THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER: Blu-ray (MGM, 1940) Warner Archive

 On Nov. 30, 1947, director, Ernst Lubitsch unexpectedly died of a heart attack. He was only 55 years young. And for many, the untimely passing marked a definite shift in movie-land pop culture. Indeed, exiting the funeral, fellow admirers of Lubitsch’s craft, screenwriter, Billy Wilder, turned to director, William Wyler, reportedly to have lamented, “No more Lubitsch” to which Wyler unhappily replied with an even more sobering acknowledgement - “Worse than that – no more Lubitsch pictures!” Indeed, even though his star had slightly declined after the golden epoch of 1940, Lubitsch remained a celebrated figure in the industry, his final – and unfinished movie – The Lady in Ermine, completed posthumously at 2oth Century-Fox and released to little acclaim the following year. Lubitsch’s artistry extended all the way back to the early teens, and the infancy of the silent era in picture-making, considered by many as one of the founding pioneers of a certain unique brand of European sophistication that fairly reeked of high-class culture.  The accolades afforded him in his brief span of years was, indeed, well-deserved, and, in the annals of light romantic comedies, few proved as effervescent a champagne cocktail as The Shop Around the Corner (1940), a sparkling, uber-sophisticated and ultra-witty bon-bon from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer – a studio better known during this vintage for its serious romances, exquisitely handcrafted melodramas, and, super-duper musical extravaganzas.

Lubitsch had first come to prominence as an actor in 1913, appearing in 30 movies until 1920, when he officially abandoned a life in front of the camera for an even more lucrative mastery of its possibilities behind the scenes. Lubitsch’s finest works hail from a fanciful land of home-branded make-believe, neither entirely European nor American, rather a queer amalgam derived from the best in each’s cultural sentiments. His comedies in particular are exercises fraught with doleful sagacity, the etiquettes of an ambitious middle-class pasted against the idiotic transgressions of the super-rich finding a common ground in their clash of socio-sexual mores, contravened then Band-Aided in revered modishness, capable of finessing the rougher edges of any indiscretion – the tease brought into line, though never entirely to heel to its conservative creed, and, thinly to infer, the naughty could also be very nice. In his infancy, Lubitsch explored his craft, toggling between lithe comedies and large-scale historical dramas – enjoying unprecedented success in both genres. His greatest spectacles from the era - Madame Du Barry (retitled Passion, 1919), Anna Boleyn (a.k.a Deception, 1920), and, Carmen (released as Gypsy Blood,1921) found immediate favor on both sides of the Atlantic; Lubitsch capitalizing on the strength of his intercontinental popularity by starting his own company, producing the magnificent epic, The Loves of Pharaoh (1921). Alas, with growing animosity after the advent of WWI, the German-born Lubitsch made a tactical retreat back to his homeland, deeply admiring the American studios from afar for their impressive resources.

Lubitsch’s tenure in Hollywood began in 1922 when he was contracted by superstar, and, America’s sweetheart, Mary Pickford to direct her in Rosita – a massive box office hit. Alas, director and star clashed so during its filming, this ended up being their only collaboration. Remarkably, almost immediately thereafter Lubitsch was snatched up by Warner Brothers for a 3-year/6-picture deal, providing him with unprecedented autonomy to pursue his projects his way. Curiously, Lubitsch’s sophisticated comedies for the studio were only marginally successful; Lubitsch, dissolving his partnership after only 3 movies before moving into a sort of time share deal between MGM and Paramount. For Metro, he made The Student Prince in Old Heidelberg (1927), a critically received movie that lost money. The Patriot (1928), for Paramount, earned him his first Best Director Oscar nomination. Mercifully, Lubitsch’s first talkie, The Love Parade (1929) was a titanic smash, and followed by Monte Carlo (1930), and The Smiling Lieutenant (1931) – each hailed as a masterpiece, all costarring Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald. Lubitsch’s cynical comedy, Trouble in Paradise (1932) proved so scandalous, it was pulled from circulation after the installation of the Production Code in 1935, buried from public view until 1968, and not given an official home video debut until 2003. Perhaps, acutely aware he had pushed the envelope too far, Lubitsch marginally withdrew ever so slightly, directing the sparkling One Hour with You (1932), elegant Design for Living (1933), and resplendent The Merry Widow (1934). Indeed, Paramount’s faith in his capabilities was so solid, he was appointed their production manager in 1935, making Lubitsch the only director to command the full resources of any studio. However, the strain proved too great and his tenure as a mogul barely lasted the year. Arguably, Lubitsch reached the height of his career with two iconic comedies made back-to-back; 1939’s Ninotchka, for which the usually serious Garbo took to comedy like a duck to water, playing an austere Russian commissar, and, The Shop Around the Corner, to bring together 3 marvelous talents – James Stewart, Margaret Sullavan and Frank Morgan.

Sullavan and Stewart had co-starred before, and it was largely due to her faith in his then raw talents that Stewart was not fired from 1935’s Next Time We Love – the movie for which she heavily petitioned Universal to accept Stewart as her romantic lead. At the time, Stewart and Sullavan’s first ex-husband, Henry Fonda were very good friends. And although Sullavan rather clairvoyantly predicted Stewart would become a big star, Universal’s top brass were disenchanted by her petitions on his behalf; ditto for director, Edward H. Griffith, who relentlessly bullied Stewart daily on the set and threatened to have him removed from the production. Determined to see Stewart succeed, by night, Sullavan rehearsed her leading man to reign in his awkwardness, so much that by the time he returned to MGM, his acting prowess had become credibly refined and distinct. Alas, rumors abounded Sullavan and Stewart were lovers, causing a rift in her second marriage to director, William Wyler. When Sullavan divorced Wyler and wed Leland Hayward in rapid succession in 1936, Stewart's frequent visits to the couple’s home continued to fuel these rumors. Nevertheless, MGM capitalized on the pair’s ‘chemistry’ in The Shopworn Angel (1938), The Shop Around the Corner, and, finally, The Mortal Storm (1940).

The Shop Around the Corner endures as a clever and charming entertainment whose romantic protagonists remain at cross purposes for almost the entire duration of the picture; Sullavan and Stewart cast as coworkers in a retail shop, set in a rather fancifully conceived Budapest a la MGM’s glamor factory. They bicker by day, but unexpectedly fall in love with each other’s correspondences, quite unaware the other has written such loving prose they both admire. As each is too rhapsodically in love with being in love to spot their ideal lover lurking right under their noses, the screenplay by Samson Raphaelson (Lubitsch’s favorite writer) illustrates how close good people come to missing their one chance at having their genuine romantic longings fulfilled. We are wholly invested in what happens to these two people, actually to vicariously ‘live’ in their expectations and apprehensions so that we ache for their reconciliation – the moment, Sullavan's gloved hand desperately searches an empty mail box for a letter never to come, one of the most heartbreaking scenes in any movie devoted to romantic love. Lubitsch’s uncanny knack for transforming what otherwise might be considered overwrought melodrama into the epitome of chic good taste, is working overtime here – performing a clever cakewalk between all of Raphaelson’s nimble narrative threads seamlessly stitched into a ‘lighter than air’ satisfactory conclusion. What is most remarkable about the film when viewed today is how little its elusive charm has aged in the interim – still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die.

Stewart is Alfred Kralik (James Stewart), top salesman at a leather goods store owned by the easily excitable, Hugo Matuschek (Frank Morgan). Kralik's coworkers include his best friend and devoted family man, Pirovitch (Felix Bressart), the oily womanizer, Ferencz Vadas (Joseph Schildkraut), saleswoman, Ilona Novotny (Inez Courtney), a clerk, Flora Kaczek (Sara Haden), and ambitious stock boy, Pepi Katona (William Tracy). Kralik confides in Pirovitch he is in love with a woman he has never met, but has been corresponding with anonymously after answering her lonely hearts ‘ad’ in the newspaper. Kralik is Mr. Matuschek's most trusted employee. Alas, of late, the two have not seen eye to eye on a great deal, including Matuschek's most recent acquisition of cigarette boxes that play ‘Ochi Chërnye’. Enter Klara Novak (Margaret Sullavan), looking for a job. Kralik rejects her application, quite unaware she is the woman he has been corresponding with all this time. However, as she is able to sell one of the cigarette boxes almost immediately, Mr. Matuschek employs her. The tension this creates causes the usually cool and collected Kralik some personal grief.

As Christmas approaches, Kralik prepares to dine with his mystery correspondent. Alas, Mr. Matuschek demands everyone remain after work for inventory, and later, fires Kralik whom he suspects of having an affair with his wife. Matuschek then meets with a private investigator who informs him of his wife’s affair with Ferencz Vadas. A distraught Matuschek retires to his office, but is prevented by Pepi from committing suicide. Meanwhile, Kralik arrives at the Cafe Nizza, where he discovers Klara is his mystery woman. Despite his initial disappointment, Kralik reconciles his own bias toward Klara, partly responsible for their mutual animosity, regroups and attempts to engage her in conversation, pretending he is actually there to dine with Pirovitch. Fearing Kralik's presence will derail the romantic rendezvous with her mystery correspondent, Klara admonishes Kralik as a ‘little insignificant clerk’ and orders him to leave her alone. Now, Kralik visits Mr. Matuschek in hospital. The careworn boss offers Kralik back his job and a promotion. Heartsore that her mystery man never showed at the café, Klara calls in sick and Kralik, determined she should recognize him as the fellow she has been admiring from afar, now visits her apartment. He observes as her aloof and forlorn manner toward him receives a badly needed boost after the latest letter he has written to her anonymously arrives by post and is quietly read in his presence. On Christmas eve, the store achieves record sales. As Kralik and Klara prepare for close, she confides in him that when first they met, she had a desperate crush on him, and he, believing the time is right, now reveals to her his true identity as the author of all those ‘wonderful letters’ she has cherished. The couple embrace and tenderly kiss.

The Shop Around the Corner is one of those rare ‘perfect’ pictures in Hollywood’s pantheon. The golden age of Tinsel Town produced many memorable entertainments. But ‘Shop’ is of such an ideal and unique presence in its formidably crafted storytelling, furthered along by the genuine romantic chemistry between its two costars, it rises far and above the usual hokum of most any sparkling rom/com. The achievement is, in no small way, owed to Lubitsch’s lithe touch. But so too, Stewart and Sullivan’s genuine and convincing appeal as lovers, painfully unaware of each other for almost the entire movie. The picture fairly reeks of sweetness and light, though never to dribble saccharine. Frank Morgan is a befuddled delight - just the sort of nonsensical boss with the proverbial heart of gold one might wish for in an employer. As Hollywood never let go of a good idea, The Shop Around the Corner was remade twice; first, in 1949 as a rather second-rate musical starring Judy Garland and Van Johnson; In the Good Old Summertime, then again in 1998, with director, Nora Ephron straining to duplicate its escapist magic in the updated, You’ve Got Mail - pitting an internet rivalry between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks as competitive book sellers in New York City. Again, it didn’t work. Which brings me to a long overdue conclusion about classic movies in totem: that their inimitable style, once perfected, can never be duplicated again. A true classic endures because of an intangible quality that cannot be exclusively attributed to a good cast, a great director or an excellent screenplay (even as essential as all three are), but rather, to an ephemeral coming together of these, along with other virtues, somehow miraculously stirred and combined with that elusive sprinkle of stardust only the camera sees during filming, but later, gets amplified when projected onto that larger-than-life canvas of a movie screen. The Shop Around the Corner has such a quality, better left unquantifiable in words, and best experienced by basking in the afterglow of its finely polished gemstone whenever screened today.

The Warner Archive’s Blu-ray release of The Shop Around the Corner has been long overdue, though arguably, well worth the wait. The DVD from 1999 was the benefactor of a major restoration and clean up in 1998. So, this new 4K scan derived from original elements certainly had an excellent base. And, predictably, WAC delivers the goods. The image harvest is a winner through and through, with creamy textures, gorgeous contrast, superbly rendered film grain, and, a thoroughly refined quality, showing off all the fine details in the picture’s luminous production design, lensed to perfection by William H. Daniels. There remains a hint of edge enhancement here. Aside: I do wish WAC would get a handle on this easily correctible anomaly. The effect is intermittent, but draws undue attention to itself, especially since everything else about this hi-def scan is first-rate. The DTS 1.0 mono audio sounds absolutely fabulous. Extras are limited to two radio adaptations of the movie and its theatrical trailer – a shame. Bottom line: The Shop Around the Corner is a thoroughly satisfying, tender rom/com, an assessment that appears somehow oddly to diminish its many virtues. This new-to-Blu deep catalog release, while not perfect, is a major improvement over Warner’s DVD and likely as good as it gets on home video. Buy with confidence, then – and definitely, treasure forever!

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

4

EXTRAS

1