Remake Rumble:  The Shop Around the Corner (1940) vs. You’ve Got Mail (1998)

Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail (1998); James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan in The Shop Around the Corner (1940)
Remake Rumble: You've Got Mail (1998) vs. The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

In the Remake Rumble, I’ll throw one (or more) versions of the same film into the ring and let them fight it out.  I’ll discuss the good and the bad, and end with the ultimate judgement of the best version.  Judgements can be appealed through well-reasoned arguments in the comments section.


Looking for more films to stoke that Christmas spirit? Check out these reviews from the archives:


For this week’s remake rumble, we begin in 1940 with The Shop Around the Corner, the Ernst Lubitsch directed romantic comedy starring James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan as Alfred Kralik and Klara Novak, a manager and sales clerk at Matuschek and Company in Budapest. 

There’s no love lost between the two—Klara dismisses Alfred as a bowlegged dolt; he resents the way she wormed her way into a job on false pretenses. 

James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan in The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

Alfred answers an advertisement in a newspaper to correspond with an unknown woman about literature and the arts.  By mutual agreement, they eschew the mundane in their letters, forgoing the humdrum details of occupation and hobbies to discuss Tolstoy and Shakespeare.  Alfred is the best version of himself in his letters—articulate, empathetic, and kind.  His pen pal is the same, and soon he is besotted by a woman he’s never met.

Eventually the two decide to meet, and even if you haven’t seen the film (or You’ve Got Mail), I don’t have to tell you who he finds when he arrives at the restaurant:  Klara Novak, the shopgirl he detests.

The film takes an interesting direction after his discovery—Alfred doesn’t reveal himself to Klara, and she is devastated at being stood up by the man she loves.  Yet because Alfred knows that Klara is the one writing the letters he so treasures, he sees her in a new light.  As he softens towards her, she sees a new side of him. 

James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan in The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

Soon, Klara finds herself torn between real-life Alfred and the mystery man of her letters, not realizing they are one in the same.  When Alfred finally confesses, it is a wonderful relief to Klara, and we fade out on the lovers embracing on the floor of the shop in the quiet after the Christmas Eve rush.

The message is clear—the love of your life might be standing next to you in an elevator.  He or she might be annoying you half to death.

Such lovely ideals are the scaffolding on which all romantic comedies are built.

James Stewart is at home as Alfred, playing one of the polite nice guy roles that propelled his fifty year career.  We never doubt the sincerity of Alfred’s growing affection for Klara.  He’s not concealing the truth as a joke at her expense, but trying to work out a way to win her love in the world off the page.

Directed by Ernst Lubitsch, who had a deft touch with comedies, including Ninotchka (Garbo’s first comedy), To Be or Not to Be (Carole Lombardi’s final film), and Heaven Can Wait, The Shop Around the Corner should be on everyone’s holiday wish list.

In 1998, Nora Ephron remade The Shop Around the Corner as You’ve Got Mail, now a classic romantic comedy in its own right.  Budapest is swapped out for New York, and Alfred and Klara are replaced by Joe Fox (Tom Hanks) and Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan), rival booksellers.

Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail (1998)

Kathleen Kelly owns the local children’s bookstore The Shop Around the Corner (the name a nod to the original) opened by her deceased mother.  Joe Fox owns the massive chain Fox Books that threatens to put Kathleen out of business.

The Shop Around the Corner in You've Got Mail (1998)

Instead of exchanging letters in a post office box, Kathleen and Joe meet in an internet chat room and correspond via e-mail.

You’ve Got Mail feels more dated than The Shop Around the Corner—perhaps because the way we interact online has changed so dramatically in the past two decades.  In a world where everyone has a dating site headshot and pictures of their last vacation online, the idea that two people could exchange anonymous emails and not realize they know one another IRL is unfathomable in a way that old time letter writing is not.

Ephron remained surprisingly faithful to The Shop Around the Corner.  Just as in the original, when Joe realizes that his pen pal is also his professional nemesis, he stands her up and tries to figure out a way to bridge the real-life divide between them.

So how to choose a winner between these set-at-Christmas-but-not-quite-Christmas-movie romantic comedy juggernauts?  Let’s break it down:

Lead Actor – I’m not the first to point out that Tom Hanks is the modern-day James Stewart, but it bears repeating.  They both bring a tenderness to the male lead and show his evolving change of heart.  Winner:  TIE.

Lead Actress – With no disrespect to Margaret Sullavan, there is no more charming person than Meg Ryan in the nineties.  WinnerYou’ve Got Mail

Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail (1998)

Director—When it comes to the romantic comedy, Nora Ephron stands alone.  WinnerYou’ve Got Mail

EndingYou’ve Got Mail wraps things up too quickly—it’s not quite believable that Kathleen would be unequivocally thrilled that the man she’s in love with destroyed her mother’s business.  WinnerThe Shop Around the Corner.

Since the breakdown is too close to call, I’m going with my gut.  Ephron’s classic does a better job of hammering home the point that we have a face that we show to the world, and a face that we wear when we’ve opened our heart.  While a comedy, You’ve Got Mail has some deeply emotional moments—as when Kathleen, who longs for a cutting comeback in conversation, finally comes up with one and feels guilty when she genuinely wounds Joe.  Or after the last day at her shop when she tells Joe (via email, not realizing it’s him) that closing the shop for good felt like her mother dying all over again. 

Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail (1998)

There’s a nice push and pull between holding onto the good of the past and embracing the new that shines through in You’ve Got Mail, and that raises it above its outdated technology.

You’ve Got Mail emerges the winner in this week’s rumble, but do yourself a favor this holiday season and make it a double feature with the timeless The Shop Around the Corner.

Remake Rumble Winner:  You've Got Mail (1998)

Want more?  Click here for an index of all posts in the series, as well as source notes and suggested readings.

Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail (1998); James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan in The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

Hitch and Grace Act II: Rear Window (1954): The Apex

Grace Kelly and James Stewart in Rear Window (1954)
Rear Window (1954) open banner

You may say Psycho or Vertigo.

But for me, Rear Window is Hitchcock’s magnum opus.

Made on the heels of Dial M For Murder, it is the second of the three films Hitchcock made with Grace Kelly.  (If he’d had his way, he would’ve kept making films with Kelly until he died or ran out of ideas, but a Prince from Monaco was a plot twist even the Master of Suspense couldn’t see coming.)

James Stewart stars as L.B. Jefferies (Jeff), a daredevil photographer who’s been holed up in his sweltering New York apartment with his leg in a cast for the past seven weeks.  His street smart nurse Stella (Thelma Ritter) and sophisticated girlfriend “reading from top to bottom” Lisa Carol Fremont (Kelly) check in on him daily, but his real company are the neighbors he spies upon.

Like a man hooked on the cliff hangers of a soap opera, Jeff has become engrossed in the private lives of his neighbors.

As Jeff’s friend Lieutenant Doyle says, “People do a lot of things in private they couldn’t possibly explain in public.”

There’s Miss Torso, the ballerina who uses her constant parade of suitors to mark time until her true love returns.  Miss Lonelyhearts, who wears her heart on her sleeve as she enacts a romantic dinner every night with the dream man who lives only in her imagination.  And the newlyweds, whose ardor for the bedroom keeps the shades perpetually drawn.  (“No comment,” Jeff smirks when Lisa asks him what’s going on behind the shades.)  There’s the songwriter who bangs out compositions to pay the rent, and the couple who sleep on the fire escape to survive New York’s stifling summer heat.

James Stewart in Rear Window (1954)

But of primary importance is Thorwald, the traveling salesman who grows increasingly frustrated by his invalid wife’s incessant nagging.

As always, Hitch uses the camera rather than excessive dialogue to tell us what we need to know.  A nightgown spills out of Lisa’s purse when she wants to spend the night.  Jeff wedges a back scratcher into his cast to find relief from a sweaty itch.  Thorwald going in and out in the middle of the night, carrying knives and ropes and saws just before his wife disappears.

Jeff is convinced Thorwald killed his wife, and though Lisa initially thinks he’s just cooped up and imagining things, she eventually comes around to his way of thinking.

Interlaced with this tale of murder is the frustrated love story of Jeff and Lisa.  Jeff resists commitment because they come from two different worlds.  He’s an adventurous photographer who goes to dangerous lengths to get the perfect shot, living out of one suitcase in sometimes squalid conditions.  Lisa is the perfect New York socialite.  Her adventures end at finding the perfect restaurant and staying on top of fashion.

Lisa is dressed for Park Avenue in a different, perfect dress in every scene.

Jeff doesn’t think she has what it takes to be his wife.

Thelma Ritter, Grace Kelly and James Stewart in Rear Window (1954)

It is her role as Lisa that I think most clearly etches Grace Kelly’s image into our memories.  Her Lisa is dressed to the nines, and she radiates class.  Even when she’s scandalously telling Jeff that she’s going to spend the night, she comes across as every inch the lady.  

Just like Alfred Hitchcock, Stewart named Grace Kelly as his favorite leading lady.

After the success of Dial M For Murder, Grace Kelly had her choice of working with director Elia Kazan in On the Waterfront (1954) or Hitchock’s Rear Window.

Though she wanted to stay in New York (where Waterfront would be filmed), she stuck with Hollywood and Hitch.  Newcomer Eva Marie Saint took on the role of Brando’s girlfriend and won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her efforts.  (Though Kelly herself would win the Best Actress Oscar that same year for her work in The Country Girl, made just after Rear Window.)

It’s hard to second guess her decision.

But enough about James and Grace.

Grace Kelly and James Stewart in Rear Window (1954)

Let’s get back to Jeff and Lisa.

Inquisitive photojournalist Jeff wants nothing more than to poke around in Thorwald’s apartment, yet his cast precludes any sleuthing.  Enter Lisa, who becomes Jeff’s legs in her bid to prove both that Thorwald is guilty of murdering his wife and she, Lisa, is enough of a daredevil to keep up with Jeff.

Things go wrong, of course, and Jeff can do nothing but watch as Thorwald returns early to menace Lisa in his apartment.  Things go from bad to worse when Thorwald discovers the immobile Jeff watching him.

Rear Window is an onion, revealing its layers upon repeated viewings.  It’s a murder mystery, of course.  But it’s the love story of Lisa and Jeff.  It’s also a deeper story, about the intense fascination of watching others when they believe they’re unobserved.  That’s the whole magic of movies, right?  As the audience, we get to be voyeurs of the most joyful and most heartbreaking moments of the fictional characters we come to love and hate.  And the final layer of the onion is that the film is about directing itself— Jeff directs Lisa, just as Hitch directs his actors.  They play out the stories he dreams up for them.

In the references section of this blog, I list five films that everyone should watch:  we’ve covered The Philadelphia Story, The Lady Eve, Casablanca, All About Eve, and now, Rear Window.

Even if you don’t think you like classic films, I cannot recommend Rear Window enough.

Rear Window (1954) Verdict:  Timeless - Watch It Tonight

Sources

  • Spoto, Donald.  Spellbound by Beauty:  Alfred Hitchcock and his Leading Ladies.
  • Eliot, Marc.  Jimmy Stewart, A Biography.
  • Spoto, Donald.  High Society:  The Life of Grace Kelly.

Want more?  Click here for an index of all posts in this series, as well as source notes and suggested reading.

Grace Kelly and James Stewart in Rear Window (1954)

The Philadelphia Story (1940): Triumph of the Transatlantic Accent

John Howard, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, and Jimmy Stewart in The Philadelphia Story (1940)

If you watch a lot of movies made in the 1940’s, eventually you’re going to ask— 

Why do they talk like that?

You know what I mean—that half British, half American sing-song way of clipping out words and extending the vowels.  It indicates an upper crust, old money,  ivy-league sensibility, and doesn’t sound like anyone who ever actually lived.

I introduce you to the Transatlantic accent.

The Transatlantic (sometimes called Mid-Atlantic) accent is unusual in that it was not developed naturally based on the peculiar region where one grows up but was instead deliberately taught in fancy, northeastern boarding schools in the 1920’s-1940’s to indicate one’s place in the upper class.  The Hollywood studios loved it and encouraged their stars to take elocution lessons to perfect it.  

If you want a masterclass in the Transatlantic accent, you need go no further than The Philadelphia Story.

This film lets three of Hollywood’s greatest stars—and two of the best examples of the Transatlantic accent—talk and talk and talk for nearly two hours.

Perhaps that sounds like a criticism, but it isn’t.  The great charm of The Philadelphia Story is in the talking.  It’s a movie that started out life as a play, and is full of snappy dialogue— innuendo, subtle jokes, and those wonderful accents.  Most everything happens—the advancing plot, the expression of emotion, the twist ending—through dialogue rather than action.

The great Katharine Hepburn, who is said to be the only person ever born speaking with a Transatlantic accent, plays Tracy Lord, a haughty Philadelphia heiress who has divorced one husband and is on the verge of marrying another.

Hepburn’s voice is one of the most recognized in the world.  She had a lot in common with Tracy Lord—she too was a bit haughty and aggressive and had the air of the wealthy progressive Bryn Mawr girl that she was.

Tracy Lord is judgemental but not icy cold, and she has a soft side that is uncovered through the course of the film.

Cary Grant is her ex-husband C.K. Dexter Haven, another rich American aristocrat who likes teasing Tracy but is still very much in love with her.  Grant was British himself, but had developed a Transatlantic accent that is nearly as recognizable as Hepburn’s.

But it is third-billed Jimmy Stewart who steals the film as Macaulay “Mike” Connor, a reporter sent to cover the wedding who at first disdains Tracy’s high society ways but grows smitten when he learns there is more to her.

Jimmy Stewart’s accent is just as recognizable, though not a Transatlantic.  It is a one-of-a-kind stutter-step that he would perfect throughout his career.  

On the eve of Tracy’s wedding, Mike and Tracy—who never drinks—get drunk, go for a swim, and are discovered in a way that while innocent, looks quite indecent.

Katharine Hepburn and James Stewart in The Philadelphia Story (1940)

A hungover Tracy cannot remember exactly what she has and hasn’t done, and the haughty goddess of Philadelphia is laid low.  She learns the lesson that not everyone can be perfect, and despite her fiance’s willingness to forgive her indiscretions, and Mike’s proposal of marriage to quell the scandal, it is her mischievous and flawed first husband Dexter whom she truly loves and can now appreciate.

It’s amazing that Katharine Hepburn won four leading acting Oscars—more than anyone else—and did not win one for this film that so typified her and her career.  It was Jimmy Stewart’s portrayal that earned him the only acting Oscar of his career.

The Transatlantic accent fell out of fashion after World War II, even if Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn didn’t.

A study of Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart is incomplete without The Philadelphia Story.  The film  is a charming story that is artificial in speech and setup but always satisfying. 

The Philadelphia Story (1940) Verdict:  Timeless - Watch It Tonight

Want more?  Click here for an index of all posts in this series, as well as source notes and suggested reading.

John Howard, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, and Jimmy Stewart in The Philadelphia Story (1940)

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939): Clarissa Explains it All

#32 Golden Age of Hollywood Series

Part V: Hollywood’s Greatest Year

Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)
Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) opening banner

Sometimes, because of something that’s happening in the world at large or inside your own four walls, you’re especially open to a particular message.  You’re a student, waiting for your teacher to appear.  If this message comes in the form of a well-crafted film, it can alter the way you see the world or yourself.  The film—or novel—can become part of your own life’s story.

The best art becomes part of our very DNA.  

And sometimes, your heart is so stone cold on an issue that not even one of the American Film Institute’s Top 100 movies of all time can pierce through.

Such was my unfortunate, unsatisfying experience with Frank Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

When a United States senator dies suddenly, the state’s governor appoints Jefferson Smith to serve out the remainder of the term.  Jefferson Smith is no politician.  He’s basically a Boy Scout Troop leader, bursting with honesty and pure patriotism.

He comes to Washington with an earnest desire to do good and completely naive to the inner workings of the federal government.  When he tries to pass a bill to build a boy’s camp, he inadvertently jeopardizes the underhanded scheme of Senator Paine and a political boss.  The two have conspired to secretly buy up land and then sell it at a premium when they pass a bill to build a dam on the property.

This property, of course, is where Jeff Smith wishes to build his boy’s camp.

Jeff Smith has his illusions destroyed as he uncovers the plot.  Senator Paine and others work to undermine Jeff at every turn, first manipulating him, then intimidating him, and finally framing him for the crime of buying the land.

Jeff refuses to give up, and the film ends with Jeff’s magnificent filibuster on the floor of the senate, where he vows to keep on fighting for justice and American values no matter what the corrupt elites do to stop him.

He ultimately passes out on the senate floor from exhaustion, and in an attack of conscience, Senator Paine admits the truth of his guilt—and Jeff’s innocence—in the scheme.

Jimmy Stewart in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

It is the triumph of idealism over cynicism, which is usually just the kind of story I love.

But a week away from the most contentious presidential election in my lifetime, poor Mr. Smith just didn’t land for me.   

You too probably have strong feelings about the upcoming election, regardless of your political party.  Depending on who you support, you may be feeling pessimism, optimism, despair, or hope.

But red, blue, or independent, I can’t believe anyone is feeling idealistic about American politics at this moment in our history.

For better or worse, the polite masks have been ripped away to reveal the raw power struggle that drives the bloodsport of national elections.

In this light, Mr. Smith looks hopelessly naive.  The film’s corrupt act of buying up land to sell at a premium wouldn’t even make today’s newspaper, much less the front page.

The delight of watching so many classic films has been how fresh and relevant they feel.

But Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is eighty-one years old, and feels even older. It speaks of an idealism that was possible before Vietnam, Watergate, and 9/11.

Director Frank Capra himself became disillusioned after World War II, and his later films took on a darker tone.

But if I cut away the personal baggage brought to watching this film in 2020, it is easy to see why Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is beloved.  It is a treasure, and was one of the first films chosen by the National Film Registry for preservation in the Library of Congress.

First off, you have James Stewart, one the greatest and most beloved characters of all time in the title role.  This is the movie that rightfully made Stewart a star.  He plays Jeff with a wide-eyed wonder that never fully dims despite discovering that his hero Senator Paine is rotten and weak.

But it’s Clarissa Saunders, played wonderfully by Jean Arthur, who is really at the heart of the film.  Saunders is Jeff’s world weary secretary, who knows how Washington really works and is disgusted by it all.  She at first thinks Jeff’s innocence is an act, then dismisses him as a hopeless rube.

Almost against her will, she teaches Jeff the ropes and tries to protect his innocence.  In one of the film’s best scenes, she explains the arduous process it takes to actually write a bill and pass a law.  As the film goes on, his idealism melts her cold heart, and in the final act she has become a true believer.  Her understanding of the rules—both written and unwritten—of the senate are the key to Jeff’s successful filibuster.

It is Saunders, more so than Jeff, who is the stand-in for the audience.  She has the most satisfying story arc—a cynic finding her idealism, so much so that she convinces Jeff to keep fighting for his “lost cause” when he considers quitting in a moment of weakness.

So maybe I—maybe we—should all take heart that if even cynical Saunders can rediscover her idealism in the heart of an honest politician, maybe we can do the same.

If we can find one. 

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) Verdict:  Film Buffs Only

Want more?  Click here for an index of all posts in this series, as well as source notes and suggested reading.

Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

The Good Life

#20 Golden Age of Hollywood Series

James Stewart, Jean Arthur, and Director Frank Capra on the set of You Can't Take It With You (1938)
James Stewart, Jean Arthur, and Director Frank Capra on the set of You Can’t Take It With You
You Can't Take It With You (1938) opening banner

Frank Capra was on a roll.  Starting in 1934 with It Happened One Night, he won the Best Director Oscar in three out of the next five years.  In 1938, he won his third and final Oscar with the ensemble comedy You Can’t Take It With You.  He also began to cement his legacy as a director who perfected a tone in his films that celebrated the best parts of the American dream and gave audiences wholesome and upbeat films to take their minds off their Depression troubles.

Capra was still working under Harry Cohn at Columbia, turning out critical and commercial successes without the benefit of the huge budgets and roster of stars his competition enjoyed over at Paramount and MGM.  In You Can’t Take It With You, Capra managed this by pulling sparkling performances by both young and up-and-coming actors and old favorites.

You Can’t Take It With You started out as a 1936 play by George Kaufmann and Moss Hart.  Capra and writer Robert Riskin expanded the play for the screen.

The film’s initial setup is simple enough—ruthless, greedy banker Anthony Kirby is planning to buy up all the real estate around a competitor’s factory to prevent expansion and put his competition out of business.  It’s an underhanded plan, but it is spoiled by the one eccentric old man who refuses to sell his family home.

Lionel Barrymore plays Grandpa Vanderhof, the lone holdout and benevolent patriarch of the eccentric Vanderhof family, a group of misfits that eschew convention in favor of spending their days—and thus their lives—doing exactly as they choose.  This includes daughter Penny Sycamore writing bad plays all day just because someone once left a typewriter at their house, her husband setting off fireworks in the basement, and granddaughter Essie dancing ballet in the living room, despite her teacher’s continued assertions that, “Confidentially, she stinks!”

Kirby’s dilemma is simple, and unsolvable:  He is a man who throws money at every problem, and the Vanderhofs can’t be bought.

Grandpa Vanderhof refuses to sell for the simple reason that he doesn’t want to leave the home filled with happy memories, and his refusal to sell protects the rest of the neighborhood from being evicted from their homes.

This clash of ideas about what makes a good life—Kirby has more money than he could ever spend but lacks fulfilling relationships with his wife and son, and treats his employees like dirt, while Grandpa Vanderhof lacks wealth and status but has the love and respect of family and friends—is the heart of the film.

Lionel Barrymore as patriarch Grandpa Vanderhof in You Can't Take It With You (1938)
Lionel Barrymore as patriarch Grandpa Vanderhof

Capra thickens the plot, of course.  The life philosophies of two old men might be interesting, but a Hollywood film needs youth, beauty, and romance.

In his first starring role James Stewart plays Anthony’s son Tony, the reluctant vice president and heir apparent in his father’s company.  Jean Arthur, also in an early starring role, plays Grandpa Vanderhof’s loving and slightly less crazy granddaughter Alice, who is a stenographer at the Kirby’s bank.

Unbeknownst to both old men, Tony and Alice are in love. 

And we’re off.

There is an inevitable clash of cultures when the Kirbys and Vanderhofs meet, a plot twist where Grandpa Vanderhof nearly loses the house but is saved by the senior Kirby’s dawning realization that Grandpa Vanderhof is the richer man, surrounded by people who love and respect him.  And of course, Tony temporarily loses Alice.

Don’t worry, he gets her back again.

It’s amazing to me that this film was nominated for seven Oscars and won Best Picture and Best Director.  Not because I think it’s undeserving—it certainly is (and a Best Supporting Actor nomination for Barrymore wouldn’t have been out of line)—but a picture like this wouldn’t even have been considered for a nomination today.  It’s a comedy with a message so pure and positive it borders on corny.

Its complete lack of cynicism would invalidate its legitimacy in the minds of today’s Oscar voters.  As a critique, it says more about the trend of the Oscars than it does about Capra’s film.

You Can’t Take It With You also serves as a changing of the guard in terms of Hollywood’s leading men.  Though he would act for fifteen more years, at sixty Lionel Barrymore’s best years and films are behind him.  He’s on crutches throughout the film, and this is explained by an accident, but the truth is in real life he was plagued by painful arthritis that would increasingly trouble him the rest of his life.

Barrymore is the heart of the film, and he gets all the best lines.  Yet he’s clearly passing the torch—however reluctantly—to James Stewart.  

Only three years into his nearly sixty year career, James Stewart is already oozing charisma and speaking in his inimitable stutter-step accent.  His wide-eyed Tony is head over heels in love with Alice and her crazy family.  Alice knows it is a bad idea to fall in love with someone whose family will never accept her, but really, what woman could resist Jimmy Stewart when he turns up the charm?

You Can’t Take It With You isn’t a perfect film.  It’s a little too long, and sometimes the antics of the Vanderhof family become irritating.

But honestly, let’s not quibble.  This is a movie made to distract you from your troubles.  You munch on popcorn while watching young people fall in love and old people coming around to the idea that love triumphs over money, and that the American Dream is alive and well.

What could be better than that?

Verdict for You Can't Take It With You (1938):  Film Buffs Only

Want more?  Click here for an index of all posts in this series, as well as source notes and suggested reading.

James Stewart, Jean Arthur, and Director Frank Capra on the set of You Can't Take It With You (1938)