situations. First, they decide to take Topper back to
their penthouse. On their way, they encounter a snide
elevator man who refers to their dwelling as "The Kirby
i
i
Kennel." This rankles Bennett. Once inside, Grant pops
open some champagne. Bennett asks Topper to dance.
Topper, still in a state of shock, props himself up and
dances on his tiptoes. Bennett stretches out, cat-like,
| on top of the fireplace and Topper quickly passes out on
t
j the floor.
I After some good fun, Grant and Bennett attempt to see
Topper home. A wild melee ensues as Topper gets in an al
tercation with a chauffeur. The invisible Grant and Ben
nett join in the fray, toppling all Topper's antagonists.
Topper is elated. "I want to sing." he exults.
A following scene in which the esteemed banker is be
fore a court for disorderly conduct as a result of his
fisticuffs begins, what seems to Topper's stuffy wife and
185
contemporaries/ his undoing. For Grant and Bennett, it is
his salvation. More visual fun includes the reactions of
the baffled judge before whom Topper is appearing as he
watches Topper's tie being tied by the invisible Grant.
Topper's arrest makes news. A headline reads "Banker
and Babe in Brawl." Topper's valet informs him that ev
erything is wrong. His wife declares, "No one with any
self-respect will ever cross our path again." She is
worried that their tony neighbors, the Stuyvesants, will
not ask her to the big party as a result. -But, just the
reverse happens. Mrs. Stuyvesant, much to Clara Topper's
dismay arrives and declares she's enjoyed reading about
Mr. Topper's "delightful escapade." She further says,
"Living with Mr. Topper must be like dancing with dyna
mite." Mrs. Topper is flabbergasted. It seems that the
Toppers are not the only pillars of society who have been
living boring lives.
The antics of Grant and Bennett continue in somewhat
predictable fashion, with more farce in heavy doses. An
other brawl-like scene occurs on a dance floor, with Grant
following Topper around, sticking a chair to his backside.
Pandemonium in the hotel rises. Finally, the cops are
called in as Grant has turned his antics toward the hotel
dick, whom he and Bennett fear is interfering with their
"good deed." A sequence involving Grant and Bennett
| 186
jthrowing sheep dogs at the dick is perfectly loony. The
cops arrive, not surprisingly because "There's a phantom
wrecking this hotel."
The wild melee continues. Topper begins to come
around. He declares after a wild, raucous night, "I'll
get up when I feel like it in the morning and I'll have
some fun." He has made it — he will have some fun.
The film winds down with some light merriment wth
Grant and Bennett perched on the Topper roof. Grant
strikes a pose, "I'm practicing to be an angel," he de
clares. The film ends frothily as the Toppers snuggle
(she has finally come around) and the dour butler intones
"Bless our happy home."
The film was a success and spawned two se
quels, Topper Takes a Trip (1939) and Topper
Returns (1941). In the first of these two
films, Topper, again played by Roland Young,
is harassed by Constance Bennett while vaca
tioning on the Riviera. In Topper Returns,
Young as Topper gets involved in a murder mys
tery. He is assisted by his two ghostly
friends, this time played by Joan Blondell and
Dennis O'Keefe. In 1953 Topper found its way
to television with Leo G. Carroll in the title
role of the successful series.5
Recently, a poorly received film (both critically and
commercially), The Man Who Wasn't There had Topper ele
ments, namely the character you can't see, but it was a
trite and uninspired manipulation of some of the generic
components.
187
Indeed, liberation from lives of pattern and routine
i r
were often goals in the screwball comedy. And it was
often the attractive, independent-thinking, intelligent
female who was the catalyst for this liberation. The wo
men were always more than even matches for the men, who
were in many instances more conventional and certainly
less adventurous. Except for managing editor Walter Burns
in His Girl Friday and George Kirby in Topper, the men
were usually a fairly staid lot, although they did have
sparks of life within them — it was the women who, in
most instances, tapped this dormant spirit of fun and
adventure.
You Can't Take It With You celebrates unconventional
ity and rejects high power and pretension. The theme of
this title supports the notion of living life to the
fullest rather than accumulating needless wealth.
The story pits a diabolic Wall Street tycoon (Edward
Arnold) against the Vanderhof family whose home, a single
dwelling, stands between him and the realization of a mon-
jetary windfall. A munitions magnate, Arnold is the epi
tome of the cold calculating robber baron. His character
is so despicable that even his son (James Stewart) feels
hostile toward him and his ruthless business practices.
Only reluctantly does Stewart join the family business,
| 188
I
land then he promptly falls in love with a socially un-
jacceptable employee, Vanderhof's granddaughter (Jean
I
|Arthur.) The film is structurally similar to Easy Living.
! The story revolves around the particular idiosyncra-
i
i
l
cies of the two families: the monied and rigidly upright
(Kirby family and the poor but flexible Vanderhof family.
| The climax, of course, entails their eventual confronta-
j
tion as the Kirbys are invited to the Vanderhof's for din
ner. Naturally, they show up on the wrong night. Not
surprisingly, the happenings at the Vanderhof dwelling
throw them into a state of shock.
The farcical aspects of the film are integral to the
story. In one scene, underscoring the zaniness of the
script, Arthur parades around a fancy restaurant unaware
she has a sign on her that says "25j£ a Dance," and "Nuts";
this summarizes the theme of the play, the celebration of
people versus structured social activity.
The film was adapted from the successful George S.
Kaufman/Moss Hart Broadway play. The written word in the
film was strictly adhered to by Frank Capra in his motion
picture adaptation. James Stewart states, "The script,
you know, starting out with George Kaufman, is kind of
hard to beat right in the beginning. (With) the comedy
and the lines, there's certainly no reason for any ad-
189
libbing. When you have comedy the way Kaufman wrote com-
i
edy, you don't fool around with the lines." Indeed, Capra
not only respected the integrity of the script, but he
realized that casting was particularly crucial to such a
production.
The film was lauded at the time of its release by the
trade paper The Hollywood Reporter which noted in a review:
There is no doubt of the box-office possibili
ties of You Can't Take It With You. The pic
ture will be as big a hit as the play from
which it is adapted — and it is all but need
less to say at this point that the original is
still doing business at the same old Broadway
stand.6
While it is evident that Capra did not deviate from
the form or spirit of the play, he did nevertheless make
his own unique, artistic contributions. In his autobiog
raphy he talks of his interpretation of the play.
Why this mania to film Kaufman and Hart's
play? Because it was a laugh riot? A Pulit
zer Prize play? Of course. but I also saw
something deeper, something greater. Hidden
in You Can't Take It With You was a golden
opportunity to dramatize Love Thy Neighbor in
living drama.?
In short, Capra saw the play's theme as one of love
:
■triumphing over conquest. The reviews were consistently!
favorable. The New York Times' Frank S. Nugent wrote:
Frank Capra, its director, and Robert Riskin,
its adapter, have vindicated that Pulitzer
award, even at the expense of comedy. The
characters Messrs. Kaufman and Hart invented
were not unidimensional after all. When you
look them through, as the picture does, you
190
discover they were people, not caricatures.
The playwrights drew their outlines; the pic
ture has filled them in. . . Mr. Riskin has
done a lot with the story, chiefly in defer
ence to the Kirbys of the world, but it re
mains the high-spirited fable of the Sycamore
girl and the Kirby boy who had to introduce
their families to each other. The Kirby Srs.
were from Wall Street and Park Avenue. The
Sycamores and Vanderhofs were from a long line
of amiable lunatics: Grandpa, who quit work
one day thirty-five years before because it
wasn't fun; Mrs. Sycamore who wrote endless
plays because someone left a typewriter on her
doorstep; Mr. Sycamore and Mr. De Pinna, who
made their own fireworks; Essie, who danced,
and Ed, who fooled around with a homemade
printing press and revolutionary circulars.**
To be sure, Capra did change certain aspects of the
play. He did not utilize its third act and as the review
notes, the Arnold part was expanded, extending the charac
ter from a two-dimensional bad guy to a character with a
spirit of fun and compassion.
Above all, the theme of the production is to love
life, to enjoy what you are doing. As Grandpa Vanderhof
(Lionel Barrymore) chides a frazzled clerk who later joins
his household, "Do you like this? This working you're
doing?" And as Jimmy Stewart marvels to Jean Arthur in
the film, "Your grandfather does as he pleases." Other
similar lines jump from the dialogue: "Everybody is
afraid to live." and, "Do what you want to do."
Ultimately Grandpa Vanderhof lectures the ulcer-
ridden, frantic Kirby. "What if all your deals fell
through? Might be good for you." He then sums it up.
I 191
1
i
Jnoting the shortcomings of wealth, "You can't take it with
I
j you."
Another film which espoused the same message that mon
ey cannot buy happiness, and more emphatically, that money
often corrupts, is Frank Capra's inspiring Mr. Deeds Goes
to Town, That any man could make it with a seed of $2,000
was its American Dream philosophical premise. Signifi
cantly, Mr. Deeds was Frank Capra's first film in which he
felt behooved to "say something.” As such, it does not
readily fit into the screwball category; screwball
comedies, although they had anti-establishment, pro-
individualistic themes, never espoused a particular social
J message. If one can indeed unravel a message from them,
j it would more easily fall into the category of an indict-
1
ment of Middle-American values.
William Thomaier states:
The theme of the inexperienced but shrewd
young man who wins people through goodness was
a favorite with Capra, who used it in several
i subsequent films. Capra's comedies came close
to the screwball genre ("You Can't Take It
With You"), but they tried to point the way to
a better life, whereas the out-and-out screw
ball comedy was based on the "to hell with
everything premise."9
Still, Mr. Deeds has discernible screwball elements:
it has a naive and unworldly male lead character in Long
fellow Deeds who by his honesty and engaging good humor
attracts the attention and wins the love of a worldly and
192
i
'cynical female reporter; it has a cavalier disregard for
money as being important to life as Deeds attempts to give
away an inheritance of $20 million, and it has ample hu
morous doses of the unmistakable screwball behavior where
in the lead characters act in a manner which is contrary
to society's expectations.
Differing significantly from other screwball comedies,
however, the film unabashedly champions small-town life
and the infallibility of the Protestant Ethic. All other
screwball comedies, to the extent they may or may not have
had a social viewpoint, considered the small town to be a
haven for pernicious Babbitts bent on destroying individu
al needs and expressions. Yet, through the sensitive di
rection of Frank Capra and an astute and deftly-written
script by Robert Riskin, the film never bogs down as a
message picture or a boosterish tract.
While Thomaier is perhaps technically correct that the
tone and the message of Mr. Deeds precludes it from being
a screwball comedy, the anti-conformist nature of the
Longfellow Deeds character, especially his free-spirited
unconcern for material things, is a screwball type. While
definitely not a big-city type, Deeds is similar in spirit
and outlook to such Park Avenue screwballs as Carole Lom
bard (My Man Godfrey), Katharine Hepburn (Bringing Up
Baby, Holiday) and Cary Grant (Bringing Up Baby, Holiday)
193
who do not subjugate their lives to the task of making
millions.
Deeds' behavior is unmistakably screwball: he plays
the tuba, feeds doughnuts to horses and is intent on giv
ing away $20 million to strangers.
Deeds, however, never becomes just a symbol for the
honest, simple man. He is quirky and more than a little
goofy, spinning out corny poetry and attempting to find
worthy recipients for his inheritance. Not surprisingly,
people think Deeds (Gary Cooper) is crazy and a big-city
reporter (Jean Arthur) sets out to prove in her columns
what an unbalanced rube he is. In typical screwball fash
ion, Arthur begins unwittingly to fall in love with him
all the while she scathes him in her writings as "The Cin
derella man." But his charm and earnestness clearly sur
face. Deeds is, to be sure, functioning in a high state
of blessed confusion, unable to fathom a society where
"They work so hard at living, they forget how to live."
In short, living and having fun — whether one plays the
tuba or impetuously buys a sportcar — is far more im
portant than having money. As we have seen, this "Stop
and Smell the Roses" philosophy resounded throughout such
screwball films as You Can't Take It With You and Topper,
194
where Cary Grant and Constance Bennett took it upon them
selves to liberate the stuffy Cosmo Topper from his
Babbitt-like existence.
Naturally, Deeds must overcome those who think he is
"pixilated" and ultimately he is forced to undergo a san-
Iity hearing, a deft scene where psychiatric mumo-jumbo and
t
psychological gibberish are gently lampooned by Capra and
i
[screenwriter Riskin. Deeds finally wins in court as the
judge proclaims him to be "the sanest man I ever met."
His triumph marks a personal triumph over the coterie of
jbig-city types and interests who have combatted him and
his giveaway scheme all along. With its gentle humor and
ultimate triumph of the earnest little man, Mr. Deeds Goes
to Town is perhaps the definitive filmic embodiment of the
American Dream.
FOOTNOTES
1 Lauren Rabinovitz, Program Notes for "Easy
iLiving," Cinema Texas, 26 September 1977, p. 82.
i
■ 2 Ted Sennett, Lunatics and Lovers (New Rochelle:
jArlington House, 1973), p. 36.
i
I 2 James Desmarais, "Topper," Magill's American Film
I Guide (Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980), p. 3427.
4 Program Notes for "The Mirth of a Nation,"
prepared for Los Angeles County Museum comedy series, 18
August 1976, p. 1.
5 Desmarais, p. 3426.
6 The Hollywood Reporter, 24 August 1938, p. 6.
7 Frank Capra, Frank Capra: The Name Above the
Title (New York: Macmillan, 1971), p. 186.
I
8 Frank S. Nugent, review of "You Can't Take It
With You," New York Times, 2 September 1938, p. 21.
9 william Thomaier, "Early Sound Comedy," Films in
Review, May 1958, p. 254.
196
CHAPTER V
Walter Kerr's wise observation that comedy is the
"groan made gay" is vividly shown in three decidely dark
i
screwball comedies. Nothing Sacred/ The Man Who Came to
Dinner and Theodora Goes Wild all fit the general defini
tion of screwball comedy but all have discernible doses of
cynicism in them. For all its froth and happy endings,
screwball comedy has its darker undersides, although the
glamor of the settings and the attractiveness of the
characters often obscure the darker nature of the form.
Considering the iconoclastic nature of many of screwball
comedy's leading writers and considering the dismal eco
nomic state of the nation during this period in history,
it is not surprising that healthy doses of bile would
I
surface in mainstream screwball comedy. I
I
j The Man Who Came to Dinner, one of the most popular
I
|stage comedies of 1939, was wittily transposed to film in
l
1942. It has many screwball elements, although it was re
leased after the period of the greatest flourishing of the
genre. Unlike Mr. Deeds, this film was a bristling comedy1
j of manners which lampooned the middle-class lifestyle of
homey Middle America. From the point of view of the film's
197
main character, Middle Americans were regarded as dodder
ing Babbitts.
The main character, Sheridan Whiteside, was based on
Alexander Woollcott, the critic, writer and lecturer, fa
mous for his acid, sophisticated comments. Woollcott was
a mainstay of the legendary Algonquin "Round Table" and a
friend of the writers of this production, George S. Kauf
man and Moss Hart. Julius and Philip Epstein based their
screenplay upon the Kaufman/Hart work.
The play was frantic, brimming with high-speed, acidic
dialogue. It was so frenetic that the film's director,
William Keighly, slowed the pacing, fearing that the fast
dialogue and farcical aspects of the play might be too
overwhelming. As such, the Epsteins' task consisted main
ly of toning down the play, adding exterior scenes and
taming the dialogue. Whiteside's nickname for his nurse
in the play was "Miss Bedpan." In the film it was changed
J
j to Miss Stomach Pump.
i
I Although John Barrymore was considered perfect for the
!
I role, based largely on his manic performance in Twentieth
I
l
Century, he was unable to remember his lines. Monty Wool
ley, who had played the part on Broadway, was signed to
star. To counteract this non-star casting, two of Warners
l
I
biggest female stars at the time, Bette Davis and Ann
Sheridan, were added for box-office appeal. Jimmy Durante
! 198
]was coaxed to play the role of Banjo (modeled on Harpo
<
jMarx). The film was shot quickly. It opened during the
f
;Christmas holidays of 1941-1942. The reviews were consis
tently favorable.
Walter Kerr praises the film for slowing down its pa
cing / tempering the more outrageous shenanigans. He
notes: "What works is the plot. I mean the simple, basic
mechanics that are merely supposed to keep the motor run
ning while the real fun whips by on snappish sentences
shaped like poisoned arrows."
j The film begins with the arrival of Whiteside by train
J at a small Ohio town. He acerbically pronounces, as the
| train pulls in, "I will not sit down to dinner with Mid-
1 western barbarians." As several Rotarian-type women cla
mor about him, he explains, "Don't come too close; I have
several contagious diseases." To routine questions, such
as "Did you have a nice trip?" he responds outrageously,
"I killed a woman in the next compartment." He tries to
provoke the conservative, dull, small-town residents.
However, Whiteside accidently falls on the ice and breaks
his hip. Worse, he suffers the fate of having to be con
fined to the home of his hosts, a middle-class couple, Mr.
and Mrs. Stanley.
By and large, the film follows the outlines of
the play: Whiteside, confined to a wheelchair
with a broken hip, bedevils his hosts the
Stanleys (Grant Mitchell and Billie Burke),
199
and works to wreck the romance of his loyal
secretary, Maggie Cutler (Bette Davis), while
cavorting with the famous friends who come to
call. Just when he is about to be evicted by
an irate Mr. Stanley, he recalls that Stan
ley's very odd sister, Harriet (Ruth Vivian),
is a celebrated ax-murderess (shades of Lizzie
Borden). He also redeems himself by restoring
Maggie to her boy-friend, local newspaper
editor Bert Jefferson.1
Whiteside's constant battle against household conven
tion is in keeping with the theme of screwball comedy.
The business and movement, as the small Ohio businessman's
home is taken over by Whiteside's entourage, is frantic,
and is classic screwball. Messenger boys run in and out,
i
i
penguins arrive and Whiteside dictates up a storm.
The pace of The Man Who Came to Dinner is at the stan
dard screwball speed, pedal to the floor. Sennett notes:
As directed by William Keighley, the film is
| played in the familiar Warners' style of over
stating every situation, and racing through
the lines as if the police are in hot pursuit
of the actors, but it still draws many laughs.
Reviewing the film at the start of the year,
Bosley Crowther in the "New York Times" called
it 'unquestionably the most vicious but hilar
ious cat-clawing exhibition ever put on the
screen, a deliciously wicked character Por
trait and a helter-skelter satire, withal.'^
While The Man Who Came to Dinner lampooned middle-
class mores, other screwball comedies had much darker
undersides.
One of the most cynical of the screwball comedies was
Ben Hecht's Nothing Sacred.
! 200
l
"Nothing Sacred" belongs in the company of
"Theodora Goes Wild, "The Awful Truth," "His
Girl Friday," and a handful of other Hollywood
pictures that gave the industry's big city
screenwriters a chance to vent their cynicism
about the prevailing rural-American dream.3
Nothing Sacred is vitriolic and scathingly satirizes
small-town virtues. It is the story of a supposedly ill
young lady (Carole Lombard) who prefers to spend her re
maining time in New York rather in her small Vermont home
town.
Its opening shot is of the Manhattan skyline. Then
the camera tilts up the Empire State Building while a
i
j voice-over intones that "New York is the home of the
|slockers and the peddlers where truth is crushed to death."
i
| The plot is simple, but dark. Lombard, dying of radi-
I
I
I urn poisoning, is brought to New York by a large daily
I
inewspaper under the guise of giving her one grand final
fling in life. Its writer, Ben Hecht, a veteran newspaper
man and co-writer of The Front Page, certainly suffered no
illusions about the level of integrity in competitive
journalism. Not surprisingly, the newspaper's "charity"
is circulation-oriented. Nothing Sacred is cynical and
dark but nonetheless a screwball comedy. Indeed, thema
tically and tonally, Nothing Sacred is a rejection of the
Mr. Deeds theme, wherein the innate nobility of the common
man was promulgated. Screwball comedy, insofar as there
were very few "common" men in its plots, never championed
201
such a view. Certainly, the recurring screwball position
that tradition and social rules were made to be ignored
and broken demonstrates an iconoclastic bent and inclina
tion that would not lend toward promoting small-town, tra
ditional values. If anything, screwball comedy heros and
heroines would regard small towns with jaundiced eyes.
This is not to say screwball writers and directors had no
bile in them for the big city — indeed, it was consi
derable.
In the opening scenes of Nothing Sacred, a New York
reporter arrives in Vermont. He encounters hostility ev
erywhere. Old women walk past, gossiping maliciously.
i
! The young children are spiteful and mean. One actually
i
bites the reporter. Upon entering an office, he is greet-
!
ed with the admonition, "I think you're a newspaper man.
I can smell 'em. Excuse me, while I open a window." The
old Vermont codger who has rattled off this greeting then
launches into a bitter digression about an essay contest
he lost twenty-two years ago on "Who Are the Six Greatest
Americans." This is clearly a town where bitterness lin
gers .
The story cross-cuts to Lombard in her doctor's office
as she receives the news that she is not going to die af-i
ter all. Walking out of the doctor's yard, she meets the
reporter at the front gate. She is flabbergasted when he
202
asks her to come to New York, all expenses paid. It is
too good to be true.
The story moves quickly. A shot of a plane over Man
hattan. Then inside the place as Lombard sits with the
reporter. Next a headline banners across the New York
daily: "Doom girl hailed belle of New York." Ribbon cut
ting ceremonies follow, together with a montage of New
York readers caught up in this human interest news promo
tion. The montage ends with a dead fish being rolled up
in one of the papers, visually emphasizing the smelly na
ture of the whole endeavor.
Despite the sinister visual image of the fish, William
Wellman's overall direction has been judged facile and
flaccid. Mast notes it "screams out for a director like
Hawks. Unfortunately, it got William Wellman (under the
thumb of David O. Selznick). The result is a battle be
tween the cynicism of the script and the cowardice of the
„ 4
filmmakers.
j
Still, Nothing Sacred is essentially an acrimonious
indictment of American values. Hecht's cynicism in Noth
ing Sacred is, however, directed against human nature ra
ther than the economic social problems of the Depression.
Indeed, Hecht’s script is not simply a small town vs.
big city comparison. Richard Corliss perceptively notes:
The small town, personified by Hazel Flagg and
her Dr. Downer, who parlay a false report of
203
radium poisoning into a grand tour of Manhat
tan, is as phony as the Big City, personified
by Cook and Oliver Stone, the newspapermen who
give their dear readers 'a chance to pretend
their phony hearts were dripping of the milk
of human kindness.'^
Unlike other screwball comedies where love grows be
tween the two protagonist/antagonists, the ending of
Nothing Sacred (with the two necking on a tropical island
after Lombard and the reporter have duped the city slick
ers into believing she has died), is a dark, uneasy ending.
It is a triumph of deception, leaving little satisfaction.
It does not have the glow of lovers uniting or reuniting
as in such other screwball comedies as The Awful Truth, It
Happened One Night, Bringing Up Baby, My Man Godfrey or
Holiday. Even the underlying cynicism of another Hecht-
scripted film. His Girl Friday was more glowingly opti
mistic than the union ending Nothing Sacred.
Similar in tone to Nothing Sacred is Theodora Goes
Wild. The film was released by Columbia in 1936. It
j
istarred Irene Dunne and Melvyn Douglas. Sidney Buchman
i
Jwrote the screenplay based on a story by Mary E. McCarthy.
! It centered on an industrious woman from a small town,
this time a small town in Connecticut. Among its charac
ters were newspapermen, dour old-maid aunts and slick,
big-city publishers.
The opening sequence sets the tone of the film: a
montage of gossiping old biddies and malicious small-town
204
dwellers chatter and whine away their short day in the
Connecticut hamlet of Lynnfield Bogle. The feisty small
town newspaper editor comes under attack by these blue-
noses who run him up before their council for publishing a
serial in his paper. They consider it immoral. Hypo
crites all, they nevertheless eagerly buy the publication
to read it. What they don’t know, and herein the twist of
Theodora, is that their own pure townsperson, Theodora
Lynn, (Irene Dunne) is the author of the serial. She has
been secretly cracking out other such materials for a New
York publisher. Indeed, she is the publisher's prize
writer, a money-making author.
Writing under the pseudonym of Carole Adams, she has
been leading a double life — on the one hand fulfilling
the role of the wholesome, small town girl, on the other
hand, realizing the glamor of the sophisticated, big city
woman. She is, not surprisingly, caught in a crunch. She
does not want to hurt her two maiden aunts; nevertheless,
she feels stifled by Lynnfield's parochial, narrow-minded
ways. She has been the model niece, but clearly that role
has limited her. Her writing serves as a personal outlet.
After the initial introduction to the town, the plot
quickens. Theodora goes to New York on one of her in
frequent trips to deliver her latest manuscript to her
publisher. She timidly enters his offices, somewhat
205
embarrassed and intimidated by his swaggering, bravado
ways. She defends her wishes to write under a pseudonym,
however, much to his annoyance; he, naturally, wants to
promote her more. He is rankled because she is not
promotion-minded and publicity-seeking.
The publisher insists on showing her the town, taking
her out with his wife to a fancy restaurant. Dunne sur
prises them by ordering straight whiskey. She is not the
i
innocent everyone expects. While there, a young artist
from the publishing house (Fredric March) shows up unex
pectedly. He had been attracted to her and insinuates
himself into their party. Dunne, slightly smashed, sur
prises March by agreeing to go back to his apartment with
! him. He sees the underlying free-spirited streak in her
emerge and, and he looks on approvingly when she does not
flinch upon seeing his bed. She begins to dance. He ma
neuvers her to the couch, snuggling closely. She pro
tests. "Why the evening has just begun, darling," he pro
claims. Dunne comes to her guard. She darts off. He
smiles, amused but temporarily defeated. She does not act
entirely like the free-loving heroine of her books.
Dunne returns to the sanctuary of Lynnfield, somewhat
rattled. But it is as stultifying as ever. The town's
steel-minded intolerance is visualized. "Rock of Ages"
sounds fiercely from the small town church choir,
206
resounding portentiously as the town's women enter the
church in their Easter hats. They preen and shoot self-
approving glances at one another. Their pernicious nature
is further demonstrated as they exit the church, strolling
self-righteously past the painted gates and well-mowed
Lynfield lawns, chiding and nattering.
Unexpectedly, March shows up in Lynnfield. He is de
termined to free Dunne from her small town restraints.
The aunts survey him. They are always suspicious of a
stranger, especially one "who's much too happy." He
smiles at them (such an effrontery). He enters Dunne's
house along with, adding to his nerve, his dog. The dog
jumps on a chair. March makes bird noises, trying to
I amuse and antagonize Dunne. He wants to get a rise out of
I
iher. As a defense, she pounds on the piano, blasting out
a loathsome, angry-sounding melody, trying to drown him
out. All the while, his dog chases one of her cats. He
inveigles his way into staying, insisting they need a gar
dener. He convinces the family to let him stay in their
guest house, which more resembles a tool shed. It's his
self-appointed mission to liberate Dunne. "Break loose.
Be yourself." he admonishes.
Despite his boldness, he seems attractive to her. He
entices her into going fishing with him, a pairing which,
naturally, stirs up town gossip. In a scene reminiscent
I 207
I
! of one in It Happened One Night, (where Gable, was conde
scendingly showing Colbert how to hitch-hike), March smug-
!ly tells Dunne all about fishing. Of course, she ends up
l
I
catching all the fish. They prepare a fire for their fry,
and smoke blasts up. Then he kisses her. She clearly en
joys it, offering only token resistance.
Buoyed by her date, Dunne tells off her aunts. They
are shaken; she has always been the model young lady. She
is dazzled by March. But then, unexpectedly March leaves,
heading back for New York. He leaves her with the hollow
congratulations that she is on the road to realizing her
true nature. She no longer needs him, he blithely con
cludes. Dunne is devastated. Not only has she antagon
ized her aunts and made a fool of herself in the communi
ty, but she has seemingly also lost March. In a high fury
(no other recourse), she burns her last bridge and follows
him to New York.
Soon the world and all of Lynnfield find out about her
dual identity. The news chatters across the small town a
la newspaper teletype. The headline reads "Caroline Adams
is Lynnfield Daughter." Her aunts are initially distres
sed but with the high-minded resilience of the malicious,
they land on their feet. They proudly promenade around
the town, condescendingly turning away the glares of their
208
small-town sister spirits. Clearly, fame and notoriety
triumph over "cherished" values.
The film intercuts to New York. In a very abrupt
transitional sequence, it visualizes the personal change
of Dunne. She has now suddenly become a woman's champion.
The transformation is not believeable. Indeed, it dimin
ishes some of the fine-textured nuances of the film. It
is almost as if the film is divided into two separate and
jtotally different halves. In short, Dunne's assertive
I
(venture into the New York scene is too cataclysmic and
far-reaching a lifestyle change, even for one who had
lived vicariously throught the writing of novels. Never
theless, some amusing scenes occur. They are orchestrated
i
around the characters' role reversals. Dunne now tries to
get March to break out of his own shell. He is tied down
i
iby social fears: his father-in-law is running for politi
cal office and a divorce for March is out of the question.
Dunne berates him to break free. But he is too timid to
make a move on his own.
Her strategy intensifies. She behaves outlandishly,
moving into his apartment (which causes him to move out)
i
and kissing him in front of photographers, knowing it will
culminate in a divorce action. She breezily shows up to a
prestigious political ball, cleverly getting by the guards.
j 209
i
I She, of course, orchestrates March's divorce, charming his
father-in-law, the governor, in the process.
Another loaded, preposterous element is added to the
story when an old woman sneaks into the party crowd with a
baby. A man and a woman, supposedly the parents, stand
watching. Dunne receives the baby, when it is thrust upon
her. What else is she to do? It turns out the baby be
longs to the daughter of one of her neighbors in Lynnfield
who cannot keep the baby. Dunne, magnanimous and now lib
erated, decides to keep it. In the end, she returns in
triumph to Lynnfield. The whole town turns out at the
railway station to give her a homecoming worthy of a war
hero. Amid the many smiling faces is March. Freed of his
New York entanglements by dint of her actions, he has come
for Dunne. The film ends on the awkward filip of their
approaching each other, acknowledging their love. He is,
not surprisingly, alarmed at the sight of the baby, but
then the film ends sillily as she announces, "It isn't
mine, stupid." He is relieved. All is well between them.
And seemingly, all is well in Lynnfield and New York as
the film fades out on the happy celebrants. It is a false
happy ending which contradicts the whole cynical tone of
the film.
i
i
210
FOOTNOTES
1 Ted Sennett, Lunatics and Lovers (New Rochelle:
Arlington House, 1973), p. 282.
j 2 sennett, p. 283.
3 Richard Corliss, The Hollywood Screenwriters (New
York: Avon, 1970), p. 77.
j 4 Gerald Mast, The Comic Mind (Indianapolis/New
York: The Bobbs-Merill Company, 1971), p. 252.
5 Corliss, p. 78.
211
CONCLUSION
The screwball comedy flourished during a precise mo
ment in United States social and film history. It was
popular during the Depression, during the early years of
the sound film. It gave way, following the bombing of
Pearl Harbor, to Preston Sturges' increasingly cynical so
cial satires. In short, the screwball comedy seemed to
fade from the screen during World War II; it revived spor
adically during the following decades. This year only two
major films. Romancing the Stone and Micki & Maude had
significant screwball elements.
In the comedy of manners tradition, the screwball com
edies were most immediately nurtured by the Broadway far
ces of the 1920s as well as the the silent film comedies
of the same decade. They were an amalgam of two seemingly
disparate forms — drawing room comedy with slapstick
farce. With screwball comedy, the pratfall made its en
trance into the drawing room, with style.
Significantly, many of the directors of screwball
comedy got their professional comic training in silent
comedy. Such directors as Frank Capra, Howard Hawks and
Leo McCarey had backgrounds with either Mack Sennett or
j 212
I
Hal Roach. And many future screwball stars, notably
Carole Lombard, played extensively in silent comedies.
Stylistically, the screwball comedy moved at a frantic
but fluid pace. Hawks and Capra, in particular, refined
their directorial techniques to speed up the comic pace.
They encouraged players to overlap their dialogue — the
screwball leads were invariably articulate and fast-
talking — which gave an allegro tempo to the proceed
ings. In addition, needless exits and entrances in scenes
were lopped in the cutting room. As such, there was
little wasted movement in the screwball comedies. They
moved rapidly, both visually and verbally.
/
With the exception of Frank Capra's Mr. Deeds Goes to
Town, screwball comedies touched only peripherally on the
economic conditions of the time. While there are a few
minutes worth of scenes in My Man Godfrey concerning the
Depression and a wacky automat scene in Easy Living allu
ding to the unemployment of the 1930s, the nation's econ
omic state at the time was not central to the screwball
stories. The hard conditions were, at most, tangential to
the plots of screwball comedy. These movies were "inten
ded and received as escapist entertainment, improbable
stories set among the irresponsible, often hard-drinking
rich."1 As such, the screwball comedies were, for the
most part, set in upper-class Manhattan surroundings.
j 213
i
I Their lead characters were most often wealthy and thus
free from mundane monetary worries. They were free to be
have in a manner that common people, having to put bread
on their tables, were not. Their free-wheeling and free-
spirited ways provided a light entertaining escape from
the struggles of the day for the average 1930s moviegoer.
Yet, screwball behavior and screwball values were not
limited to those with Park Avenue addresses, as the antics
of the Vanderhof family in You Can't Take It With You
showed. Indeed, anyone who had the desire and the moxy to
act as he or she pleased and who further had the savoir
faire and imagination to make society's institutions work
to their advantage was worthy of the appellation "screw
ball." Accordingly, the humor in these comedies sprang
from intelligent and frustrated character reactions to
dull conventions and narrow expectations. Human energy,
fueled by intelligence and propelled by an urgent need for
personal expression, supplied the comic dynamic for these
hilarious, high-speed films.
For the screwball hero and heroine the outside world
was a nonsensical world of mind-numbing conventionality, a
world which Richard Griffith and Arthur Mayer have percep
tively noted was a world "where economic crisis and the
threat of approaching war burned all the conventional
2
roads to achievement and happiness." And so, the
214
screwball leads set out to achieve their personal happi
ness by disregarding or circumventing all behavioral norms
that got in their way. Non-conformist by nature, the
screwball leads resolutely and blithely took on society,
not in a spirit of reform, (except for the case of Long
fellow Deeds) but in a high-spirited mission of self
survival. Their need was to discover and create "a world
3
of their own making." In most screwball comedies the
attainment of this happiness, this world, was realized
through coupling with a suitable, equally intelligent and
highly vital mate.
One of the screwball comedy's most winning ingredients^
•-«W —
was the intelligent, spirited nature of the female leads.
They were often more daring and lively than the male, and j *
were often the romantic instigator. Certainly, having t^J^
woman be the wooer was a novelty that made for a nice com
edic plot spin. The female lead roles were plumb roles,
roles that most actresses today would envy, should they be
aware of them.
While the female leads may have been strong, there was
no concerted effort to foster female awareness. Screwball
comedy was not message comedy; it was not didactic or
issue-oriented. Quite simply, the reason screwball women
I were strong was because the love stories were better and
j 215
far funnier with bright and strong lead characters, what
ever their sex. The variations in behavior were richer
and the plot parameters wider when extended by the wit and
grace of such leads. In short, the comic success of these
movies depended on the strength and intelligence of both
the sexes.
Accompanying the attractive screwball stars were a
colorful group of eccentric supporting characters who
added a nutty glow to the fringes of the films. Suppor
ting such stars as Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, William
Powell, Myrna Loy, Carole Lombard, Jimmy Stewart, Claud-
I
lette Colbert, Barbara Stanwyck, Gary Cooper and Jean Ar-
| thur were such skilled and memorable character actors as
Eugene Pallette, Franklyn Pangborn, William Demarest,
Charles Coburn and Charlie Ruggles.
While one may readily accept the notion that screwball
jcomedies were escapist entertainment, one does not, how-
J ever, agree to the premise that these comedies were less
i
important or less worthy than those carrying overt social
messages. The greatest comedies, be they film or stage
plays, are most effective and funniest when they are not
preachy. Comedies that sermonize or proselytize are often
more banal, less significant than those which appear to be
i
j completely wacky.
216
The screwball comedies all involved the individual's
attempts to realize personal happiness — this involved
necessarily the circumvention of society's rules and, in
most cases, involved finding a mate with whom one could
share the fun of life. Life was made to be fun, according
to the screwball credo. Jobs that made one a slave to a
schedule or mates that put happiness secondary to the ac
cumulation of wealth were anathema to the screwball way of
|thought. Primary screwball plots involved comedies of
courtship, involving on-the-surface antagonistic parties
getting together or lovers reuniting after either a separ
ation caused by misunderstanding or physical happenstance.
While these comedies utilized a diversity of plotlines —
from the detective story of The Thin Man series to the
fantasy antics of the Topper series — all were shaped
by the screwball philosophy that one must have some fun in
life. That marriage could be fun specifically was a new
notion to the movies — it still may be. The banter and
good humor, for instance, between William Powell and Myrna
Loy in The Thin Man series proved to be the most winning
ingredient of those films, with the actual detective plots
being secondary.
Invariably, and perhaps not surprisingly, the screw
ball comedies all but disappeared with the advent of World
War II. It was not, of course, a sudden disappearance but
217
rather a perceptible fade. The war discernibly affected
[the outlook of some of screwball comedy's most important
I
creators. Such directors as Preston Sturges grew increas
ingly cynical, bringing a more jaundiced perspective to
his postwar work.. While Sturges' own cynicism was evident
in certain Juvenalian thrusts in The Lady Eve (1938) and
The Great McGinty (1940), his wartime films, such as Hail,
The Conquering Hero (1944) cast derision on a multitude of
national institutions. The tone of Sturges' work became
increasingly biting.
The war also greatly affected the work of Frank Capra.
Capra, of course, devoted his war-time filmmaking to the
i Why We Fight series, an endeavor which interrupted his
i
outpouring of comedies. The comedies Capra made following
World War II did not have the same breezy grace as those
he made in the 1930s, although unlike Sturges, his career
did flourish.
In creating the Why We Fight series to help
the war effort, Capra was forced to deal with
soul-killing material, with proof of the atro
cities of war. After that experience, Capra
told an interviewer that the war had 'burnt me
! out . . . The war was a terrible shock to me .
. . I hated the unnecessary brutality. Women
and children being killed, terrified, huddling
in fear. Going around dropping bombs on women
and children. "What the hell is wrong with
us?" I used to think. . . . I thought that
perhaps I had put too much faith in the human
race __ you know, in the pictures I made.
Maybe they were too much as things should be.
I began to think that maybe I really was a
Pollyanna.'4
J In the screwball world, there were no moral blacks or
i
whites. Life was seen as a "cockeyed caravan" but was a
journey worth making, a trip made to be fun for the parti
cipants. While there was a darker underside to many of
the screwball movies, laughter itself was the raison
d'etre for these films. To make people laugh was their
single and lofty goal. "There is nothing wrong with
making people laugh," discovers the filmmaker hero of
Preston Sturges* 1941 release, Sullivan's Travels. "For
some people it is the only thing they have." Ironically,
screwball comedy itself stopped almost coincident with the
release of Sullivan's Travels. Understandably but unfor-
I
tunately, the importance of laughter was lost during the
war, when the comic aesthetic of screwball comedy seemed
out of place even to its own creators. Its demise was
gradual — Sturges' films during the war years continued
to have high-speed screwball elements — but its tone
had darkened and, with the case of Capra, its breezy elan
would give way to a more traditional Populist theme.
I
While there have been numerous attempts to re-create
the screwball style, most noticeably in remakes such as
Peter Bogdanovich's What's Up Doc? (1972) and Andrew Berg
man's by-the-numbers 1980's recreation of a prototypical!
screwball romance in So Fine, the genre has not made a
comeback.
j 219
^ Despite the lack of screwball films being made, the
i
jscrewball comedies have held up amazingly well. Today,
:50 years after the release of It Happened One Night, the
film still captivates audiences. The same might be said
of such screwball classics as Bringing Up Baby, My Man
Godfrey, The Thin Man, You Can’t Take It With You, as well
as several others.
But these are not the thirties. Fifty years have
passed. As we today watch a screwball comedy of that era,
our laughter is not less than those who saw those films in
first-run, during hard times. That’s the ultimate triumph
of the screwball comedies of the 30s and early 40s.
Whether those comedies return as a popular form is a mat-
!
iter of conjecture. "There's certainly the talent there,"
states Jimmy Stewart. "We've got a lot of talented people
making comedy today, and I think that comedy is something
„5
that doesn't change all that much over time."
Certainly there is abundant comic talent in the film-
making community. Directors Colin Higgins, Andrew Bergman
and Robert Zemeckis are three current directors who have
personal loves for screwball comedy. Higgins lists My Man
Godfrey as being among his all-time favorites; Bergman, in
I
! addition to writing the 30s film book We're In The Money,
has penned the screwball comedy So Fine as well as The In-
Laws which had numerous screwball elements, and Zemeckis
220 j
I
acknowledges watching It Happened One Night over and over
as a model for his most recent film, Romancing the
g
Stone.
Among players, Dudley Moore, seems to have a particu
lar talent for the genre, both in terms of the intelli
gence he conveys and of his talent for slapstick. Among
actresses, Kathleen Turner has the combination of beauty
and comic ability to play a screwball heroine.
For further study and illumination on the prospects
for a screwball revival, Gerald Mast's The Comic Mind and
Ted Sennett's Lunatics and Lovers, which is perhaps the
most definitive publication on the 1930s romantic film
comedy, may prove useful. Raymond Durgnat's The Crazy
Mirror: Hollywood Comedy and the American Image sheds
light on the relationship between film and society.
It was fifty years ago that the first screwball comedy
i
was released. The creative writers/directors and players
who made these delightful movies realized, like the lead
character in Preston Sturges' Sullivan's Travels, "that
there is nothing wrong with making people laugh." Why
should we be different?
221
FOOTNOTES
1 Frank N. Magill, Magill's American Film Guide
(Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980), p. xiv.
2 Richard Griffith and Arthur Mayer, The Movies,
(New York: Simon and Schuster, 1957), p. 324.
3 Griffith and Mayer, p. 324.
4 Jeanine Basinger, "America's Love Affair With
Frank Capra," American Film, March 1982), p. 81.
5 interview with James Stewart, 5 February 1985.
I
6 Interview with Robert Zemeckis, 9 May 1984.
222
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Books
Aristotle, "Poetics" In The Basic Works of Aristotle,
Edited by Richard McKeon (New York: Random House, 1941).
Andrew Bergman, We're In The Money (New York: Harper
& Row, Publishers, 1971).
Frank Capra, Frank Capra: The Name Above The Title
(New York: MacMillan, 1971).
Richard Corliss, The Hollywood Screenwriters (New
York: Avon, 1970).
Juliette Friedgen, Magill's American Film Guide
(Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980).
Richard Griffith and Arthur Mayer, The Movies, (New
York: Simon and Schuster, 1957).
Malcolm Goldstein, George S. Kaufman, His Life, His
Times (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979).
Leslie Halliwell, Halliwell's Hundred (New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1982).
Pauline Kael, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (Boston: Little,
Brown and Company, 1968).
Stuart Kaminsky, American Film Genres (Dayton:
Pflaum Publishing, 1977).
Walter Kerr, Tragedy and Comedy (New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1968).
Arthur Knight, The Liveliest Art (New York:
Macmillan, 1957).
Frank N. Magill, Magill*s American Film Guide
(Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980).
223
Gerald Mast, The Comic Mind (Indianapolis/New York:
The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1973).
Leonard Maltin, Carole Lombard (New York: Pyramid
Publications, 1976).
Ted Sennett, Warner Brothers Presents (New Rochelle:
Arlington House, 1971).
Ted Sennett, Lunatics and Lovers (New Rochelle:
Arlington House, 1973).
Donald Spoto, The Art of Alfred Hitchcock, (New
York: Hopkinson and Blake, 1976).
John Russell Taylor, Hitch (New York: Pantheon
Books, 1978).
Articles
Jeanine Basinger, "America's Love Affair With Frank
Capra," American Film, March 1982.
Louis Black, "The Thin Man," Cinema Texas, 13, No. 5,
(1978), p. 43.
Holly Chacona, Program Notes for "Ball of Fire,"
Cinema Texas, 12, No. 2, (1977), p. 55.
Bosley A. Crowther, review of "The Philadelphia
Story," New York Times 27 December 1940, p. 15.
Bosley A. Crowther, review of "The Palm Beach Story,"
New York Times 10 December 1942,' p. 35.
James Desmarais, "Topper," Magill's American Film
Guide (Englewood Cliffs: Salem Press, 1980), p. 3427.
Steven Fuller, "Ben Hecht: A Sampler," Film Comment,
Winter 1970-71, p. 34.
Olive Graham "Program Notes" Cinema Texas, 20, No. 2,
9 April 1981, p. 95.
Mourdant Hall, review of "It Happened One Night,"
New York Times, 23 February 1934, p. 23.
Mourdant Hall, review of "The Thin Man," New York
Times, 30 June 1934, p. 18.
224
Lillian Heilman, "Introduction," The Big Knockover,
by Dashiell Hammett (New York: Vintage Books, 1972),
p. xvii.
The Hollywood Reporter, 24 August 1938, p. 6.
David Hull, review of "Bringing Up Baby," Dartmouth
Film Society (Hanover, New Hampshire), 1978, p.2.
Gerald Mast, The Comic Mind (Indianapolis/New York:
The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1973) p. 254.
Joseph McBride, "Frank Capra Sees Emerging Sense of
Comedy & Idealism Among Student Film-Makers," Daily
Variety, 16 April 1975, p. 3.
Leo McCarey, "Sticking to the Script," The Hollywood
Reporter, 11 Oct. 1948, p. 52.
Frank S. Nugent, review of "After The Thin Man," New
York Times, 19 September 1936, p. 18.
Frank S. Nugent, review of "My Man Godfrey," New
York Times, 19 September 1936, p. 18.
Frank S. Nugent, review of "Holiday," New York
Times, 24 June 1938, p. 15.
Frank S. Nugent, review of "You Can't Take It With
You," New York Times, 2 September 1938, p. 21.
Lauren Rabinovitz, Program Notes for "Easy Living,"
Cinema Texas, 26 September 1977, p. 82.
Lauren Rabinovitz, Program Notes for "Holiday" Cinema
Texas, 7 Nov. 1977, p. 22.
Lauren Rabinovitz, Program Notes for "His Girl
Friday," Cinema Texas, 13 No. 1, 1977, p. 81.
Andrew Sarris, "The Sex Comedy Without Sex," American
Film, March 1978, p. 13.
Rosalind Shaffer, review of "The Bride Came C.O.D.,"
The Hollywood Reporter, 3 July 1941, p. 3.
Theodore Strauss, review of "The Bride Came C.O.D.,"
New York Times, 31 July 1941, p. 26.
225
William Thomaier, "Early Sound Comedy," Films In
Review, May 1958, p. 254.
Kathleen Walker, Program Notes, for "The Palm Beach
Story," Cinema Texas, 8, No. 41, 31 March 1975, p. 2.
Unpublished Material
Personal interview with Howard Brown, 30 July 1983.
Personal interview with Ralph Bellamy, 14 August 1983.
Personal interview with Irene Dunne, 22 July 1982.
Interview with James Stewart, 5 February 1985.
Interview with Robert Zemeckis, 9 May 1984.
Program Notes for "Bringing Up Baby," Los Angeles
County Museum comedy series, 3 August 1976.
Frank Capra, "One Man-One Film," Discussion at the
American Film Institute, 3 (1971).
American Film Institute preview program, 8 July 1986.
David Deschner Program Notes for "My Favorite Wife,"
Los Angeles County Museum comedy series, 10 August 1976,
p. 2.
Program Notes for "The Mirth of a Nation," prepared
for Los Angeles County Museum comedy series, 18 August
1976, p. 1.
226
FILMOGRAPHY
Ball of Fire (1941)
Credits
Production Company: Samuel Goldwyn. Producer: Samuel
Goldwyn. Director: Howard Hawks. Screenwriters:
Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder from an original story
by Wilder and Thomas Monroe.
Cast
Barbara Stanwyck, Gary Cooper, Oscar Homolka, Henry
Travers, S.Z. Sakall, Tully Marshall, Leonid Kinskey,
Aubrey Mather, Richard Haydn.
Bluebeard's Eighth Wife (1938)
Credits
Production Company: Paramount. Producer: Ernst
Lubitsch. Director: Ernst Lubitsch. Screenwriters:
Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder.
Cast
Claudette Colbert, Gary Cooper, Edward Everett Horton,
David Niven.
Bringing Up Baby (1938)
Credits
Production Company: RKO. Producer: Howard Hawks.
Director: Howard Hawks. Screenwriters: Dudley Nichols
and Hagar Wilde from a short story by Hagar Wilde.
Cast
Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Charlie Ruggles, Barry
Fitzgerald.
227
Easy Living (1937)
Credits
Production Company: Paramount. Producer: Arthur
Hornblow, Jr. Director: Mitchell Leisen. Screenwriter:
Preston Sturges, based on a story by Vera Caspary.
Cast
Jean Arthur, Edward Arnold, Ray Milland, Luis Alberni.
His Girl Friday (1940)
Credits
Production Company: Columbia Pictures. Producer: Howard
Hawks. Director: Howard Hawks. Screenwriters: Charles
Lederer from the play The Front Page by Ben Hecht and
Charles MacArthur.
Cast
Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell, Ralph Bellamy, Roscoe Karns,
Gene Lockart.
Holiday
Credits
Production Company: Columbia Pictures. Producer:
Everett Riskin. Director: George Cukor. Screenwriters:
Donald Ogden Stewart and Sidney Buchman from the play
Holiday by Philip Barry.
Cast
Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Doris Nolan, Lew Ayres,
Edward Everett Horton, Henry Kolker, Binnie Barnes, Jean
Dixon, Henrey Dannell.
It Happened One Night (1934)
Credits
Production Company: Columbia Pictures. Producer: Harry
Cohn. Director: Frank Capra. Screenwriters: Frank
Capra and Robert Riskin based on a story by Samuel Hopkins
Adams.
Cast
Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, Walter Connolly, Roscoe
Karns, Jameson Thomas, Alan Hale.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith (1941)
Credits
Production company: RKO. Producer: Henry Edington.
Director: Alfred Hitchcock. Screenwriter: Norman Krasna.
Cast
Carole Lombard, Robert Montgomery, Gene Raymond, Jack
Carson, Philip Merivale, Lucile Watson.
Midnight (1939)
Credits
Production Company: Paramount. Producer: Arthur
Hornblow, Jr. Director: Mitchell Leisen.
Screenwriters: Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder based on
an original story by Edwin Justis Mayer and Franz Schulz.
Cast
Claudette Colbert, Don Araeche, Francis Lederer, Hedda
Hopper, John Barrymore, Mary Astor, Elaine Barrie.
Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936)
Credits
Producton Company: Columbia Pictures: Producer: Frank
Capra. Director: Frank Capra. Screenwriter: Robert
Riskin.
229
Cast
Gary Cooper, Jean Arthur, George Bancroft, Lionel Stander,
Douglas Dumbrille, Raymond Walburn.
My Favorite Wife (1940)
Credits
Production Company: RKO Producer: Leo
Director: Garson Kanin. Screenwriters:
Spewack.
McCarey.
Bella and Samuel
Cast
Irene Dunne, Cary Grant, Randolph Scott,
Schoemaker, Scotty Beckett.
Gail Patrick, Ann
My Man Godfrey (1936)
Credits
Production Company: Universal Pictures. Producer:
Gregory La Cava. Director: Gregory La Cava.
Screenwriters: Morrie Ryskind and Eric Hatch, based on
the novel by Eric Hatch.
Cast
William Powell Carole Lombard, Alice Brady, Gail Patrick,
Jean Dixon, Eugene Pallette, Alan Mowbray, Mischa Auer.
Nothing Sacred (1937)
Credits
Production Company: United Artists. Producer: David 0.
Selznick. Director: William Wellman. Screenwriter: Ben
Hecht.
Cast
Carole Lombard, Fredric March, Charles Winninger, Walter
Connolly, Sig Ruman, Frank Fay.
230
Swing High/ Swing Low ((1937)
Credits
Production Company: Paramount. Producers: Arthur
Hornblow, Jr. Director: Mitchell Leisen.
Screenwriters: Virginia Van Upp and Oscar Hammerstein II,
based on the play, Burlesque by George M. Walters and
Arthur Hopkins.
Cast
Carole Lombard, Fred MacMurray, Charles Butterworth, Jean
Dixon, Dorothy Lamour, Harvey Stephens.
The Awful Truth (1937)
Credits
Production Company: Columbia Pictures. Producer: Leo
McCarey. Director: Leo McCarey. Screenwriters: Vina
Delmar based on a play by Arthur Richman.
Cast
Cary Grant, Irene Dunne, Ralph Bellamy, Alexander D'Arcy,
Cecil Cunningham, Molly Lamont.
The Bride Came C.O.D. (1941)
Credits
Production Company: Warner Brothers. Producer: Hal B.
Wallis. Director: William Keighley. Screenwriters:
Julius J. and Philip G. Epstein.
Cast
James Cagney, Bette Davis, Stuart Erwin, Eugene Pallette,
Jack Carson, George Tobias.
231
The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942)
Credits
iProduction Company: Warner Brothers. Producer: Hal B.
Wallis. Director: William Keighley. Screenwriters:
Julius J. and Philip G. Epstein, based on the play by
George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart.
Cast
Monty Woolley, Bette Davis, Ann Sheridan, Jimmy Durante,
Richard Travis, Billie Burke, Grant Mitchell.
The Palm Beach Story (1942)
Credits
Production Company: Universal Pictures. Producer:
Preston Sturges. Director: Preston Sturges.
Screenwriter: Preson Sturges.
Cast
Claudette Colbert, Joel McCrea, Rudy Vallee, Mary Astor,
Robert Dudley, Franklin Pangborn, William Demarest, Robert
Warwick, Rosco Ates.
The Thin Man (1934)
Credits
Production Company: MGM. Producer: Hunt Stromberg.
Director: W.S. Van Dyke. Screenwriter: Albert Hackett
and Francis Goodrich, from the novel The Thin Man by
Dashiell Hammett.
Cast
William Powell, Myrna Loy, Maureen O'Sullivan, Nat
Pendleton, Minna Gombell, Porter Hall.
232
Theodora Goes Wild (1936)
Credits
Production Company: Columbia Pictures. Director:
Richard Bikeslawski. Screenwriter: Sidney Buchman from a
story by Mary McCarthy.
Cast
Irene Dunne, Melvyn Douglas, Thomas Mitchell, Thurston
Hall, Rosalind Keith.
Topper (1937)
Credits
Production Company: MGM. Producer: Hal Roach.
Director: Norman Z. McLeod. Screenwriters: Jack Jevne,
Eric Hatch and Eddie Marson from a novel by Thorne Smith.
Cast
Constance Bennett, Cary Grant, Roland Young, Bille Burke,
Alan Mowbray, Eugene Pallette, Arthur Lake, Hedda Hopper.
Twentieth Century (1934)
Credits
Production Company: Columbia Pictures. Producer: Harry
Cohn. Director: Howard Hawks. Screenwriters: Ben Hecht
and Charles MacArthur.
Cast
John Barrymore, Carole Lombard, Walter Connolly, Roscoe
Karns, Charles Levison, Etienne Girardot.
233
You Can't Take It With You (1938
Credits
Production Company: Columbia Pictures. Producer: Frank
Capra. Director: Frank Capra. Screenwriters: Robert
Riskin from the play You Can't Take It With You by
George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart.
Cast
Jean Arthur, Lionel Barrymore, James Stewart, Edward
Arnold, Mischa Auer, Ann Miller, Spring Byington,
Samuel S. Hinds, Donald Meek.

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Asset Metadata

Creator Byrge, Duane Paul (author)

Core Title A critical study of the screwball comedy film, 1934-1941

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Communication

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag cinema,OAI-PMH Harvest

Language English

Contributor Digitized by ProQuest (provenance)

Advisor [illegible] (committee chair), [illegible] (committee member)

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c17-705200

Unique identifier UC11343521

Identifier DP22392.pdf (filename),usctheses-c17-705200 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier DP22392.pdf

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Document Type Dissertation

Rights Byrge, Duane Paul

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Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the au...

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