"Home, James" is an enchanting and at times purely hilarious story of a love affair across multiple mistaken identities: the girl, trying to conceal the fact that she's a lowly shop assistant, enlists the help of the boy, who is busy trying to conceal from her the fact that he's not really a lowly chauffeur... The set-up -- humble shop-girl is persecuted by her immediate superiors but secretly aided by the owner of the store -- is scarcely an original one: but it is handled here with a freshness and delight that completely outweigh the consideration that it's the third time I've encountered the theme this year!
The stars, both of them previously unknown to me, carry the film; especially in the infectious joy of their scenes together. Perhaps the highlight of the plot is the 'shadow play' where Laura La Plante is sent in to see 'the boss' for a talking-to, and, finding that for reasons of his own he has left her alone in the office, notices her shadow being cast on the blind of the door and proceeds to act out both sides of the interview in silhouette for the benefit of the floorwalker waiting outside to overhear her disgrace. Her impersonation of a cigar-chomping executive is priceless, and her handwringing pleas in her own persona aren't far short. Small wonder that Charles Delaney, stealing a glimpse through the rear door, can't repress one of the most mischievous charming grins this side of Errol Flynn... and small wonder that Laura falls head over heels for this merry rogue.
The film is beautifully shot and composed, from the 'chauffeur' solemnly escorting a very small parcel out to the car, to Laura teetering atop a wobbling stepladder with the camera angled down towards the importunate customer below, or escaping from authority on hands and knees between the counters. The characters' faces speak volumes, in shared conspiracy, alarm or joy. And the whole picture is sweet-natured, warm-hearted and funny enough to knock Elinor Glyn into a cocked-hat.
(N.B. In the interests of fact: Laura is not a gold-digger, she does not set her cap for James Lacey Jnr, and there is no running gag involving Arthur Hoyt and a Japanese screen, nor any jazz-baby dialogue. The rest is a matter of opinion.)
