Question: Were you bummed by The Bounty Hunter? Appalled about All About Steve? Upset over The Ugly Truth? Or have you been avoiding these and other recent romantic comedy misfires, dispirited, fearing that the genre seemed to have died somewhere along the line? Then I have just the suggestion for you. Go back and revisit a classic.

This month it may seem like I’ve chosen to take a stroll down memory lane, or to “educate” you…yawn. I can assure you, that is not the case. What I hope to do is to introduce, or re-introduce, you to one of the most enjoyable “screwball” romantic comedies ever made: It Happened One Night. This was one of the first great romantic comedies to come out of the studio system, was the first movie to win the top five Academy Awards--for Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, and Adapted Screenplay—and it remains the template for the genre, a textbook of what works and why. It’s also one of the first great road movies, throwing two people of opposite sexes, backgrounds and assumptions about life together on a journey that will redefine each of them.

 

Directed by Frank Capra in 1934 from a script by his long-time collaborator Robert Riskin, adapted from a short story by Samuel Hopkins Adams,* It Happened One Night was the first film to showcase tough-guy Clark Gable’s comedic abilities. The script is so crackling with wit, the direction and cinematography (by Joseph Walker) so rich, and the chemistry between Gable and his co-star Claudette Colbert so believable, that the film became a sensation. Perhaps because it reflects a world fascinated by wealth and celebrity scandal and shadowed by the Great Depression, It Happened One Night not only retains its freshness and charm after seventy-seven years, it still feels current in its concerns.

 

Colbert is in fact the protagonist, Ellie, introduced to us as a spoiled little rich girl, locked in her cabin on a yacht in Miami; basically, she’s the Paris Hilton of her time. As an act of rebellion against her well-meaning but controlling father, she has married (although not yet consummated) with a worthless playboy aviator named King Westley. Ellie’s father knows Westley only married her for the money, and knows he can buy him off and get the marriage annulled. But Ellie is headstrong and spoiled, and sees marrying Westley as a way to prove she’s an adult. Refusing a fine steak meal—in fact, throwing it to the floor of her cabin, a act of privilege and waste that would have struck a harsh chord with ‘30s audiences--Ellie escapes the room, rushing past cowed crew members, and dives off the boat, swimming to “freedom.” Her goal: To find a way to join Westley in New York. She’s in over her head, but we quickly learn that she’s got a brain: she’s smart enough to get a nice old lady to buy her bus ticket for her, thereby avoiding the private detectives sent to all the bus and rail stations to look for her.

 

Meanwhile, at that same bus station, somewhat inebriated newsman Peter Warne (Gable) has just learned via phone booth that he’s been fired for submitting a news story in free verse. Peter has a poetic spirit, if a somewhat corny expression of it, and as he leaves the phone booth a rag-tag gang of admirers cheers him on: “Make way for the King!” This was not only Gable’s actual nickname; here, it presents him as the true “king” of this story, as opposed to the imposter king, Westley.

 

Peter and Ellie meet as they get on the bus to New York, where—indicative of how little he actually cares about his profession--Peter tosses out a pile of newspapers that occupy the only empty bench. Ellie takes advantage of his ensuing altercation with the bus driver to take Peter’s seat, prompting him to tell her, “Excuse me, lady, but that upon which you sit is mine.” The double entendre anticipates the rest of the story: she is going to become his. Peter takes her under his wing at first out of gallantry and later, upon recognizing who she is, because she might be the biggest story of his career. He strikes a deal with her: He won’t turn her in to her father, as long as he gets to accompany her to her rendezvous with King Westley and have the exclusive rights to the story. Ellie has no choice but to agree. Their initial misimpressions create contempt for each other—Peter, because he thinks she’s a thoughtless, spoiled brat, and Ellie, because she thinks he’s only in it for his career. But it doesn’t take too long for them to begin questioning those assumptions, as Peter proves to be a generous and protective fellow, and Ellie proves to have more wit and more heart than he expected.

 

Each scene is an expert blend of comedy, subtext, and genuine emotion, such as when Peter puts up “the walls of Jericho,” a blanket curtain strung between their separate beds where he’s checked them in at a hotel along the way, and where she informs him that in talking to the hotel manager, she’s “had the unpleasant sensation of hearing you referred to as my husband.” All along, the film uses smart repartee and beautiful visual clues, such the use of weather and water throughout--her plunge into the ocean; the rain that disables the bus; the al fresco shower Ellie has to take as his “wife” at the rustic hotel; Peter’s carrying her across a stream at night, like a new bridegroom crossing a threshold. With her own luggage having been stolen almost at the start, and the elements of nature at work, Ellie finds herself progressively more wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of Peter’s clothes, his scarf, his overcoat, and ultimately his pajamas. By the time they reach New York and their respective goals—Ellie rejoined with King Westley and Peter having scored the “story of the century,” they’ve come to realize how wrong they’ve been, about each other and about themselves.

 

As with so many great films of the era, visual and dialog elements weave complex patterns of subtext, innuendo and humor through what on the surface seems a simple enough story. It presents a delightful range of characters who they encounter on their journey, and who reflect the positives and negatives of human nature. A product of the Depression, the film explores the issue of money: the way it’s casually wasted by those who have more than enough; its true value for those who have too little; and its irrelevance when matters of love, decency, and honor are at stake. It portrays food as a symbol both of privilege and need, as well as sexual metaphor; for instance, when Peter persuades Ellie, who’s never had one, to try eating a raw carrot (it turns out that she really likes them).

 

So, if you’re in the mood for a truly satisfying romantic comedy, or have only heard the term “Capra-esque” and want to know why Capra and Riskin are so highly regarded, you won’t do better than to spend an evening with It Happened One Night.

* One brief note: when writing film reviews, I promise always to mention the writers of the scripts and source material. It’s more than a courtesy. They created the story. Without them there would be no scenes, no characters, no dialogue, nothing to shoot, nothing to act; in short, nothing to watch. It is my hope that, with some reminding, audiences will want get to know these wonderful storytellers as well as the directors and actors who brought their words to life.