THE TALK OF THE TOWN: 4K UHD (Columbia, 1942) Sony Home Entertainment

Famed filmmaker/actor, John Cassavetes once said, “Maybe there really wasn't an America. Maybe it was only Frank Capra.” Perhaps…although Cassavetes’ quote could - and should - be expanded to encompass a few other pioneers from Hollywood’s golden age who helped to shape the global impressions of America at large. Chiefly, director, George Stevens. There is little to deny Hollywood’s hand in crafting the collective persona of a great nation with stars like James Stewart and Gregory Peck as its noblemen, Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart, its he-men, Ava Gardner and Lana Turner, its sex bombs, Mary Pickford, America’s sweetheart, June Allyson – its proverbial girl next door, and Esther Williams, its bona fide mermaid. No, Hollywood of yore gave America not only its’ worldwide cultural identity, but also its legacy of prestige as an untouchable panacea for prosperity, joy, sophistication, chic good taste and supreme beauty.

The men behind the camera were no less prolific in disseminating other intangible as discriminate tastes and values that helped to inculcate our impressions of the United States. Hence, when we think of America – the beautiful – very often, we conjure Frank Capra to mind. Incongruously, this same distinction eludes George Stevens. Odd, since Stevens, perhaps even more than Capra, was responsible for reevaluating the American ideal, and far more critical about analyzing its perceptions about itself – particularly in the 1950’s, with maturing thoughts to have transgressed to the other side of atypical ‘Capra-corn’. The obscenities Stevens witnessed first-hand while liberating Nazi concentration camps as part of the American camera corps, left an indelible mark on his picture maker’s point of view. Virtually all of his post-war movies benefited from this culture-shocking epiphany. Arguably, it refocused his innate forthrightness and moral code already well ensconced from within, but given only limited expression in the kinds of movies Stevens made during the first half of his career. Even so, George Stevens was very much interested in celebrating the triumphant American ideal as a salvation of the human spirit.

The case holds particularly true for Stevens’ deliciously served up cause célèbre in jurisprudence, The Talk of The Town (1942), a seemingly featherweight comedy, centered on a trio of attractive misfits: emotionally pixilated schoolmarm, Nora Shelley (a sublime and enchanting, Jean Arthur), devil-may-care escaped convict, Leopold Dilg (a fascinating departure for the usually put together, Cary Grant) and stuffy academic, Michael Lightcap (the stoic and gentlemanly, Ronald Colman). Actually, the comedic machinations unraveling in Irwin Shaw/Sidney Buchman’s screenplay (based on Dale Van Every’s adaptation of Sidney Harmon’s story) are in service to a dire and deadly serious critique of the justice system. At once, The Talk of the Town is an unapologetic appraisal of the spirit of the law, as well as an indictment of its fundamental flaws that can allow for wrongful misdirection by corrupt external forces.

Our hero, Leopold Dilg, is an old campaigner for the spirit of the law. As he puts it to Nora, “Well, it's a form of self-expression. Some people write books. Some people write music. I make speeches on street corners.” But Dilg harbors an unmitigated scorn for the machinery itself, justified, so it seems, in lieu of a battle about to be waged against such intolerance and hypocrisies after Dilg is accused of torching the mills belonging to local fat cat/industrialist, Andrew Holmes (Charles Dingle). The suspected arson is also ‘possibly’ responsible for the death of one of Holmes’ foremen, Clyde Bracken (Tom Tyler). Dilg is ripe for the framing. Ah, but is he guilty? The first six-minutes immediately following the main titles are a brisk jaunt in montage through this seemingly idyllic New England community, rocked by scandal and blindly interested in seeing Dilg hanged for a crime he more than likely did not commit. George Stevens takes us on this Cook’s Tour of this fictional ‘every town’ in America – Lochester – is not without its secrets and lies; also, duplicity shared between big business and local government, herein represented by a corrupt, judge, Grunstadt (George Watts), who has already decided the case against Dilg without even first considering the evidence, and, the nervously complicit, Chief of Police (Don Beddoe), more interested in a speedy resolution that fits in neatly with Grunstadt’s assumptions, than uncovering the cold hard facts for himself.

The irony here is Michael Lightcap has come to Lochester for a recuperative vacation, far removed from the stresses of his teaching post at Harvard. Regrettably, rest and relaxation are not in the cards. Lightcap’s stay at Sweet Water, the rented cottage belonging to Nora Shelley and her mother (Emma Dunn) is further complicated by Nora’s harboring of a fugitive from justice in the attic; none other than Leopold Dilg who, wounded in his prison escape and presently on the lam, has assumed the post of Sweet Water’s groundskeeper to be near Lightcap and ply him with his own interpretations of the law in order to ease Lightcap from his rudimentary and clinical impressions.  The law is clear. Alas, the circumstances in Dilg’s case are severely muddled.

“I don't approve of…but I like people who think in terms of ideal conditions,” Dilg explains to Lightcap, “They're the dreamers, poets, tragic figures in this world, but interesting.” The Shaw/Buchman screenplay is intent on illustrating this near tragedy from both sides, enticingly coated in a refreshing shell of pure slapstick. Like a great seismic shifting of the earth, director Stevens builds his dramatic tempo from a joyous cacophony of comedic crescendos, diametrically opposed to the legitimate tensions being created by these otherwise serious subtexts emanating like tectonic plates; the rupture, occurring when the townsfolk, stirred to furor by Grunstadt’s grandstanding and a mountain of negative press, call for Dilg’s execution, storming the county courthouse to exact their brand of vigilante justice.

The supreme eloquence in Ronald Colman’s delivery of the following lines spares us the film’s sanctimonious morality, nonetheless potent and satisfying, as he declares with adamant conviction, “This is your law and your finest possession - it makes you free men in a free country. Why have you come here to destroy it? If you know what's good for you, take those weapons home and burn them! And then think... think of this country and of the law that makes it what it is. Think of a world crying for this very law and maybe you'll understand why you ought to guard it; why the law has to be the personal concern of every citizen…to uphold it for your neighbor as well as yourself. Violence against it is one mistake. Another mistake is for any man to look upon the law as just a set of principles. And just so much language printed on fine, heavy paper. Something he recites and then leans back and takes for granted: that justice is automatically being done. Both kinds of men are equally wrong. The law must be engraved in our hearts and practiced every minute to the letter and spirit. It can't even exist unless we're willing to go down into the dust and blood and fight a battle every day of our lives to preserve it…for our neighbor as well as ourselves!”

Between such substantial recitations we get a more traditional lover’s triangle, expertly concocted to buttress the emphasis of the story. Both Dilg and Lightcap are, in fact, quite taken with Nora Shelley…albeit, for decidedly different reasons. Fascinatingly, neither seems to be the ideal suitor. Lightcap’s arrival, one windswept and rainy evening, causes him minor distress. He coolly accuses Nora of “monumental inefficiency” for not having the cottage ready (despite the fact he has arrived a whole day ahead of schedule) before phrasing his own general contempt for the fairer sex with some fairly sexist remarks about a woman’s mind becoming “unhinged by the prospects of marriage.” By contrast, there is a sexual earthiness to Dilg’s declaration for Nora’s affections. Almost from the start of their unanticipated reunion, Dilg praises Nora’s beauty with hungry eyes. He commits himself to a playful search for the truth. Alas, Dilg can promise Nora nothing, not even a guarantee of his own freedom.

After some initially awkward screwball moments (Nora hiding Dilg in the attic, smuggling herself back into the cottage after Lightcap has already gone to bed, only to be discovered by Lightcap, thus having to lie to him about a supposed disagreement with her mother so she can stay the night - and finally - a joyously obtuse moment in which Lightcap is stirred by Dilg’s monumental snoring overhead, assuming it is Nora and declaring, “She must have adenoids!” to which Nora later fibs, “You know, they’re as big as your fist!”), The Talk of the Town settles more comfortably into its second act, a curiously domestic series of debates, in which Lightcap’s clinical views of the law are repeatedly challenged by Dilg’s more pragmatic ideas. After all, what good is it to have all this theory unless it can be put to use in common practice?

As for the ‘romance’ between Nora and Michael, Lightcap is far more cerebral in his restraint, but decidedly growing more devoted to Nora by the hour, enough to realize his turn with her has already passed them by, and, nobly stepping aside in the eleventh hour, after accepting his rightful appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court. He tenderly reminisces to Nora, “Look at me, a dream of twenty years come true. More happiness than any man deserves, that chair. But now there's something Else, Nora: My friends. I want to see them as happy as I am. Nothing less will do. And Leopold, what a fine fellow - and I've been thinking, Nora, that if someone were to take his hand and say ‘Leopold, my reckless friend, here's love and companionship, forever.’ Well, some day that man would... You see what I mean, Nora?”

The crux of The Talk of the Town’s comedy is centrally related to its colossal case of mistaken identity. Lightcap thinks Dilg is Joseph, the groundskeeper. Joseph’s keen mind is a source of great amusement for Lightcap. Quickly, however, Dilg brings a more pressing sense and greater moral principle to bear on their discussions. Often, he is confrontational, though always knowing exactly when to pull back and re-frame the argument so as not to insult Lightcap’s intelligence. Under Dilg’s constant prodding to have Lightcap ‘involve himself’ in putting to practice the spirit of the law he so obviously believes in, also with occasionally coaxing from local attorney, Sam Yates (Edgar Buchanan), who firmly believes in Dilg’s innocence, Lightcap begins to do some pro bono investigating of the facts pertaining to the charges levied against Dilg – a man he, presumably, has never met.

At the same time, Lightcap learns he is a nominee for the U.S. Supreme Court. Such an appointment would fulfill his lifelong ambitions. But would it wholly satisfy him in the long run? Momentarily setting aside his own future and, arguably, personal safety, Lightcap makes plans to woo the deceased foreman’s old flame, Regina Bush (Glenda Farrell), who inadvertently gives up the ghost by letting on that Clyde Bracken may not have died in the fire or, in fact, been killed at all. Lightcap is intrigued by this turn of events, regarding himself as a superior sleuth, only to be wounded by discovering the truth about Joseph; that he and Dilg are one in the same.

Disheartened, but more determined than ever to prove Dilg’s innocence, Lightcap convinces Dilg to give himself up to the authorities while he and Nora hightail it to Boston. At the last possible moment, the plan is changed and Dilg accompanies the pair on their search for Bracken. Clyde is found out, still very much alive and ‘persuaded’ by Lightcap to return to Lochester to confess his complicity in the crime, thereby exonerating Dilg of any wrong doing. It was Clyde who set the fire at the mill under Andrew Holmes’ own directive to collect some badly needed insurance money to shore up his debts.

By now, the tide of public resentment toward Dilg has reached its fevered pitch. In a scene reminiscent of the villager’s revolt against the monster in James Whale’s Frankenstein (1932), the townsfolk of Lochester, armed with torches, clubs and pitchforks, charge the courthouse at the darkest hour of Dilg’s sham trial. Justice, it seems, will be administered by mob rule if not under Grunstadt’s corrupt gavel. Mercifully, Lightcap arrives in the nick of time, exposing the truth and challenging the blind-sided rabble to reconsider what it means to excoriate the law for nothing more than immediate – and thoroughly misguided – satisfaction.  Dilg is pronounced innocent and the crowds, only a moments ago hellbent on a hasty demise, now hoist Dilg on their shoulders as a crusader for their own rights and freedom.  Not long thereafter, Nora and Dilg attend Lightcap’s swearing in as a Supreme Court justice, Dilg electing to step out and head for home. Nora, however, has politely declined Lightcap’s proposal of marriage; also, his offer to remain as his assistant in Washington.  Dilg seems to want no part of Nora, even after she throws herself at his head in the antechamber. But only a moment into this rejection, Dilg thinks better of it, grabbing Nora by the hand and dragging her off in his direction, presumably back to Lochester.

The Talk of the Town is exuberant. Yet, too little has been written about the liquidity with which director, George Stevens manages to, mostly – if not completely – migrate from drama, to comedy, to romance, to screwball, juggling these disparate genres with exceptional ease. For Cary Grant, The Talk of the Town proved a pleasurable reunion. He and Stevens had previously worked together on the boisterous adventure yarn, Gunga Din (1939). And Grant, by his very conflicted nature, is capable of giving us two sides to Leopold Dilg. The opening montage, documenting Dilg’s incarceration for the crime of arson, and, his escape from prison by strangling unconscious an unsuspecting guard, reveal a sinister Grant previously unseen in the movies. Fair enough, Grant gave us a fairly unscrupulous cockney con in 1935’s Sylvia Scarlett, and, a brutally authoritarian butch boss in 1939’s Only Angels Have Wings. Yet, in hindsight, these characterizations were immune to further scrutiny because of Grant’s highly polished public persona. By contrast, Grant’s debut in The Talk of the Town deliberately suggests he is, in fact, the bad guy of this piece; a notion, almost immediately dispelled when he succumbs to the pain of a twisted ankle, soaked through to the bone and collapsing in Nora Shelley’s living room.

The conversion Grant’s Leopold Dilg undergoes from this moment forward cannot be overstated; Grant, playing the uncompromising fop to Ronald Colman’s stalwart professor. Colman does, in fact, take much longer to sway Lightcap’s personal investment from clinical theorist to pragmatic applier of the principles of law. Some of The Talk of the Town’s most captivating vignettes are dedicated to each man getting to know the other on his own terms; Dilg, lending Lightcap an ounce of fortitude to step beyond the safety of those ivy-covered walls and Lightcap, reciprocating in kind by opening Dilg’s mind to the concept that even the most impassioned defense of the law must be filtered through the rubric and high-minded ethics, devoted to its legal process. Such dilemmas, undeniably, drew Stevens to make The Talk of the Town and are, in fact, moments that enrich and elevate the purpose of this otherwise seemingly straightforward screwball comedy. In some ways, though particularly in hindsight, The Talk of the Town may be regarded as George Stevens’ first serious work with Stevens, no longer contented to take his cast through the paces across points ‘A’ to ‘B’.

The Talk of the Town is remarkably non-linear in this regard - especially in its second act, as our triumvirate settles into a sort of strained domesticity with the constant threat of Leopold’s discovery dangling over their heads, though only Leopold and Nora are aware of their predicament, as yet. One recalls with a smile the innocuous recovery of the morning paper from the stoop, its front page splashed with a tabloid headline and Leopold’s mug shot, forcing Nora to cut a swath from kitchen to the dinette and deliberately drop Lightcap’s double-yolk egg breakfast in the very spot where he might otherwise have discovered his gardener’s true identity. Or the instant when Lightcap, as yet unaware of Leopold’s existence – even as his alter ego, Joseph – is narrowly missed with a bang on the head from a boot falling out a second story window; Nora, pitching the errand footwear back into the attic, before pretending to a bewildered Lightcap, with arm still extended, to be suffering from acute tendonitis. These are joyously silly moments, to be sure, attesting to some of the visual gags George Stevens showed a mastery and proclivity for in earlier hits like the Astaire/Rogers musical, Swing Time (1936) and slap-happy screwball darling, Vivacious Lady (1938). Even more remarkable, they seem perfectly at home within The Talk of the Town’s more densely packed narrative.

While some movies are an obvious credit to the people behind the camera, as well as those set before it, The Talk of the Town manages to make us forget about those invisible minions. Frederick Hollander’s score is sparse but affecting. The main title is reused at interpolating tempos as the picture’s love theme. Ted Tetzlaff’s cinematography is first rate, yet never to draw attention to Lionel Banks’ sets. This is not to suggest either is out of place. On the contrary, each proves the perfect complement to this star-driven morality play. And George Stevens knows he has box office gold even if not one of its three leads was Oscar-nominated in a movie otherwise to receive no less than 7 nods for consideration. Shamefully – with no wins.

Kudos ought to have at least gone to Sidney Buchman and Irwin Shaw for their bristling bombast and expertly placed bon mots. Grant, Arthur, and Colman are three of the most expertly skilled thespians of their generation, and, their on-screen chemistry is superior to anything else, except the script.  Interestingly, Colman’s popularity at the box office had dipped at the time The Talk of the Town went before the cameras. The picture’s colossal smash put him right back on top. In the final analysis, The Talk of the Town is both magical and memorable. In an era when so many movies cannot even juggle a single premise, much less two or three, this movie effortlessly navigates through a myriad of genres and styles with a chameleon’s penchant to entertain us, whatever our tastes. Succinctly done and with great flourish and gusto. Bravo!

The Talk of the Town arrived on my stoop earlier this evening, and, naturally, I simply had to watch it at once, and, happy to report that I have just come away from the experience of seeing Sony’s new 4K quite pleased…mostly, if not altogether. My displeasure is minimal, though worth noting, and stems entirely from the fact that, while this new 4K represents a monumental upgrade from the withering and worn-out DVD of yore, it nevertheless has not been able to rectify all of that previous effort’s shortcomings. First and foremost, there remains some shimmering of fine details. This was egregious on the DVD with manipulated edge enhancement creating havoc. Save a handful of shots on the 4K, this has all but been eradicated. But it is distressing to still find its presence intermittent in a meticulous 4K scan.  The scenes immediately following Michael Lightcap’s first night at Sweetbrook, including his morning breakfast, show untoward shimmer in background detail in the upper left corner, as well as lower foreground where spectral highlights on a tea pot and silver cutlery create needless image instability.

The other concern here is contrast. While the DVD was obscenely boosted and faded throughout, 90% of this image looks pretty spiffy in 4K, showing off Ted Tetzlaff’s cinematography to its best advantage. It’s the other 10% that still bleaches out fine details in faces in long and medium shots. And several scenes still appear as though to have been artificially grainier. Given Columbia’s decade’s long disregard for archiving vintage treasures like The Talk of the Town, long before Sony and Grover Crisp became the custodians of Columbia’s illustrious history and back catalog, I am uncertain how much of this new 4K was sourced from either an original camera negative or, at least, first-generation print source. Sony’s official press release claims this new 4K to be George Steven’s ‘original version’ (whatever that means), as comparing it to the old DVD, the narrative structure and editing are virtually identical. This means the old DVD was also Steven’s ‘original’ or someone inside Sony’s PR department just doesn’t know what they’re talking about!

My final bone of contention is the lack of a standard Blu to accompany the 4K (as this will surely limit sales of this deep catalog release to those who are only set up for 4K) and, last but certainly not least of all, the atrocious, colorized artwork used for this slip-case cover, indictive of no actual scene from the movie (Cary Grant never wears a tux as Dilg), but a composite, presumably used in lobby card promotions. The DVD included original poster art. This should have been the standard bearer here too. Alas, it’s not, and the blurry quality of the cover art on this 4K really does the movie a disservice, especially for those unaware of just how great the actual movie is.    

Now, for the pluses.  Image quality throughout, with exceptions paid to the aforementioned anomalies, is rather striking. Blacks are deeply saturated and fine detail could scarcely be improved. The movie is, after all, 82 years young. And while the acting hasn’t aged, the film elements have. So, Sony’s desire to go straight to 4K for this deep catalog release is an impressive inference 4K benefits more than 2K. But does it? Well, the B&W image looks gorgeous when the aforementioned anomalies are not present and contrast pulls in at a respectable register.  A handful of shots have softer than anticipated focus, likely owing to some sort of second or third generation source being used where nothing more substantial has survived. Age-related artifacts have been thoroughly eradicated. 

The DTS 2.0 mono audio is a minor curiosity. During Ronald Colman’s early scenes, his voice has a deeper sonic resonance than his costars, which suggests, either his vocals were dubbed in post-production, or the new audio refurbish has a weird glitch. Can’t say for certain which is the case. But while Grant and Arthur’s voices derive a natural ambiance, Colman’s first few lines sound as though he were reciting them in a tunnel. It all improves shortly thereafter, and sounds solid for the duration of the film’s run-time. We get an audio commentary from author, Marilyn Ann Moss, only occasionally informative, but lethally rambling. There’s also a ‘featurette’ that ‘talks’ about The Talk of the Town, produced for the DVD release. It’s brief and not terribly prepossessing. Bottom line: The Talk of the Town is a watershed classic, deserving of our renewed admiration. The extras are colossally disappointing, especially for a 4K release. But the 4K offers a mostly competent, and, at times, very impressive rendering. Is it perfect? Alas, no. Recommended, with caveats.

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

5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

1.5