When the world shut down last March, I decided to spend the extra time on my hands watching and writing about classic American films. I added this weekly Wednesday morning post and dubbed it the “Golden Age of Hollywood blog.”
And many of you took the journey with me. In Part I, we explored the legend of Garbo and the thrill of the early talkies. In Part II, we learned about the early and mostly unsuccessful efforts to clear the movies of violence and sex. When the censors finally had their way, the sex and violence was hidden beneath hilarious layers of innuendo and physical comedy in the screwballs of Part III.
I made my case for the greatest actress to never win an Oscar (Barbara Stanwyck, Part IV), and the greatest year in movies (1939, Part V). We rounded out the year with a romp through the fabulous forties (Part VI) and paid tribute to Bette Davis (Part VII), the brightest, brashest star that ever burned in Hollywood.
I never thought the pandemic—or this blog—would last so long. I figured we’d be back to normal by June and I’d be lucky to get to fifty films.
Instead I’ve watched ninety-five films and written about sixty-two of them.
And aside from not having time to watch Bridgerton or Outlander Season 5, I have no regrets.
Though not as quickly as we’d like, the pandemic is winding down.
Not so for the Golden Age of Hollywood blog. I’m having way too much fun.
As the blog enters its second year, we’re going to try something a bit different. I’m doing away with the strict Parts of the blog. We’re going to cover things a little more loosey goosey. We’ll still dip into some themes now and then, but we’ll jump back and forth between the great stars, directors, and genres.
This will allow me to both keep the blog fresh, cover great films that don’t fit into a neat category, and revisit categories where I’ve made new discoveries.
Don’t worry—there will still be a mix of movie reviews and Hollywood history. And most of all, this blog remains a celebration of the stars and the time. Always honest, but focusing on what’s right with these films, not what’s wrong.
And now, let’s get to one of the films that inspired this new approach.
Can you believe I covered screwball comedies and didn’t include a Cary Grant/Irene Dunne film?
That’s an omission screaming to be addressed.
And thus I’ve scooped My Favorite Wife off the cutting room floor, a place it never belonged.
Whether or not you’re a film buff, everybody knows Cary Grant. Charming, confident, and elegant onscreen, even when falling over and bumbling around in a comedy.
He made wonderful screwballs with Katharine Hepburn, Rosalind Russell, Ginger Rogers, and Marilyn Monroe, but for my money, his best onscreen partner was Irene Dunne.
This was the second of three films they made together, and followed their smash hit screwball The Awful Truth (1937).
The plot is simple, if silly—Ellen Arden (Dunne) is lost in a shipwreck and presumed dead. After being missing for seven years, her husband Nick (Grant) has her declared legally dead and marries another woman. On the first day of his honeymoon with his new bride, Ellen turns up very much alive after spending the time on a deserted island with a very attractive man.
Grant and Dunne have a lovely chemistry. Dunne is pure charm as Ellen, who ricochets between amusement and annoyance as Nick tries to figure out how to extricate himself from his current predicament. He doesn’t want to do wrong by his new bride, but his heart is so clearly with Ellen from the moment he realizes she’s alive.
A series of complicated hijinks ensue, but true love wins in the end.
The film has the best ending of any screwball I’ve seen—Ellen and Nick are spending the night in a cabin together. Nick wants to sleep with Ellen, but she wants to wait for his annulment to come through (and torture him a bit more, if she’s being honest.)
When he asks when they can be together, she tells him Christmas, which is months away. Nick leaves her alone in her bed. Soon, there is clanging and banging coming from the attic as Nick rummages around.
Moments later he emerges into her room dressed as Santa Claus.
The film ends on her laughter as Santa climbs into bed with his first—and favorite—wife.