Another Leo McCarey film starring Cary Grant (like AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER (1957)). And another Cary Grant screwball comedy in which a married man is trying to stave off his wife's (THE GRASS IS GREENER) or ex-wife's (HIS GIRL FRIDAY, THE PHILADELPHIA STORY) marriage to another man.

This movie which launched Grant into the orbit of a bona-fide Hollywood star also brought a Best Director Oscar for McCarey.

The setting is (as common to many romantic comedies shot in the '30s and the '40s) strictly uppity upper-class where almost none of the ladies have a discernible career and where smocks and gowns pass for casual dress. Jam packed with scenes where actors race with one another to squeeze in one more joke or comeback before the other party can breathe. Another sheer “talking head” flick adapted from a box-office hit stage play (of Arthur Richman) in which Cary Grant has excellent rapport with Irene Dunne. Script belongs to Viña Delmar.

Jerry (Cary Grant) and Lucy Warriner (Irene Dunne) file to get divorced within 60 days. The problems is they are cut from the same cloth – they love one another but their pride do not allow them to admit so in order not to appear weak. So they spend the next two months sabotaging each other's attempts to find new partners. They do that so well, they are again left with one another at the end.

The film starts with an overview of the New York City. Jerry has told his wife he was going to be in Florida vacationing for two weeks but he did not do that. Thus he is trying to get a suntan at a health club to cover his lie.

But when Jerry arrives home with boisterous guests, Lucy is nowhere to be seen and the still unopened day-old mail suggests that perhaps Lucy was not at home either while Jerry was “gone to Florida.” And when Jerry gives a fruit basket to Lucy as a gift “From Florida,” she discovers that the fruits are actually from California. Oops! The seeds of mutual suspicion is already sprouting.

Who is betraying whom? And who deserves what?

Is Lucy having an affair with Armand Duvalle (played by Alexander D'Arcy), her pompous French voice teacher? It certainly feels that way and Jerry has been around the block a few times too many to miss the obvious clues.

After a brief heated argument, they challenge one another for a divorce and soon a divorce filing is what they get thanks to their well-paid lawyers.

In a very funny scene, Lucy's lawyer is trying to dissuade her on the phone. He is lecturing Lucy about what a “beautiful thing” a marriage is while... he repeatedly barks at his own wife to “shut up!” because the good lady is asking him to cut the phone conversation short and come to the dinner table. Super directing.

Lucy moves out to a new apartment with her Aunt Patsy who also complains about loneliness. That's where they meet the rich oilman from Oklahoma Daniel Leeson (played by Ralph Bellamy) who lives across the hall with his mom. Very much a mommy's boy who looks out of his depth in the sophisticated Big Apple, Dan soon falls in love with Lucy and wants to marry her.

(Ralph Bellamy, by the way, plays a similar character in HIS GIRL FRIDAY as well -- Bruce Baldwin, the well-meaning but dull insurance salesman who is engaged to Cary Grant's cracker jack newspaper reporter ex-wife “Hildy.”)

Jerry visits Lucy with the pretext of visiting his dog Mr. Smith (the loveliest and highest-jumping Terrier you'll ever see) which the court gave to Lucy. When he learns Lucy's entanglement with Daniel, Jerry pretends he is very much supporting the marriage while ribbing Lucy about her “new and wonderful life” in the backwaters of Oklahoma (this is still 1937). Jerry knows that the cosmopolitan Lucy would not be happy at Dan's Oklahoma ranch and thus he gets a pervert pleasure in teasing her about her eventual move to the heartlands.

Jerry's sarcasm continues at warp speed at the night club where he bumps into Lucy and Daniel while accompanying his singer girlfriend, Dixie Bell. Soon it's Dixie Bell's turn to take the stage and display her limited talents as a singer and stage performer.

There are other scenes that apparently tickled the funny bones of movie goers back in 1937 that would fall flat on its face in 2006. Example -- Jerry hides behind the front door when Daniel enters and starts reading a corny love poem to Lucy who is pressing her back against the door in an attempt to hide Jerry. However, Jerry, instead of being grateful for the cover, finds a pencil and tickles Lucy from behind the door, causing her to explode with inappropriate bursts of laughter while Daniel is trying to complete his romantic tirade. Is that funny? May be. But back in 1937 I believe it certainly was.

Here is one scene however that is genuinely funny and made me laugh real hard (yes, in 2006): Armand visits Lucy at her apartment. When Jerry drops by unannounced, Lucy hides Armand in her bedroom because all along she denied any romantic involvement with Armand. She can't lose face now.

When Daniel and her mom also shows up, this time it is Jerry's turn to hide in the bedroom. And once in there, the two suitors find themselves nose to nose, trying to keep their presence a secret.

But they can't do it. So while Lucy is talking to Daniel and his mom, we hear weird noises from her bedroom, noises which she tries to explain away. However, the noises soon turn into clangs and then escalate into a mini war. We hear furniture crashing, bodies being slammed, while Lucy is trying to keep a straight face and pretend that there is nobody in her bedroom at all.

At the end of this deliciously ridiculous scene, the bedroom door flies open and first Armand then Jerry shoot out of the room and head straight for the entrance door of the apartment, chasing one another like two squirrels. That's well-timed physical comedy at its best! The scene also effectively puts an end to Daniel's passion for Lucy because there is only one explanation of not one but TWO men darting out of his fiance's bedroom and it ain't pretty. Dan leaves Lucy's apartment by waxing philosophical that “Well, I guess a man's best friend is his mother.”

In the next sequence we see Jerry having a grand time with the rich heiress Barbara Vance. Now it's Lucy's turn to spoil his attempt to marry some serious money. We see a montage of Jerry and Barbara enjoying themselves at the horse races, boat racing, night clubs, etc. It is the last day before their divorce takes effect at midnight and Lucy is ready to make her move.

Lucy, pretending she is Jerry's sister, crashes the high-class party Barbara hosts for Jerry and her aristocratic family circle. By acting drunk, gross and low-class, Lucy manages to tarnish Jerry's image in the eyes of his wife-to-be. She antagonizes the whole Warner clan by pretending she is “very relieved” when her missing purse is found, implying she was worried that someone in the room might have had stolen it.

Jerry escorts a fake-drunk Lucy out of the party after she creates another scene by a suggestive dance and song number designed to shock the refined sensibilities of the “ruling class.” It's obvious she is truly enjoying her revenge on Jerry and Jerry knows that only too well.

On the way back Lucy asks Jerry to take her back to the rustic cabin where she claims her Aunt is waiting for her -- but of course there is no Aunt at the cabin and Jerry, also looking for a way back to her heart, walks gladly into her trap.

The film ends with another corny bedroom sequence in which Jerry and Lucy take up two adjoining bedrooms separated by a door that has a loose latch and the wind keeps rattling it. Both cannot sleep. Jerry keeps popping in and out of her bedroom several times with the excuse of securing the door.

At the end, they cannot keep up the the pretense anymore. Jerry closes the door behind him and moves into Lucy's bedroom just when the Swiss cuckoo clock on the wall chimes midnight, marking the “awful truth” that they were made for each other and their attempts at finding other mates in life just plain don't make sense.

Cary Grant is fantastic as usual, smooth and in control as a comedy actor with impeccable double takes and a thousand pregnant pauses. The immensely gifted Irenne Dunne, the “Meryl Streep of the WW2 era,” is an equal joy to watch. It is hard to find too many actors today with so many emotions washing through her gorgeous face almost without an effort.

A pleasant 8 out of 10.

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Ugur Akinci, Ph.D. is a Creative Copywriter, Editor, an experienced and award-winning Senior Technical Communicator specializing in fundraising packages, direct sales copy, web content, press releases, movie reviews and hi-tech documentation. He has worked as a Technical Writer for Fortune 100 corporations since 1999. He is the editor of PRIVATE TUTOR FOR SAT MATH SUCCESS web site http://www.privatetutor.us In addition to being an Ezine Articles Expert Author, he is also a Senior Member of the Society for Technical Communication (STC), and a Member of American Writers and Artists Institute (AWAI). A true movie fan since he was a child, Akinci provides FREE MOVIE PLOT IDEAS every day of the year at SCRIPT BOILER. Visit http://scriptboiler.blogspot.com today. You are most welcomed to visit his COPYWRITING WEB SITE http://www.writer111.com for more information on his multidisciplinary background, writing career, and client testimonials.

Cary Grant Told Me Not to Smoke
By Frances Lynn 

In the late Seventies, it felt safe to roam around London streets late at night. Visiting American celebrities weren’t so regimentally guarded as they are now. They weren’t always flanked by burly bodyguards, or a retinue of anxious PR people forbidding journalists to ask them an impromptu question. When I used to be a freelance film journalist, it was easy to get interviews with celebrities. Nowadays, showbusiness is completely PR driven. If you are lucky to get more than ten minutes with a celebrity, their subservient publicist will be glued to their famous clients' side, making sure you stick to asking innnocuous questions. In those days, stars were more accessible. I once asked the actor Robin Williams for an interview in Tramp, the Jermyn Street nightclub and he granted me a breakfast session at the Savoy hotel, the following morning. In those days, journalists were allowed to enter the five star hotels by the main entrance and sit in the lobby with their camera crew, if they had one in tow. Nowadays, journalists are usually requested to use the tradesmen’s entrance.

When Raquel Welch was promoting her yoga book, ‘The Raquel Welch Total Beauty Book’ at the Hippodrome in the early Eighties, a gang of enthusiastic journalists, myself included, had no problem plonking ourselves down uninvited at her table. We consequently spent the entire evening with her, blatantly holding our tape recorders underneath her nose. Her personal publicist hovered discreetly at a distance, forbidding anyone else to join our table for the entire evening.

I had known most of the showbiz publicists since my days as a press officer for Warner Bros. After I became a journalist, they always made sure I was at the top of their scheduled interview list, even if I was writing the article for a small circulation periodical. When I once interviewed the late Robert Altman at the Athenaeum, his PR left me alone with him for the entire day. I was one of the few journalists who interviewed Frank Zappa when he was once in town for a couple of days, because his PR lady who got me the gig was one of my tennis partners. But, if you ever let the publicists down, like not turning up for an interview, you were out. Once, I inadvertently upset a well-connected socialite after writing about her wedding reception at Mr Chow. Her powerful PR friends blacklisted me for a week, until they realised they needed me to write 'puff' pieces about their ‘A’ list clients.

I was friendly with the PR lady, who was looking after Cary Grant when he worked for Faberge, and consequently I was one of the chosen few who was granted a 'one to one' interview with the legendary actor. I used to smoke in those days, and before my interview, the PR lady told me I was not allowed to smoke in Mr Grant's presence. I got an even bigger shock after the PR left me alone with the silver haired ex-film star in the lobby of the Royal Lancaster hotel. Mr Grant informed me he wouldn't permit me to use my tape recorder. His reasoning was he could tape himself. Nowadays, the publicist would definitely have sat in on the interview, and under similar circumstances, I would have been grateful for her recollection afterwards.

Because I had been given a freebie tape recorder some time before, I had woefully neglected my shorthand and my speed had been reduced to about 25 words per minute, which would have been perfect if I had been recording a laid back parrot! I prayed the interview would be brief, but unfortunately we got on so well, that Cary refused to answer all his incoming phone calls, saying he was tied up. So, there we were, Cary Grant and I lolling around on the sofa together, while I tried to dredge up some original questions to ask him. I was unable to appreciate his nuggets of wisdom though, as I was on constant red alert, frantically hoping I was going to remember everything he uttered. I would have been with him for a week if his wife hadn’t come up to interrupt us after several hours, saying they had an important appointment to keep. I could have kissed her. I ran out of the hotel, sprinted all the way home and threw myself over my typewriter where I bashed out my interview purely from memory (my random notes were illegible). I must have done something right, because when the Cary Grants visited London next time, Mrs Grant rang me up to say how much her husband had enjoyed the interview. Nowdays, the PR would have passed on her comments to me.

Copyright: Frances Lynn, 2006

Frances Lynn is a professional writer and journalist. Her two novels, "Frantic" and "Crushed" are published by Eiworth Publishing at http://yourbookstore.eiworth.se/ Her personal website is http://www.franceslynn.org