The Awful Truth

They really don't make 'em like this any more. I mean, really. Sure, dialog in films since the '60s, and certainly the '70s, has tended to become more naturalistic and the acting less stylized and 'stagey' than in the old days, but somewhere along the way, amidst all the gains in technology and (sometimes) realism, we lost something. One of the things we lost, I think, was the ability to write, direct, and act pieces such as this. I don't know exactly why this is so but, excellent as many of Hollywood's current actors are, I am not sure that something like this could be pulled off as well today. For one, I think that today's writers and directors, even some of the better ones, tend to cater to a greater degree to the lowest common denominator; compounding that, I'd assert that even with advances in educational resources, technology, and the fabric of society (civil rights, etc, though like these others such facets of American society have been greatly eroded of late), the lowest common denominator today is lower than it was in 1937.

Regardless, this film is a gem from start to finish, in every way. Even the dog, that weird-looking little beast that shows up again in "Bringing Up Baby," is a sterling actor; indeed, he's better in his role and more convincing a thespian than many of today's so-called stars. The writing is incredible. Like the way the film's structured, the dialog is clever (I understand that much of it was improvised, testament to the quality of actors involved working with an already great script) and the themes and situations are ones that transcend time, no matter how long ago the '30s might seem to most of us. It's madcap but it's not too much, and there are many points during which I think the filmmakers were pushing the boundaries to see just how far they could go in that heavily-restricted age of film. Obscene or vulgar language and the like can be funny in the right context (or, obviously, reinforce or suggest other emotions) but there may be some truth also in that old saying to the effect that yelling obscenities, or just pouring them forth as part of normal dialog, indicates a lack of anything more erudite to say. In there, I think, you also find part of the key to what made this older comedies so perfect and so timeless; innuendo, no matter how obscure (even if it goes over many heads) is almost always far more interesting and humorous than a full-frontal attack on the senses. Of course, the makers of these old films had little choice but sometimes out of necessity comes a level of genius and craftsmanship that surpasses by far what might have been the more unfettered route to telling the story.

Have I mentioned that the dialog is great? Check this example out:

Lucy : Well, I mean, if you didn't feel that way you do, things wouldn't be the way they are, would they? I mean, things could be the same if things were different.

Jerry : But things are the way you made them.

Lucy : Oh, no. No, things are the way you THINK I made them. I didn't make them that way at all. Things are just the same as they always were, only, you're the same as you were, too, so I guess things will never be the same again.

Magic.

I started watching old movies like these, after two or more decades of mostly viewing movies from the '70s and later, when a few viewings of Sergio Leone films got me interested in that director's influences and from there I went to Kurosawa, back to his idol John Ford, and then Howard Hawks and John Huston and so on, starting to re-explore offerings by Bogart, Cary Grant, and others, including some classic films that I don't think I've ever seen ("Gunga Din," for example). Right now I'm in the midst of a major Cary Grant kick -- the man was brilliant on film and was one who could crack the audience up with a single facial expression or slay 'em with a deft one-liner -- and so this film more than satisfies. It's also the film that really catapulted him into the big time once and for all. Irene Dunn is easily his equal in the sparring on screen (she's incredible in this film,and gets to wear some far-out, glamorous clothes and funky li'l hats) and, indeed, all involved are tremendous in their roles. Cecil Cunningham for example, as Aunt Patsy, has few lines but almost all of them are real zingers. It's a perfect blend of slapstick, farce, and deeper insight kept moving along relentlessly, but digestibly, by a highly professional cast and a director at the top of his game.

I've actually heard people disdain older movies because they're in back-and-white (and even, for that matter, newer movies shot monochrome). They're missing out on a vast legacy of brilliant storytelling and film-making from around the world: not just treasures from Hollywood's most golden Golden Age but wonders like Russia's "Ivan's Childhood," "Yojimbo," and so many more as well as movies made in Hollywood as late as the '60s and '70s that intentionally used monochrome (Frankenheimer's "Seconds" and, of course, "Psycho" and many other masterpieces). Besides, the expert cinematographers who shot many such films, both through careful use of light and filters and through the vivid clarity of their work, actually manage to suggest color where none is present.

This one's loaded with color, and fun, and it really is a film that stands up today as it always will. Thank goodness we have such archival materials as videotape and digitized discs that not only ensure the preservation of such treasures but allow us to call them up whenever we wish to be really entertained.

The Awful Truth is one of the best comedies of the 1930s and ever. Irene Dunne and Cary Grant star (in the first of 3 pictures together) as a divorcing couple who really love one another, but they're just so darned sophisticated! Lucy (Dunne) moves in her Aunt Patsy (the underrated Cecil Cunningham) who gets Lucy introduced to a hick millionaire from Oklahoma (Ralph Bellamy). Meanwhile Jerry (Grant) gets hooked up with a grasping socialite (Molly Lamont). The "love birds" continue to peck away at each other and get entangled in each other's new "romances." The chemistry is just wonderful between Grant and Dunne, and the supporting cast is first rate. Highlights include Grant playing the piano while Mr. Smith (the dog) does a barking routine, but Dunne gets her chance, singing "Gone with the Wind" at a high-toned party. Great fun. Cunningham and Bellamy are terrific, but so are Esther Dale (Bellamy's ma), Joyce Compton (Dixie Bell), and Mr. Smith (who I suspect was really Asta from The Thin Man). The film, Dunne, and Bellamy scored Oscar nominations, and Leo McCarey won for direction. Filled with snappy one liners and hysterical situations. Best scenes may be the night club sequence when Dunne gets stuck dancing with Bellamy, and the party where Dunne pretends to be Grant's sister and yells out, "Hey wait a minute! Somebody stole my purse!" to snooty Mary Forbes. Very funny.

Nothing in this movie makes sense, and it really doesn't matter. It succeeds with its self-assured anarchy and the charm of its stars.

Cary Grant, Ralph Bellamy and especially Irene Dunne are in top form. Dunne has been often overlooked for her comic talents. The contrast of her well-bred demeanor and inner wickedness is a delight -- such as when she does a burlesque dance for a parlor of society snobs. She always appears to be on the edge of laughter at the antics of Grant and the buffoonery of Bellamy. A wonderful nonsensical scene is of the musically skilled Dunne at the piano trying to sing "Home on the Range" with the hopelessly off-key Bellamy.

Grant is in the period of his career where he's not afraid of self-parody. He's at his best when he takes nobody and nothing seriously, and he's especially funny at tormenting the slow-witted Bellamy. And Bellamy is so good at playing dumb, you have to wonder if perhaps he's not really in on the joke. (Grant and Bellamy basically repeat their roles, with the same success, in "His Girl Friday," another first-rate comedy).

"The Awful Truth" is the masterpiece of Leo McCarey. There's really nothing else quite like it.

This movie is exquisitely directed and acted. The "fourth wall" is gone; the movie rides so high and smart that we as audience can be subtly acknowledged throughout and made complicit in the production, while we continue to believe in the characters and care about what happens to them.

Much of the important dialogue is "throw-away" dialogue, in a sense. It's clear to the hearing, but lines are often spoken by the characters to themselves, for their own (and our) amusement, or delivered in very deftly choreographed "simultaneity," each speaker maintaining an independent point of view in rapid-fire repartee. Implications are understated. We are expected to expect the unexpected, to listen to every line.

The plot is composed like a piece of music. Each scene takes moment from the time-line established by the impending day and hour and minute at which a husband (Cary Grant) and wife (Irene Dunne) become legally divorced, and the movie ends at precisely the stroke of midnight which marks that moment. They clearly want each other back, but will they cleave together or cleave apart as the clock strikes midnight?

One extended "movement" of the movie lets Cary Grant charmingly undermine his wife's new relationship. In corresponding scenes later, Irene Dunne brilliantly plays a dumb floozie, pretending to be the husband's sister and demolishing in one evening his reputation and his prospects for marriage in respectable society. In these later scenes, in another of the movie's nice compositional touches, she does a reprise of a hoochie musical number performed earlier by a girlfriend of her husband's, and then falls into her husband's arms, apparently drunk. He gestures for her to look back and say goodnight to the horrified guests (and to us) as they do a wonderful little wobbly dance out the door, having burned their bridges behind them.

I found the opening few scenes of the movie unlikable, but with the entrance of Irene Dunne, the movie gets us on board. There's so much great understated visual and verbal double entendre (in the best sense) that I want to go back and see if there's more that I missed. In one scene, Cary Grant has brought to Irene Dunne's new fiancé the paperwork on a coal mine the divorcing couple still own. Interrupted by a visitor while advising the fiancé on where it would good to sink a shaft (har!), he explains that he and the fiancé (brilliantly played by Ralph Bellamy as a very successful bumpkin businessman) are transacting a business deal. The movie moves along briskly and doesn't play up the point, but we catch, for a fraction of a second, Irene Dunne squirming as she finds herself looking like the business transaction in question. The movie moves through moments like this quickly, with high respect for our intelligence and our capacity to get in on the joke.

Jerry and Lucy, a mutually distrustful couple (Cary Grant and Irene Dunne) agree to divorce, only to end up sabotaging each other's attempts at new romances. The film is one of the best of the 'screwball comedies' to come out of the 1930s (and, like so many of the good ones, was based on a play). Grant is very good in his second major comedy (after 'Topper', 1937) and director Leo McCarey's film (for which McCarey won an Oscar) established him as a comic star (although apparently little love was lost between the two). Oscar-nominated Dunne is excellent. The scene she where meets the wealthy family of Jerry's current flame (a celebrity heiress) and pretends to be a brassy burlesque singer is priceless. Ralph Bellamy is also very good as Lucy's wealthy, earnest, 'aw-shucks' Oklahoma oil-man beau who lives with his Ma (Bellamy plays a similar character in the classic Grant comedy 'His Girl Friday', 1940). Like all the top comedies of the era, the clever, often rapid-fire script sparkles and the characters' delivery is impeccable. The film also co-stars Hollywood A-list dog 'Skippy', best known for his portrayal of Asta in the 'Thin Man' series . All in all, the film is a clever comedy that has aged well due to the quality of the script, and the talent of the director and the players.