1930s fluff comedies are the French pastry of movies. Their luscious surfaces are matched by their instantly satisfying, sugary taste. Depression-era audiences wanted to see everything work out and everyone be happy. Movies ARE fantasy after all and every era has its dominant delusion.
Today, it’s all about superhero-strewn power fantasy; in the Depression, it was the lives of the idle rich. That meant romance, misadventures and snappy dialogue among white staircases, perfect clothes and glittering jewels. Often a lovable underdog gets dropped into the cocktail like an olive on a plastic spear. They’re there to make waves and bring out the cool side of these aristocrats.
Eighty years later, My Man Godrey still stands as a model of the form. Leads William Powell and Carole Lombard are at their peak (Lombard in particular gets a showcase role as one of the greatest, funniest rich girl madcaps on film) and, while the movie passes the test of being a beautifully crafted comedy, maybe the most interesting thing about this Universal production is its collision of MGM opulence with Warner Bros. frankness about life in the Depression.
It begins in a homeless tent-and-campfire community along the East River in New York City. Its hobos are good-hearted hard luck cases and selfless former bankers or business owners who gave up everything to help their employees after the crash of ’29. Adversity has turned everyone into a comedian or a noble soul, still reaching for their own bootstraps while they’re reluctant to accept handouts. They live in harmony.
Then, two upper crust society dolls come barging in to snatch up one of them (with an offer of $5) for their morbid leisure class scavenger hunt that requires a “forgotten man”. A scruffy Powell happens to be the one they first encounter. He’s hostile toward the ultra-bitchy Gail Patrick, but takes to her space-brained younger sister Carole Lombard and decides to help out. Love blossoms between them in no time. Why?
Because she’s just that crazy, he’s just that mysterious and we the audience are just that interested in seeing these two charisma powerhouses get together. In true screwball fashion, Powell, hired on as the new family butler, is the sensible one on the surface and Lombard is the headcase, yet he’s blind to their mutual love while she sees it clearly. From there, this movie piles on hi-jink after hi-jink to get these two together.
Along the way is a dollop of social commentary about the value of charity and how the destitute man may have more pride and character than you expect. With real skill, director Gregory La Cava never stops to preach it, but instead weaves it into the story, just one more thing to make us feel good at the end. It’s a little extra cream in the eclair.