MR. LUCKY: Blu-ray (RKO Radio Pictures, 1943) Warner Archive

Cary Grant gives one of his greatest performances as the multi-faceted con, Joe Adams in director, H.C. Potter’s Mr. Lucky (1943), a snappily-dressed grifter/gambler whose impoverished past is coated with a thin veneer of moneyed suaveness. At times, Grant allows us dangerously close to his own modest upbringing, something he otherwise kept vague once the debonaire persona of the Cary Grant we all came to know and love was cast in Teflon. The real Grant? Perhaps, Grant himself never even understood. But by the end of the 1930’s, Cary Grant - the facade he wanted us to believe in, indestructible, carefree nonchalance, was cemented in the cinema firmament as fact.

So, it is saying much about the Milton Holmes/Adrian Scott screenplay, based on a story first published in Cosmopolitan by Holmes the year before, that it does its level best to expose Grant as a creature from a far less cultured past, rarely witnessed at the movies, and almost never to be seen again afterward. In one of the Mr. Lucky’s most riveting moments, Adams’ socialite/paramour, Loraine Day’s Dorothy Bryant, blackmails her stuffy grandfather (Henry Stephenson) by telephone with the threat to marry Joe unless he acquiesces to her demands. The ruse works, but it incurs Joe’s ire and disgust. “To you we’re just animals,” Joe bitterly declares, “You talk of this side of your family and that side. Where I come from there was only one side and it was dirt poor!” Here, perhaps more than any other scene in any movie in which he appeared, Cary Grant pierces through George Barne’s romanticized cinematography with wounded eyes, exhibiting an uncharacteristic brute charisma, wed to looks that could truly annihilate.

Loraine Day and Grant have a wonderfully antagonistic, almost screwball chemistry throughout much of this picture. Yet, it’s in moments such as this aforementioned exchange where each establishes a palpable bitterness that breaks stubborn preconceptions about class and culture. Day’s doe-eyed glance of wounded rejection, quite unaware how far she has struck, with callousness, a stake through the very fiber of Joe Adams’ being, is offset by Grant’s penetrating inability to forgive the idle rich their idleness. In other movies from this period in which Grant appeared, like George Stevens’ Talk of the Town, or George Cukor’s Holiday, Grant’s heroes come to question, even challenge authority built upon moneyed privilege. But nowhere else in Grant’s cinematic pantheon does he so fervently attack and despise it as pure poison to the content of his character.

In the penultimate exchange between these angry lovers, Grant turns his back on a tear-stained Day as Dorothy pleads from the docks to his departing ship their moment of reconciliation. However, only after a period of adjustment, presumably several months, does Joe, now a mariner, steelier in his resolve to swear off women, suddenly, and perhaps unexpectedly realize his heart is forever tethered to this sadder-but-wiser-gal left behind, and, whose apology for hailing from the upper classes is to go slumming nightly at the wharf in her impeccable ermine, hoping for a glimpse of Joe’s steamer to materialize from the gloomy fog. Predictably, Dorothy’s penitence is rewarded when Joe acknowledges his grifter days are at an end.

Mr. Lucky opens and closes with scenes from the wharf as Joe’s old pal, Swede (Charles Bickford) regales the night watchman (Emory Parnell) with the story of how Adams and Bryant first met. We meet Adams in his prime and element – a gambler/grifter entrenched with two problems. First, his partner, Zepp (Paul Stewart), whom he conned into joining the army, is plotting a sinister revenge. Joe, however, dodges the draft by posing as one of their underlings, Joe Bascopoulos, since deceased, but previously classified by the army as 4F (unfit to serve). Meanwhile, Zepp fails his physical examination and is excused from active service. As Bascopoulos, Joe needs capital to bankroll his gambling enterprise. To this end, he schmoozes the local War Relief Captain, Veronica Steadman (Gladys Cooper) into authorizing him to manage a charity casino for the cause. Only Joe’s actual plan is to make off with the payroll from this event and split the profits among his stoolies.

Steadman is smitten by Joe’s obvious charm. But her lieutenant, the affluent Dorothy Bryant is unamused. Moreover, she sees through Joe’s slick style. In turn, Joe becomes fixated on Bryant’s pertness and endeavors at every moment to wear down her resolve. This he does – partly. The various verbal sparrings between the couple are playful and spirited, but increasingly manifest as sexual tension, rather than chemistry that, perhaps, neither is prepared to see through to the great love of their lives. On the day of the charity ball, Joe receives a letter from Bascopoulos’ mother in Greece. As it is written in her native language, Joe takes the letter to an Orthodox priest (Vladimir Sokoloff) for translation, learning of the loss of Bascopoulos’ four brothers who, as with the rest of the men in his village, died nobly in attempting to protect their village from Nazi occupation. Touched by their sacrifice, Joe reexamines his motivations toward Dorothy as well as his plans to make off with the ill-gotten gains from the ball.

Joe instructs his right-hand man, Crunk (Alan Carney) to ensure all the money taken in from the fundraiser goes directly to the war relief effort. But Zepp, overhearing this revised plan, holds Joe at gunpoint, hiding the cash in false bottom containers he intends to keep for himself. In the resulting struggle to regain the cash boxes, Joe takes a bullet from Zepp’s pistol, though not before bludgeoning Zepp to death. Joe survives, narrowly, and elects with Swede’s help to become a crew member on a steamship. Joe has Swede return all the money to Dorothy. Discovering Joe’s real identity, Dorothy hurries to the docks. But she is too late to rejoin her love as he sails into the dark mists ahead. Time passes. But Dorothy’s wounded heart endures. Nightly she returns to the docks, hoping for a glimpse of the steamer. Believing the lovers should be reunited, Swede arranges a coin toss with a ‘fixed’ coin for Joe. Ordered to confront Dorothy one last time, Joe’s hard heart is softened by her tearful declaration of love. They embrace as a gratified Swede looks on.

Mr. Lucky is an exquisitely played dramedy, peerless in its lithe and loveable screen chemistry and its wonderfully assembled bit players who are as much cherished and entrancing as they once were instantly recognizable to audiences of their day. It is most refreshing to see Gladys Cooper cast as gentle and bright-eyed herein. Her screen persona often bent towards the brittle and even shrewish spinster. And Florence Bates as the knit-happy instructor, Mrs. Van Every is equally as delightful, shorn of her more caustic and confrontational usage elsewhere at the movies. Paul Stewart is a formidable baddie, offset by the ever-loyalties of Alan Carney. The Holmes/Scott screenplay miraculously gives everyone something to do, and better than this, inveigles each well-cured ham into bits of business that allow them to burrow deep into our hearts. Roy Webb’s score is stock fluff at best and lacks any sort of distinguishing melodies. It’s probably just as well. Mr. Lucky is a movie made in its highly intelligent and frequent verbal exchanges that endear us to these characters. The silliness becomes sane and the stock, moustache-twirling villain evolves into a truly bone-chilling menace by the third act.

Mr. Lucky was a hit for RKO Radio Pictures at a particularly crucial moment in the studio’s declining history when one was badly needed. It spawned several radio adaptations shortly thereafter and then, in 1959, a much-praised, though rarely seen and quickly canceled television series directed by Blake Edwards, with a memorable main title by Henry Mancini. Important to note, the TV show bears no earthly resemblance to the characters or plot of the original movie and was, in fact, based on Edwards’ own Dante’s Inferno – a reoccurring franchise on Four Star Playhouse. Viewed today, Mr. Lucky – the movie – is solid and deftly executed, hailing from the ‘little gem’ class in American picture-making long since defunct and out of fashion. Remarkably, it plays with a vitality few movies of its vintage possess and is, at its crux, a refreshing departure for the Cary Grant persona we only thought we knew as the man and the legend.

The Warner Archive (WAC) has resurrected Mr. Lucky from oblivion. Previous home video incarnations have ranked between mediocre to downright ‘bootleg’ poor. This new-to-Blu looks wonderful on the whole.  There are some minor caveats worth mentioning. The early scenes, shot at night, exhibit an overall softness that seems less than refined, and not entirely in keeping with the moodily lit and heavily diffused cinematography to simulate fog. It just looks a little off. Mercifully, the bulk of this image, taking place under stringent studio-bound lighting conditions to mimic daylight, is robust, clean and expertly contrasted, with oodles of fine detail abounding, especially in close-up. Details in fabric, hair, skin and backgrounds is gorgeous. The B&W image sparkles with crispness. Age-related artifacts have been cleaned up. The 2.0 DTS mono is smooth, with excellent clarity and not hiss or pop. Extras include 2 radio broadcasts and a theatrical trailer.

Bottom line: Mr. Lucky is a superb example of that heightened sense of reality Hollywood craftsmanship once claimed as its own alternate universe to the one the rest of us occupy. The picture’s Damon Runyon-esque quality aside, here is a movie that allows Cary Grant to act as we have rarely seen him do before – with such stark and stern devotion to his alter ego, a man with whom he clearly identifies on some subliminal level. The Blu-ray is a quality affair and belongs on the shelf of every serious film afficinado.  Very highly recommended!

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

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

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