The Cult Movie Project #7 (of 200) :: Quipping With Sharks and the Fine Art of Gender Upheaval: Howard Hawks' His Girl Friday (1940)

Originally intended for Broadway, The Front Page was written by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, both former newspapermen from the self-aggrandizing and cutthroat (dark) days of Chicago's circulation wars, basing their characters on themselves and several old colleagues. Produced by Jed Harris and directed by the legendary George S. Kaufman, their play proved a smashing success. Seems audiences were delighted by the intricate plotting and the snarky, slang-filled dialogue of the irascible characters that inhabited the newsroom of The Examiner. Howard Hughes obtained the film rights and Bartlett Cormack adapted the screenplay for Lewis Milestone's 1931 film adaptation for United Artists, with an assist by Charles Lederer.

Lederer was also a holdover for Howard Hawks' proposed gender-bending remake of The Front Page for Columbia nine years later, who stayed true to Hecht and MacArthur's crackerjack, rapid-fire dialogue, soon to be his director's signature trademark, in perhaps the screwiest of screwball comedies of all time, His Girl Friday (1940).

"I had noticed that when people talk, they talk over one another," Hawks expounded later during an interview with fellow director, Peter Bogdanovich. "Especially people who talk fast or who are arguing or describing something. So we wrote the dialogue in a way that made the beginnings and ends of sentences unnecessary; they were there for overlapping."

To get the right mix for this effect, the director employed several microphones for each take, some hanging from above, others hidden around the set, all going to the same recorder, requiring the sound man to keep the dialogue in-synch with the switch-flipping to keep the right mic hot -- as many as 35 times a take! I'm telling ya, having a conversation in this film is like swimming with sharks in deep water, where multiple characters must keep paddling and defensively flailing to stop from drowning and being devoured simultaneously. And this is why His Girl Friday is one of those flicks that absolutely requires multiple viewings, where a person can pick up something new each and every time and STILL not catch it all.

Now, there are many apocryphal tales surrounding exactly why Hawks pulled this gender switch, making the battling and bickering Walter Burns and Hildebrant Johnson a divorced couple instead of just being an unscrupulous editor and a crack reporter. One catalytic influence that I think gets overlooked is Torchy Blane. See, in-between adaptations, Warner Bros. had unleashed Glenda Farrell in a successful series of films, starting with Smart Blonde (1937), spotlighting a savvy, motor-mouthed female reporter with an acid-tongue who always outwitted, out-quipped and out-reported her male counterparts, and she always, always, got in the last cracked-wise word with everyone, that were truly hilarious.

The most oft told tale on the origin of this switcheroo is how Hawks had his secretary reading the part of Johnson during the pre-production phase (other sources claim it was at dinner party during a dialogue tutorial) and a mental light-bulb clicked on, sending the director scrambling to Lederer for, well, not as massive a rewrite as you'd think because even though the story might've changed the dialogue remained the same as the scheming and cajoling Burns still wants his ace reporter to get him the real scoop on a condemned man (Qualen) destined to be hanged at midnight for his newspaper but this is also part of his overall stratagem to win her back by derailing (the now) Hildegarde Johnson's impending marriage to a doltish (but earnest and completely overwhelmed) insurance salesmen who kinda looks like Ralph Bellamy.

What's a cold hard fact is that Rosalind Russell was about sixth or seventh in line for the role and only got it when Carole Lombard proved too expensive and several other big names -- Katharine Hepburn, Claudette Colbert, Margaret Sullavan, Ginger Rogers, Irene Dunn, and Jean Arthur -- took a pass; a source of bitter contention between the actress and the director, causing a few dust-ups during production. Lombard was Hawks' first choice for Hildy, then Hepburn, whom he had hoped to pair up with Cary Grant again just like in the director's other britches-burning comedy, Bringing Up Baby (1938). Grant was the director's first choice all along for Walter Burns, who had a ball. For once, the actor got to stir the pot instead of being at the mercy of whoever else was pee--*ahem*, sorry, whoever else was holding the ladle.

Russell would have the last laugh on the director, though, beating him at his own game. Knowing Hawks favored a loose script, spontaneity and improvisation, Russell hired her own gag writer to punch-up her dialogue to match Grant, barb for barb and double-entendre for double-entendre. Grant soon caught onto this but played along and didn't rat her out. And in the end, with the crackling chemistry these two show as they spark off of one another, we should all be grateful that those casting dominoes fell that far. Also, major kudos must be given to Bellamy as the never-say-die but never-had-a-chance corner of this love-triangle. And how 'bout a big hand for the gaggle of reporters at the courthouse, who proved this gender identity switching goes both ways. I mean, that poker game is one of the most gossipy hen-parties I've ever witnessed onscreen.

I'm always kind of amazed that it took until the 1970s before Hawks conversational style really caught on, cinematically speaking. (Remember, Robert Altman was fired off Countdown in 1968 because the studio charged his actors were all talking at the same time.) But right here is where it really started, a veritable well-stocked vocabulary bar, brash, brassy, rowdy, and ballsy that'll leave your ears a little punch-drunk. And if you haven't seen it yet, the film is (quite inexplicably) in the public domain; and thus, available to stream almost everywhere, so give it a whirl. Just be sure to hang on to something after you push play because there's a gale-force storm of comedy primed and ready to run you over -- and then back up and run you over again. And again. Aaaaaaand again. 

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"Hawks immediately recognized that with Hildy as a woman the story takes on a new, interesting dimension: the characters play for higher stakes. In The Front Page, Walter wants Hildy to remain with The Morning Post instead of marrying Peggy and taking a higher paying advertising job. This is as much out of spite (as Peggy points out) as out of fear of losing his ace reporter. (In the play, there is additionally a subtle homosexual bond between Hildy and Walter.) In His Girl Friday, Walter, who becomes the lead male character, needs Hildy (as all Hawks' heroes are incomplete without women of equal intelligence, wit, and strength of character) because he loves her and because she is a crack reporter -- not necessarily in that order."
 
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXX-- Danny Peary 

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The Fine Print: His Girl Friday was watched via Amazon Prime's streaming package. Watched as a Howard Hawks double-feature with Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953). What's the Cult Movie Project? That's seven down, with 193 to go.

   
His Girl Friday (1940) Columbia Pictures Corporation / P: Howard Hawks / D: Howard Hawks / W: Charles Lederer, Morrie Ryskind, Ben Hecht (play), Charles MacArthur (play) / C: Joseph Walker / E: Gene Havlick / M: Sidney Cutner, Felix Mills / S: Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell, Ralph Bellamy, Gene Lockhart, Abner Biberman, John Qualen

All Spark But No Fire :: A Beer-Gut Reaction to George Marshall's The Forest Rangers (1942)

The Forest Rangers (1942) is a vintage rom-com, where a slightly singed forest ranger (MacMurray) falls head over heels hard for a visiting city girl (Goddard); so hard he marries her on the spot -- much to the chagrin of his old pal (Hayward), whose girly parts our dundering hero couldn't see for the trees or something. 

And so, while some firebug is wreaking havoc in the National Park, and the audience is treated to 42-consecutive choruses of "I Got Spurs that Jingle-Jangle-Jingle", Hayward does her best to sabotage the marriage in a thoroughly misguided attempt to win back Ranger Oblivious. 

Now, the headlining trio do add some spark to this tired triangular plot -- especially their fairly risque threeway when all three combatants share a bed of leaves 'n' twigs together after they all get stuck in the forest overnight. Couple this game of musical spooning with an earlier scene when the two lovebirds pull a per-marital all-nighter together, in an Everly Brothers sense, and, man, 'In Flaming Technicolor', indeed. Whoa.

Despite her best efforts, I don't think there was ever any doubt that MacMurray and Goddard were never gonna break up but I was still rooting for Hayward anyway, finding her to be the most interesting character in the whole movie. (A woman of position who runs her own logging operation but is only seen as just one of the guys and too 'butch' to be a proper wife.) In fact, she might've been too good with her character because one can't help but call bullshit on the climax -- no, not on who was really starting the fires, but the role reversal when our two ladies are caught in the latest raging inferno; a reversal so insipid I simply couldn't buy it. 

The print I watched on YouTube was pretty abysmal, in authentic Drunk-O-Vision, but I bet this thing would really pop if ever restored. All in all, pretty harmless hooey, perhaps slightly scorched, but amusing enough if you're into this kind of screwball thing. 

The Forest Rangers (1942) Paramount Pictures / P: Robert Sisk / D: George Marshall / W: Harold Shumate, Thelma Strabel / C: Charles Lang, William V. Skall / E: Paul Weatherwax / S: Fred MacMurray, Paulette Goddard, Susan Hayward, Albert Dekker, Lynne Overman

Netflix'd :: Clearing Out the Instant Que :: Gone Fishing with Howard :: Man's Favorite Sport? (1964).

It's a familiar story: Boy meets girl. He's oil. She's water. He's ... Nah. Hold up. He's the water, and she's the oil. Anyways ... He works at a sporting goods store. She works at a hunting and fishing lodge. He's an expert fish angler. She needs to wrangle an expert fishermen. He's written a best-selling book on the art of catching a fish, earning him much publicity in such circles. Thus, she, through his fudd of a boss, has entered him in her lodge's annual fishing contest, hoping for more of the same. He thinks that's a terrible idea. She thinks it's a no-brainer. He adamantly refuses. She can't understand why. He puts his foot down. She proceeds to stomp on it until he relents. And so, our hero is in the contest. But, our heroine still has to overcome one major obstacle:


Her fishing expert has never, ever fished in his life. In fact, four out of his five senses can't outright stand the cold, slimy buggers; with only hearing getting a pass. Nope. Can't stand 'em. Revolted, even. Apparently, seems our boy became an expert behind the sales counter, milking his clientele for all their secrets; a bizarre ponzi scheme of advice on lures, rods and reels. Stuck and thus, taking pity on the poor fraud (-- after using it as leverage to hammer on him until he agrees to take part, 'natch), she has one week to turn this armchair angler into an ersatz Virgil Ward.


But he's kind of a hopeless dope. And she has the mutant ability to trigger a chaos effect on those within her reach. His world is falling apart. She is the root cause of it. He's infuriated by her. She's infatuated with him. He's engaged to someone else. She couldn't care less. Now just stuff all of that into a test tube, and then sit back and watch how these elements react. Will they explode? Or will they gel into some cohesive compound of co-existence?

And so, some ten years after Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, the stage is set for Howard Hawks' triumphant comedic comeback, Man's Favorite Sport?. And the stage is set-up beautifully, right out of the gate, with some spiffy animated collage and stencil credits, courtesy of Wayne Fitzgerald:


Originally intended as a remake of the director's screwball classic, Bringing Up Baby, Hawks wanted to reunite stars Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn for this whopper of a fish tale. Obviously, that didn't pan out. Grant was game, but felt he was far too old for co-star Paula Prentiss and gracefully bowed out. Luckily, Hawks found a suitable replacement with Rock Hudson.


Hudson had already flexed his funny-bone in several light romantic comedies, but here proved he was also a very gifted physical comedian that could- and probably should have been explored and exploited more in future projects. And that, with Prentiss' help, makes all the pants-on-fire wackiness to come go down smooth. And speaking of the adorable Prentiss ... as a friend of mine commented upon first seeing Olivia Wilde in TRON: Legacy dudded-up in her digital spandex glory, and how it made her aware of a fetish she didn't even know she had, here, when Prentiss (and co-star Perschy) show up in those skin-tight rubber diving suits, well, lets just say my personal Comics Code rumbled and shifted. Noticeably. Very noticeably...


Now, normally, I'm not a big fan of this kind of third-wheel romantic plot: a seemingly happily engaged man meeting up and falling in love with another woman. And what I object to is how the films usually make the fiance, male or female, an irredeemable ass of the highest order. To me, that's just lazy scriptwriting and makes the decision to dump one for the other so easy one can hardly believe the hero got engaged to them in the first place.


Here, it's kind of reversed. Tex Connors (Charlene Holt), the fiance, seems nice enough but barely shows up long enough to say hello and goodbye. She's so incidental, and with the coming twist that sets up the third act, her character really wasn't even necessary. So one has to ask, Why bother? On the other hand, I freely admit I felt the urge to strangle Abigale Paige (Prentiss) on several occasions as she spastically blusters her way into bowling over Roger Willoughby (Hudson). In short order, in a flurry of stuck zippers, torn dresses, and one disastrous dose of sleeping pills, Paige falls in love, breaks up Willoughby's marriage, attacks him with a circular saw when another one of her hair-brained plans goes awry (-- okay, okay: I thought I was gonna die laughing at that scene), exposes him as a fraud, gets him fired, and then has the temerity to tell him it will never work and runs away once he expresses mutual feelings for her.


Will t'woo wuv win in the end? Usually, I wouldn't give a feh or rat's ass either way, but thanks to the leads I was hooked, and I laughed, a lot, all the way to the not-so-bitter end -- though most of the throwaway bits prove funnier than the overtly staged comedy. (Loved that running gag with the boss's errant hair piece.) Hawks helps, too. And all of his usual staples are there: strong female characters, sharp and overlapping dialogue, an obsession with gadgetry, characters always moving, and using the sets to dictate his scenes instead of the other way around. Add it all up and this one's a definite keeper.


Man's Favorite Sport? (1964) Gibraltar Productions :: Laurel Productions :: Universal Pictures / P: Howard Hawks / AP: Paul Helmick / D: Howard Hawks / W: John Fenton Murray, Steve McNeil, Pat Frank (story) / C: Russell Harlan / E: Stuart Gilmore / S: Rock Hudson, Paula Prentiss, Maria Perschy, John McGiver, Charlene Holt, Norman Alden