Wednesday Minute
No. 194 | November 24, 2010

Out of Print

Our theme this week
Films about the newspaper biz

Featured this week (theme introduction)
Monday         —   Zodiac (2007)
Tuesday         —   All the President’s Men (1976)

His Girl Friday

Often the trouble with lists is not what’s on them but what has been left off.  Take The New York Times Presents ‘Smarter By Sunday,’ a new volume I picked up at the bookstore last night.  Though the Times does the “presenting,” it doesn’t appear that Times writers wrote the book, which bills itself as a compendium of “essential knowledge for the curious mind.”  Each chapter offers a quick review of one topic or another, ranging from China to Shakespeare to languages of the world to the history of physics.  Naturally, I found myself paging through the section on film.  It was going along fine until I came to its list of ten “Great American Film Directors.”  Exactly one director on the list is still living (Coppola), so it’s not exactly breaking new ground.  That’s not the problem, though.  You see the usual names—Ford, Hitchcock, Capra, Wilder, Wyler—plus a few you might question if they belong on a list of ten.  But what had me scratching my head was a name not on the list.  How do you put together a list of ten American directors, all but one active between 1930 and 1960, and not include Howard Hawks?

Arguing about lists is an endless task, but I’ll keep this short:  Scarface, Twentieth Century, Bringing Up Baby, Only Angels Have Wings, Sergeant York, To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Red River, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Rio Bravo.  I rest my case.

Hawks was a quintessential American director, and the films he made, in a way, helped define the American character.  Other directors may be known as masters of genre or technique, but Hawks, a remarkably versatile director, is perhaps best remembered for the characters he brought to life.  The men and women in his stories were tough, savvy, funny.  They were confident and optimistic, and in that way, as we sometimes like to think of ourselves, classically American.  Above all, they were vital, and that may be why Hawks’s films are so utterly watchable many years later.  We recognize the people onscreen, what they want and what they do to go after it.  To my eye, those characters would be as at home today as they were at the time the films were made.  I can’t think of another director who compares with Hawks on that score.

His Girl Friday is a quick answer to the question, Is a remake ever better than the original?  The Front Page, a play by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, was a hit on Broadway in 1928, and first adapted for the screen in 1931.  Hawks changed one character from a man to a woman, added a new title, and made movie magic, creating one of the all-time classic screwball comedies.

Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell star as newpaper reporters Walter Burns and Hildy Johnson.  Walter and Hildy were once married, but now Hildy has a new fiancé, Bruce Baldwin, a mild-mannered insurance salesman played by Ralph Bellamy.  When Walter learns of Hildy’s plans to settle down and leave the news business behind, he does whatever he can to sabotage her plans.  Walter is all cunning and easy charm, and Grant’s performance is a marvel to watch.  Russell was superb as the star reporter who yearns for the simple life, yet can’t resist the temptations of the big city paper.  The story that ropes her in is the saga of convicted killer Earl Williams (John Qualen).  The action follows his escape and the ensuing manhunt.  The killer has a reprieve coming, while the authorities, especially the mayor, turn out to be crooked, and the wisecracking, cynical newspaper couple, just looking to get the story, help save the little guy.

His Girl Friday is a fast-moving, fast-talking comedy, with a serious side hidden beneath the laughs.  The film is famous for its dialogue—characters are constantly talking over one another—an influence on later generations of filmmakers.  The film is also famous for being funny and witty in ways we unfortunately just don’t see anymore.

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His Girl Friday (1940)
Howard Hawks, director
Ben Hecht, Charles MacArthur (play), Charles Lederer (screenplay), writers
Joseph Walker, director of photography
Trailer

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His Girl Friday (1940)
Howard Hawks, director
Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell

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Quote of note
Mayor:  Well, looks like about ten years apiece for you two birds.
Walter:  Does it?
Hildy:  If you think you’ve got the Morning Post licked it’s time for you to get out of town.
Mayor:  Whistling in the dark.  Well, that isn’t going to help you this time.  You’re through.
Walter:  Listen, the last man that said that to me was Archie Leach just a week before he cut his throat.
—Mayor (Clarence Kolb), Walter Burns (Cary Grant, né Archibald Leach), Hildy Johnson (Rosalind Russell), His Girl Friday (1940)

…58…59…60.

Friday Minute
No. 121 | June 18, 2010

Take Five

Our theme this week
Movies that provide (a certain) R&R

Featured this week (theme introduction)
Monday         —   Rio Rita (1942)
Tuesday         —   Rambling Rose (1991)
Wednesday    —   The Rebel Rousers (1970)
Thursday        —   Revolutionary Road (2008)

Red River (1948)

Howard Hawks made most of his movies during the black-and-white era, yet his films are as colorful—and alive—as those of any director in Hollywood history.  His work spans many genres, and though he’d made a few westerns years before, none was near the achievement of Red River, a bona fide classic and his first of five films with John Wayne.  As Thomas Dunson, Wayne played the tyrannical leader of a cattle drive who keeps pushing his men until they mutiny.  The cast includes a young Montgomery Clift and a veteran Walter Brennan.  An unsentimental look at cowboy life, the film features lively performances, sweeping photography, and some heart-pumping action.

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Red River (1948)
Howard Hawks, director
John Wayne, Montgomery Clift, Walter Brennan

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Red River (1948)
Howard Hawks, director
Cattle Drive

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Quote of Note
“We brought nothing into this world and it’s certain we can carry nothing out.”
—Thomas Dunson (John Wayne), Red River (1948)

…58…59…60.