Still, this is a film which justifies its existence simply by remaining an anomaly. With its unique (if uneasy) mixture of comedy and drama, light-hearted romance and semi-serious political commentary, as well as its rich black and white photography, Talk of the Town could not have been made anywhere else but 1940s Hollywood. It's one of a kind. And that's more than enough.
The Awful Truth
(Director: Leo McCarey, 1937)
The Awful Truth, meanwhile, sits at the other end of the Cary Grant spectrum: this is a formulaic Grant movie through and through, a veritable textbook example of screwball conventions. And don't take that the wrong way; The Awful Truth is actually a much more satisfying Cary Grant vehicle than The Talk of the Town, because it lets us observe Grant simply doing what he does best.
Our hero plays Jerry Warriner, one of his seemingly endless series of jolly-but-conniving divorcees, who agrees to a divorce with his wife Lucy (Irene Dunne) amidst doubts of her faithfulness, then proceeds to try and derail their separation before the legalities are made final. The story is hardly Shakespeare. What makes it work, however, is its application. Grant is hilarious in his mischievous attempts to keep Dunne from seeing other people; an early scene where he interrupts a date between Lucy and her new Okie insurance salesman boyfriend Daniel Leeson (played by Ralph Bellamy, who would later appear as a similarly dull rebound beau opposite Grant and Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday) is worth the price of admission alone.
Jerry smirks his way in the door under the pretext of "visitation rights" with the couple's shared dog, Mr. Smith, then goes into the next room and plays the piano loudly while Mr. Smith barks along; Lucy, in the next room, tries desperately to ignore the racket. By the end of the scene, when she angrily storms out of her own apartment while Jerry - now wrestling with the dog on the floor - looks up and grins from ear to ear, it becomes clear that the actors are having just as much fun as we are.
This sense of joy and ease is probably the result of director Leo McCarey's alleged approach to production, which saw the whole cast and crew virtually improvising The Awful Truth as they went. Most of the time, the man who in 1933 helmed the Marx Brothers' delirious Duck Soup had the right idea; every actor (and Grant in particular) rattles off their one-liners and deft pratfalls like clockwork, and the first three-fourths of the movie sparkle with an enviable momentum.
Article comments
1 - Megan
Oh My God, The Walls ARE MELTING.
2 - Joanie
The odd thing is that The Awful Truth is rarely mentioned as anyone's (except me) favorite Grant movies. I don't understand it. This is one of the first movies to shine the spotlight on Grant's talent and actually broke with the tradition of honoring the censors' rules. There is a scene with Grant, Dunne, and a bed -- and no feet on the floor. (Ooh! The scandal!)
"It isn't until the film's final setpiece that McCarey, Grant and especially Dunne begin to run out of gas: the story and comedy should be coming to a head, with Lucy now vying for a return of Jerry's affections, but it ends up being simply amusing."
I always took this to be a simple part of any emotionally exhausting battle. There comes a point in real life where, all the conniving, all the mental gymnastics, all the chasing, leaves one completely spent. There just isn't enough steam left to keep the engine running full speed down the tracks. Instead of some grand, spectacular, and uproariously hysterical conclusion, the characters have finally realized that there's an inevitability to their situation.
That's another reason I liked this movie so much. It reflected what experience tells me is possible, and likely, to happen.