TSPDT placing: #992
Directed by: Frank Capra
Starring: Jean Arthur, Lionel Barrymore, James Stewart, Edward Arnold, Ann Miller, Spring Byington, Donald Meek
I'd forgotten how therapeutic a bit of Capra-corn could be. I sat down to a pleasant romantic comedy about two lovers overcoming their class differences, but ended the film practically in tears – tears of joy, as only Frank Capra could produce. You Can't Take It with You (1938) was the first of the director's collaborations with Jimmy Stewart. However, the heart of the film actually centres around another familiar Capra face, Lionel Barrymore – who, never to be forced into retirement by his painful arthritis, acts the entire film on crutches. Forget the dastardly Mr. H.F. Potter, his Martin Vanderhof is the "richest" man in town, not because he has very much money, but because his kindness and sense of community has made him more friends than he can count {this is a theme that Capra used regularly; see Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) and It's a Wonderful Life (1946)}. But the daughter (Jean Arthur) in the hopelessly-eccentric Vanderhof family has fallen in love with the son (Stewart) of a rich banker (Edward Arnold), incidentally the poorest man in town.
An evening with the Vanderhofs is something akin to a Marx Brothers movie, with each character doing their own thing without regard for what outsiders might think. While some family members test fireworks in the basement, sister Essie (Ann Miller) practices her ballet to the xylophone music of her husband (Samuel S. Hinds), as her uptight Russian instructor Boris (Mischa Auer) complains that everything "stinks." Mother Penny (Spring Byington) attempts to finish writing a play, and Alice (Jean Arthur) slides down the staircase banister. With twelve activities happening at once, it's the farce of Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) without those troublesome murders. But behind all this chaos is the unmistakable unity of a close-knit family, and (as in many Capra films) it only takes a recognisable musical tune to bring together the Vanderhofs – and the snobbish Kirbys – for a collective performance that is genuinely charming in its sincerity. At least you can always be assured that a Frank Capra film will always leave you feeling good about yourself, the world, and the people in it.
Alongside the compassionate performances of Barrymore and Edward Arnold, enjoyable performances are also given by James Stewart and Jean Arthur, such that they repeated their love affair in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939). You Can't Take It with You was adapted by Capra-regular Robert Riskin from a successful play by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart. I found it interesting that the screenplay bore what appeared to be a socialist slant, with Martin Vanderhof decidedly rejecting capitalist labour in favour of performing his preferred tasks for a minimum wage. This approach, we are shown, leaves one happier and assists the wellbeing of the entire community. I'm not so certain, however, of Vanderhof's insistence on not paying income tax, on the basis that he's not getting anything back from the government – this doesn't seem socialist, nor does it sound particularly "American," either. Even so, everybody can sympathise with the notion that money isn't everything, and that a single kindhearted gesture can go much further than a thousand dollar bills.9/10
Currently my #2 film of 1938:
1) Angels with Dirty Faces (Michael Curtiz)
2) You Can’t Take It with You (Frank Capra)
3) The Lady Vanishes (Alfred Hitchcock)
4) The Adventures of Robin Hood (Michael Curtiz, William Keighley)
2) You Can’t Take It with You (Frank Capra)
3) The Lady Vanishes (Alfred Hitchcock)
4) The Adventures of Robin Hood (Michael Curtiz, William Keighley)
William Keighley was the picture's original director, but – perhaps due to illness, or because the studio wanted to "spice up" the action sequences – he was later replaced by Michael Curtiz; both men received on screen credit. With an epic budget of $200 million, the 'The Adventures of Robin Hood' was reportedly the most expensive ever made, but proved a major success for the studio, who immediately cast Flynn and co-star Olivia de Havilland in another two Technicolor epics {the Western Dodge City (1939) and The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939)} – the pair had already starred together in two films previously, both directed by Michael Curtiz. Olivia de Havilland is sweet and elegant as Maid Marian, though I daresay that much of her beauty goes to waste hidden beneath a headpiece, which she only removes for one scene.
Whether he's swinging gleefully from a rope, or splitting his opponents' arrows in two, Errol Flynn's Robin Hood is a hero that the audience can really cheer for. He can be a rascal at times, and has a haughty chuckle that infuriates his enemies, but, when the time calls for it, he can be suitably serious and determined, not to mention unflinchingly patriotic. It's the role that Flynn will always be remembered for. The film's two major villains are played with wicked charisma by Claude Rains, as the treacherous Prince John, and Basil Rathbone {before he immortalised himself playing Sherlock Holmes} as Robin Hood's sleazy romantic competitor, Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Screenwriters Norman Reilly Raine and Seton I. Miller play heedlessly with British history, but to adhere strictly to the facts would have been to rob the film of its fanciful, good-natured charm.
This film was not the first to feature the adventures of England's favourite folk hero; Robin Hood had appeared in no less than ten films previously, though Douglas Fairbanks's 1922 incarnation is the only popularly-known example. Countless subsequent versions have followed, but few have even come close to approaching Flynn's dashing portrayal of the master marksman. The Adventures of Robin Hood is certainly not the most sophisticated film you'll see from 1938 {Michael Curtiz's Angels with Dirty Faces (1938) is currently my favourite}, but it's just so jam-packed with action, comedy and romance that it's difficult to find another film that delivers so effectively in sheer entertainment.
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