MY MAN GODFREY: Blu-ray (Universal, 1936) Criterion Collection
The recipient of
a then record-breaking 6 Academy Award nominations (and regrettably, winner of
not a single one), Gregory La Cava’s My
Man Godfrey (1936) is still considered the quintessential screwball comedy
- and for good reason. The picture, brilliantly scripted by Eric Hatch (from
his novel) and Morrie Ryskind, is a rambunctious cacophony of nimble-minded
nut bars and marauding madcaps deliciously run amok, capped off and anchored in
a modicum of reality by William Powell’s superb central performance as the
supposedly ‘forgotten man’ cum butler, thanks to a gracious whim of fate. My Man Godfrey moves like gangbusters
through its perpetually moneyed and fancifully realized art deco playgrounds of
Manhattan’s hoi poloi; the Bullocks – a well-heeled sect of navel-gazing
devil-may-cares and basket-cases, fit for the asylum and fronted by the
exuberant Carole Lombard as their chronically flighty youngest, Irene (in a
role originally slated for Constance Bennett). The joyously obtuse on-screen
chemistry between Powell and Lombard is this stuff of movie magic. Powell’s
superb rendering of a man on the edge, brought back from the brink by the
unexpected benevolence of a girl who believes in him more than he does in
himself, is simply perfect from the moment we are introduced to his alter-ego -
the unkempt hobo, living in the ash-heaped shanty town beneath the 59th
St. Bridge. My Man Godfrey is as
blessed by its perfect ensemble: Alice Brady’s silly matron of the Maison,
Angelica; Eugene Pallette, as its harried patriarch, Alexander; Gail Patrick -
the wickedly spoiled elder daughter, Cornelia; Misha Auer, as elegant sponge,
Carlo; Alan Mowbray, the affluent best friend, Tommy Gray, and finally; Jean
Dixon’s shoot-from-the-hip domestic, Molly.
In hindsight, My Man Godfrey is one of those happy
surprises that oft emerged from the assembly line productivity of the studio
system in the grand ole days of Hollywood. Lest we forget, this was an era when
each of the majors pumped out a staggering amount of entertainment for the
masses – some, achieving a quota of 52 pictures a year (or one new movie coming
out each and every week). That My Man
Godfrey was then considered merely one of those is astonishing, given its
meticulous performances and craftsmanship going on behind the scenes: Charles
D. Hall’s superb art direction, Travis Banton’s slinky gowns for Ms. Lombard, Charles
Previn’s ‘swing band-styled’ underscore (its main title later repurposed for
the Tom & Jerry cartoon, Mouse in Manhattan, 1945), and, Ted
Tetzlaff’s gorgeous cinematography, achieving the height of elegance and
sophistication on a rather impressively mounted budget of $656,000. Interestingly,
My Man Godfrey initially only took
in $684,200
at the box office – hardly a mega-hit, although not altogether a flop either.
For many decades thereafter, it was regarded merely as a ‘good’ screwball comedy – one of many being made by all of the
studios in Hollywood. And, if doing nothing to diminish the Teflon-coated star
personas of both Lombard and Powell, it certainly did little to advance
either’s stature in pictures. Powell, then the bigger name above the title,
would have a more prominent part in MGM’s mind-bogglingly lavish The Great Ziegfeld (also in 1936) and
continue his lucrative ‘Thin Man’ franchise over the next
decade; despite a cancer scare in 1937, appearing in pictures until 1955, and,
in full remission until his passing at the ripe old age of 91 in 1984.
William Powell’s
reputation in pictures today, wretchedly, has been misplaced amid the pantheon
of all-time greats; his gentlemanly good nature, suaveness and charm, always
with a twinkling of petty larceny lurking just beneath the surface, the prototypical
dapper man about town in an era when such accomplished creatures were seemingly
a dime a dozen. Yet, Powell manages to distinguish himself as a superbly
amusing bon vivant; his charisma as a mature and clear-sighted boulevardier
(old enough to know what to do with his young feelings) the perfect
counterpoint and foil to all the nuttiness on display throughout My Man Godfrey. Many today will forget Powell was once wed to
Lombard, briefly from 1931 to 1933. That they remained amicably ‘good friends’
thereafter is a testament, although I have always thought Godfrey’s depositing
of a seemingly unconscious and fully-clothed Irene in a cold shower near the
end of the picture, something of a sly comeuppance for, perhaps, some earlier indiscretions
committed in their marriage. Given Lombard and Powell’s failure as a couple we
can appreciate Godfrey’s reluctance to be pursued by Irene; her winning him
back in the end, if under duress, a cruel nod to happier times passed by. In
reality, Lombard was on the cusp of marriage again to Hollywood’s king, Clark
Gable, while Powell was moving full-steam ahead in his burgeoning (and
ill-fated) romance with movie-land’s platinum Venus, Jean Harlow. Harlow’s
tragic death at the age of 26, and Powell’s own health crisis would send the
actor into a nearly 2-year hiatus from picture-making and a personal
tailspin.
The casting of
Carole Lombard for Irene was kismet, since director, Gregory La Cava had
already approved either Constance Bennett or Miriam Hopkins, but would only do
the picture if William Powell was his Godfrey. As Powell’s one stipulation to
partaking of this exercise was Lombard, La Cava acquiesced to get Powell’s
signature on the dotted line. Alas, shortly thereafter, La Cava and Powell
clashed over how Godfrey should be played. La Cava, known for his contempt of studio
executives, and a bit of an eccentric streak besides, elected to settle their
differences over a bottle of Scotch after hours. The next morning, La Cava
arrived on set with a horrendous hangover only to receive a telegram from the erudite,
if as inebriated Powell that read: ‘We
may have found Godfrey last night, but we lost Powell. See you tomorrow!’
The working relationship between La Cava and Powell thereafter remained above
board and congenial – less so, between director and co-star, Lombard who
frequently flubbed her lines by inserting four-letter explicative into the
scripted dialogue, much to the cast’s general amusement. Lombard, a wicked raconteur,
viewed such casual outbursts as ‘good humor’ to combat the stressors of a
breakneck shooting schedule. La Cava merely regarded them as costly delays he
had no desire to promote and/or encourage.
My Man Godfrey received a whopping six Oscar
nominations in the very first year the Academy established awards for its
supporting players: earning nods in all of the top categories (Best Director,
Actor/Actress, Supporting Actor/Actress and Best Screenplay), save – and
curiously so – Best Picture. That it won not a single statuette, today, can
only be regarded as a slight and a blemish on Oscar-voters circa 1936. Our story, set at the height of the Great
Depression, finds Godfrey ‘Smith’
Parke (William Powell) residing with other ‘forgotten men’ at a New York City
dump on the East River. While conditions can hardly be considered ‘ideal’,
there is an essential order and earnest camaraderie among the many who live
their lives virtually overlooked by the general population of the city. Into
this isolated world enters the slinky, spoiled socialite Cornelia Bullock (Gail
Patrick), on a mission to find a forgotten man for the charity scavenger hunt
being conducted by the haughty and exclusive jet set at the Waldorf-Ritz.
Cornelia is a hard one – cynical to a fault and thoroughly uncaring for
Godfrey’s plight beyond the reward it might earn her. Godfrey, however, is not
so easily swayed by the promise of five dollars, and thus admonishes Cornelia
for her superficial ‘interests’ in him. His casual advance causes her to take a
misstep backwards and topple into a pile of ashes, all but ruining her
shimmering evening gown. Disgruntled, Cornelia departs, much to the amusement
of her younger sister, Irene (Carol Lombard). Godfrey is all set to give Irene
another tongue lashing. However, after some conversation he quickly discovers
Irene is not Cornelia. Indeed, Irene is earnest, if utterly scatter-brained. So,
Godfrey offers to help her beat Cornelia at her own game.
Arriving at the
Waldorf-Ritz, Godfrey is appalled by these rich and vacuous gadabouts, parading
these monied hallways with all manner of inanimate, animal and human refuse
they have gathered in their misguided notions to raise money ‘for charity’. The
only participant who finds even a modicum of grotesqueness in this exercise is
Irene’s harried businessman/father, Alexander Bullock (Eugene Pallette) who
barely tolerates his ditsy wife, Angelica (Alice Brady), toting a live sheep
and her protégé Carlo (Mischa Auer). After some impolite interrogation by the
committee’s chairman, Godfrey is ‘authenticated’ as a bona fide forgotten man. It
is a victory for Irene, who receives the grand prize of a silver loving cup.
However, given his moment to address the crowd, Godfrey spares no one in his
criticisms of their antics, labeling the rich a bunch of ‘nitwits’. Impressed
by his wherewithal and guts, Irene sincerely apologizes to Godfrey. Owing to
the family’s temporary loss of a domestic, she offers him the position of
butler. This, he gratefully accepts. Irene even affords Godfrey an advance on
his salary so he might shop for some new clothes before arriving at the
Bullock’s swanky abode. The next day, Godfrey is shown around the estate by the
family’s wise-cracking, but otherwise genuine maid, Molly (Jean Dixon). Indeed,
warming to the Bullocks will not be easy. Angelica is prone to wandering off in
her daft daydreams, particularly when hung over. Alexander is wholly
disinterested in Godfrey’s ‘advice’ on the stock market, and, Cornelia vows,
with considerable spite and venom, to make his life so much a living hell he
will beg to be dismissed.
Despite this
open hostility, Godfrey agrees to be Irene’s protégé and remain on staff.
However, a complication arises as the Bullocks social gathering attracts
aimable, Tommy Gray (Alan Mowbray). It seems Gray and Godfrey were school chums
at Harvard. Indeed, Gray nearly blows
the lid off Godfrey’s cover. Instead Godfrey infers he was Gray’s valet while
at university. Confused but willing to play along, Gray aids in Godfrey’s
ridiculous embellishment of their former friendship; Gray manufacturing a
nonexistent wife and five children for Godfrey to support. Having already daydreamed romantic dalliances
with Godfrey, a wounded Irene instead announces her engagement to the very startled,
and as confused Charlie Van Rumple (Grady Sutton) before succumbing to a tearful
retreat from the room. The next afternoon, Godfrey meets Gray for luncheon at
one of the swankier clubs. Eyed with great curiosity by Cornelia from across
the room, Godfrey relays to Gray that he has forsaken his family name and
riches after a fractured love affair left him contemplating suicide. Instead,
he discovered men far worse than he, living at the dump and suddenly realized
there was more to life yet worth living. Eager to eavesdrop on their conversation Cornelia
has her boytoy, Faithful George (Robert Light) call Tommy away to the
telephone. Intruding at Godfrey's table, Cornelia feigns a negotiated truce.
Again, Godfrey sees right through Cornelia, incurring her wrath and hasty
departure.
Determined more
than ever she should wreck Godfrey’s chances of remaining in the family’s
employ, Cornelia plants her pearl necklace under his mattress, accusing Godfrey
of its theft and telephoning the police to report the jewelry as stolen. While
Irene never loses faith in Godfrey, Angelica is ready to believe the worst –
that is, until Cornelia’s insistence, that the police search the mattress for
her pearls, results in no necklace being unearthed. Startled, but unable to
admit how she would know where to find the missing jewels, Cornelia is
admonished by her father in private. Alexander escorts the policemen from his home
with an apology for wasting their time and an offer to make a substantial
contribution to their fund-raiser. Meanwhile, the ruse over Irene’s engagement
exposed, the Bullocks send both Irene and Cornelia on a trip to Europe to quell
rumors in the gossip columns. Plotting a new seduction of Godfrey, simply to
spite her sister, Cornelia is foiled yet again when Irene deliberately faints
dead away in Godfrey’s arms. Tired of being played for a fool, Godfrey elects
to deposit Irene in the shower, fully clothed, and turning on the cold water to
revive her. Startled but elated, Irene suggests Godfrey really does love her. Disgusted, Godfrey prepares to resign as the
Bullock’s butler.
Alas, Alexander
has learned that his company stock has plummeted. The Bullocks are practically
penniless. Alexander’s first order of business is to toss Carlo out on his ear.
He’s not protégé – just a mooch. But now Godfrey intervenes with very good
news. He has sold short, using monies accrued from pawning Cornelia’s pearls
and bought back Alexander’s liquidated stock. Godfrey bequeaths these endorsed certificates
back to a very stunned Mr. Bullock. In one fell swoop Godfrey has not only
saved the company but also the family from total financial ruin. With the leftover
monies, Godfrey even bought back Cornelia’s pearls which he now returns to her
with his gratitude. Realizing how wrong
she has been about him, Cornelia humbly apologizes for her behavior.
Nevertheless, Godfrey is determined to leave the Bullocks’ employ. With profits
skimmed off the top, Godfrey has convinced Gray to back his fashionable
nightclub on the former site once occupied by his old shanty town. Aptly nicknamed, ‘The Dump’, Godfrey’s investment has given employment, food and
shelter to all of the forgotten men who were his friends while he resided
there. Undaunted by his departure, Irene
tails Godfrey to ‘The Dump’ and in
short order steamrolls her way into his heart, producing a preacher and a
witness as she prepares to marry him right on the spot. She teases, “Stand still, Godfrey, it'll all be over in
a minute.”
Eighty plus
years after its debut, My Man Godfrey
remains the gold standard bearer of all classic screwball comedies; charming to
a fault, with a ribald sense of humor and impeccable comedic timing in its
rapid-fire dialogue. Powell and Lombard are a perfect pair of misfits. The ever-popular
themes of the idle rich, proverbial ‘fish out of water’ and ‘lamb
bites wolf’ scenarios are on full display, the entire cast having become
star-struck by the little pixies that usually only afflict Angelica Bullock
with such a devastating wry sense of wit, sophistication and addlepated good
fun. La Cava’s movie may not be the first to mine such time-honored gemstones,
but La Cava and his cast instinctively recognize the desired effect is two-parts
polish to one-part sass. Understanding this lithe chemistry, My Man Godfrey zeroes in on driving its
goofy narrative with expertly played and compelling characterizations. We
believe in Godfrey’s integrity, Irene’s beleaguered - if blithe - spirit, and
Cornelia’s native wickedness. Despite the ethereal tone of the piece, its improbable
situations, and its cliché ‘love triumphant’ dénouement, My Man Godfrey excels as a singularly appealing piece of pure
escapism precisely because its nuttiness is presented as unadorned truth with
great heart and sincerity. Few, if any, screwball comedies gone before or since
have been able to achieve such a tenuous balancing act.
My Man Godfrey arrives on Blu-ray via Criterion’s
renewed licensing agreement with Universal Home Video. For far too long, My Man Godfrey looked careworn and
faded, having suffered the slings and arrows of Public Domain hell from whence
even a salvage operation by Universal in the late 2000’s yielded only a passable
presentation on DVD. Criterion’s new-to-Blu is cause for rejoicing – literally.
Scanned at 4K, dumbed down to 1080p from original nitrate camera negatives and
fine grain masters for the first time ever, what’s here is picture perfect at a
glance, and an extraordinary achievement besides, with gorgeously textured
grain, superb contrast, deep and inky black levels and oodles of shadow detail.
The image is crisp and refined with not an ounce of untoward DNR or other
sharpening tools applied to artificially boost the image quality into something
it is decidedly not. Ted Tetzlaff’s lush and gleaming cinematography, with
shimmering diffused soft focus exploited in close-up, gets its full breadth,
allowing audiences to rediscover Godfrey all over again.
Having seen this
movie a dozen or so times, I felt as though I were watching it for the very
first time. And, given its deplorable history on home video, I suppose I was.
The 1.0 PCM mono audio has been given a wonderful clean-up; no drop outs or
hiss and pop. We get newly produced featurettes
from Gary Giddins and Nick Pinkerton. While not particularly comprehensive,
each address some of the finer points made by La Cava as a near forgotten artisan
of early American cinema. There is also an outtake reel. We get to hear Lombard
in all her blue-humored glory. Also, a Lux Radio broadcast from 1938,
vintage newsreels documenting the Great Depression, a theatrical trailer, and
finally, an essay by Farran Smith Nehme. While I dare say I found the extras
here rather light and wanting, I cannot argue with the sumptuous care afforded
this deep catalog classic, resurrected for posterity on Blu-ray. This one
should be a stocking stuffer for every movie lover on your Christmas wish list.
Buy today, treasure forever.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
3
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