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Biographer Charlotte Chandler relies mostly on direct quotations from Billy Wilder to let the story of his life come across. Her book's chapter on Sabrina contains Wilder's reflections and memories of writing and directing the film. These thoughts come from the perspective of decades after the film's original release, and give insight into what could have been a very different movie, but turned out to be Sabrina.
The film was adapted from a play, Samuel Taylor's Sabrina Fair. Wilder began work on the adaptation, along with Taylor, before the play even opened on Broadway. Wilder had no qualms about making changes when adapting this play for the big screen, and he wanted to tweak the dialogue to fit the stars he was hoping would appear in the film (Audrey Hepburn and at the time, Cary Grant). Once the play opened successfully though, Wilder and Taylor began to disagree about the degree of change necessary, leading to Taylor quitting and being replaced by another writer, Ernest Lehman.
It was Lehman who convinced Wilder to steer clear of a sex scene between Sabrina and Linus Larrabee, because it would have hurt Hepburn's image. Lehman and Wilder both agreed that Hepburn was a special actress. Because of her grace, she was perfectly suited for the film's Cinderella allegory. Hepburn had a similar respect for Wilder. This is in contrast to the director's often adversarial relationship with Humphrey Bogart, who played Linus Larrabee.
Chandler notes that Wilder chose to play up Hepburn's "Cinderella quality," and this is evident in her first appearance in the film, when a full moon sits over her shoulder. This fairy tale theme is also echoed in the film's opening narration. Though Hepburn narrates, she is not in character as Sabrina, and this sets the scene for the idyllic story. The class shift and Sabrina's infatuation with older men are also fairy tale-type elements.
Chandler's snapshot of Wilder provides a way for moviewatchers to see the human side of film--though a commodity for making money, directors, writers, and actors could leave personal marks by infusing films with their own ideas.
Some of the reason for the May-December theme had to do with casting, and were not originally intended. In Sabrina, the role of Linus Larrabee was originally meant for Cary Grant, so when it went to Humphrey Bogart, a man much older than Audrey Hepburn, the role took on new layers of meaning. Linus came to be seen additionally as a father figure to Hepburn's young Sabrina. Casting Gary Cooper opposite Hepburn in Love in the Afternoon yielded similar results, as did choosing the iconic Marilyn Monroe to portray what had been a more average role on the Broadway stage in The Seven Year Itch. But Dick also tries to connect this motif to a theme or motivation in Wilder's life. He notes that Wilder's age when he was working on these movies might have affected his outlook. In middle age, the theme of rejuvenation may have been of particular interest to him, and the fatherly relationships may have reflected his own love for his daughter at the time.
In Sabrina, Dick sees one father-daughter bond being replaced with another, the first biological, the second metaphorical. Dick argues that in her relationship with Linus, Sabrina re-channels the love she used to reserve for her father towards her beau. Linus provides financial security and protection for Sabrina, just as a father would. This situation is only believable because the film operates as a fairy tale, Dick says.
Grouping these films together is interesting, but from the descriptions of Love in the Afternoon and The Seven Year Itch, it doesn't seem that the films have as much in common with each other thematically (aside from romance) as Dick might have us believe. And some of what they do have in common, as Dick admits, has do with coincidences of casting. This grouping seems to serve best simply as a way for Dick to organize Wilder's many films.
The "girl-next-door" was most notable for what she wasn't: Marilyn Monroe. Seductress Monroe represented one end of the spectrum of 1950s female roles, and she was decidedly at the opposite end of the girl next door. In a time of national crisis (first World War II, and later the Cold War), the girl next door offered a wholesome and patriotic image. Harvey argues that the Marilyn-type was on the decline, starting in the 1940s, in favor of the girl next door. The 1950s ideal was "nicer, simpler, younger...more girlish than womanly." Harvey argues that already famous stars of the period, like Lucille Ball, adapted themselves to fit into this model.
Hepburn, who was just becoming famous, didn't have to adapt, but she certainly did fit the part. In Sabrina, she was innocent to the point of being child-like, also reflected by her demure wardrobe and polite way. Her thin body is the opposite of Marilyn Monroe's ample curves, embodying the "girlish" part of the girl, not woman, next door. Harvey argues that this image is emblematic of most female stars, aside from Marilyn Monroe, in the 1950s, an opinion also echoed by Potter (see "I Love You, But..."). Harvey doesn't really get into the implications of this stereotype, or why Monroe was allowed to remain outside of it, but he offers many examples that give a picture of a casting and acting trend of the 1950s.
Harmetz, Aljean. "Billy Wilder, Master of Caustic Films, Dies at 95." New York Times 29 March 2002, A2+. Lexis-Nexis Academic, 1 April 2006. <http://hdl.library.upenn.edu/1017/6973>
biblio.
In this book, Potter discusses romantic comedies in relation to the era in which they were produced. She has chapters on each decade from the thirties through the nineties. She begins by discussing the overarching cultural ethos of each decade, taking into account important historical events that could have had an influence on what movies were successful or even produced to begin with. She discusses in detail films from each decade, providing a good background to fit any film into its historical framework. Potter does not discuss Sabrina in the 1950s chapter, but the film does fit in easily with the historical background she provides.
Potter sees the cold war as the most important feature affecting 1950s films. The post-World War II rapture had faded, leaving an all-encompassing but largely invisible fear. For this reason, Potter argues, people focused on making themselves happy in areas of their lives that, unlike foreign affairs, they did have control over: home and family life. This sense of escapism clearly manifests itself in Sabrina's fantasy quality.
People became concerned with living in the suburbs and owning the latest commodities, while civil rights issues, like women's role in the workforce or race and class issues, seemed to evaporate from the national conscience. We see this in the emphasis on the suburban Larrabee family's opulent wealth in Sabrina, and the absence of ambition for Sabrina to do anything but fall in love with one of the powerful Larrabee brothers, rather than using her new education and sophistication to further her individual lifestyle. Women in the 1950s were expected to remain domestic, or at least quit their jobs upon marriage. Any woman who did not adhere to this was said to have a "masculinity complex." These ideas were also shaped by Dr. Spock's baby boom child-rearing advice.
In movies, Potter saw women's roles converging to fit into one of the two studio-promulgated stereotypes of the era: virgin or whore. Hepburn's Sabrina would be classified as a textbook virgin, and was thus only allowed to "exude a vague air of flirtatious sexual promise." Men had more power than women, but also had to fit into molds of upstanding masculinity, like John Wayne, the honest and fatherly cowboy, or laid-back sexual suaveness, like Rock Hudson. Humphrey Bogart's Linus can clearly be read as in line with what Wayne represented.
Using Potter's historical information, we can understand and read films in their proper context.
Wartenberg argues that the filmmaker and audience often see past the initial estimation of unlikeliness because they understand that the two love each other or share a bond, despite apparent obstacles and violations of what is socially acceptable. In this way, the pairing of an unlikely couple, for Wartenberg, can function as a vehicle for social critique. In their plotlines, the films find a way to negotiate whatever social barrier might be separating them, and during these 90 or so minutes, the audience develops a sympathy for both the individual couple and their situation. Even a small detail can elicit this effect. At the end of Some Like It Hot, for instance, when Lemmon's character reveals he is actually a man, Brown's character shrugs it off and says, "Nobody's perfect." Though this is a meant to get laughs from the audience, Wartenberg also argues that it will cause them to think about why they're laughing, thus subverting societal norms.
Wartenberg acknowledges that these films don't present themselves as "vehicles for serious social analysis," but he rejects the common conviction that films are superficial and reinforce dominant social beliefs. He concedes that sometimes in fighting certain stereotypes, films falter by including other stereotypes.
Sabrina is not mentioned in Wartenberg's analysis, but fits in neatly as a romance spanning the upper and lower class. The lower class Sabrina surprises high society when she gets involved with the upper class Larrabee brothers, and this plotline works the subvert and undo the stronghold of class barriers in 1950s society. Though seemingly rigid structures might keep a couple apart, Hollywood implicitly approved of and endorsed this unlikely pairing.
In this article, Dowd and Pallotta offer a sociological perspective on the movie genre of romantic comedies. Cultural ideals of romance, they say, have changed throughout time, and the changes of the 20th century can be analyzed through movies. Movies are imbedded with cultural scripts that reflect the social norms of various ages. Dowd and Pallotta aim to complete a systematic analysis of romantic comedies, and to do so, they set strict definitions for what would constitute such a movie, leaving out movies that were no longer available, movies that featured romance only as a side plot, movies that mixed genres, and more. After using their definitions to rule out all inapplicable films, they ends up 182 films that qualified, all made between 1930 and 1999. Though not individually analyzed, Sabrina was included in this group of films, thus contributing to the analysis as a whole.
Because this article takes a methodological approach, it is not very accessible for the average film scholar. It also talks about trends as a whole, leaving out the detailed scene analyses that those interested in films often enjoy. But the article does a good job of trying to examine what the medium of film might have to say about our culture, and its strength lies in its ability to offer empirical evidence of trends, such as an explosion of romantic comedies in the 1990s, as opposed to individual examples. In this way, we can look at the trends of particular decades. When Sabrina was released, in the 1950s, for example, romantic drama was more popular than romantic comedy, a reversal of what is currently true. Other subsets that are popular now, such as teen romances or romances that feature supernatural elements (like 1990's Ghost), were nearly nonexistent in the 1950s.
The study also found that cultural conditions have effectively killed many formerly popular plotlines of romance movies. Couples in different classes, for example, no longer offer a "convincing dramatic impediment." Movies that feature these aging romantic conventions," then, can only remain popular today as "relics of an earlier era." This statement serves to justify Sabrina's ongoing popularity despite its perhaps hard-to-swallow plotline. All in all, romantic films, even the current ones, do continue to reinforce some of the more conservative romantic tendencies in our culture, namely the importance of marriage and fidelity, and this has not changed since the days when Sabrina was released.
Crowther's article is the original review of Sabrina that appeared in the New York Times following its premiere in the city in September of 1954. The review is very helpful in understanding Sabrina's role as a film at that point in history: as is evidenced by this review compared to more contemporary pieces discussing the film, the difference in perception of the film is substantial. Crowther cites the film as "the most delightful comedy-romance in years," and imparts the kindest words upon Humphrey Bogart and William Holden; he claims it is their film as much as it is Hepburn's. This is a sharp contrast to modern discussions of the film, which nearly all focus on Hepburn and her style in particular.
At the time of the review, Hepburn was not yet the immensely famous star that she is remembered, and it is apparent that her "image" that would stand for years to come had not fully been developed. There is no mention of her couture ensembles or style beyond her "frail and slender" frame". Yet though the reviewer had very favorable words for the film, including director Billy Wilder's adaptation of a "recognized thin" play by Samuel Taylor, as evidenced by more recent criticism, the relatively light-hearted film would not have survived as powerfully without Hepburn's growing popularity as style icon.
Collins points to the "jazzy suit" Hepburn's Sabrina wears at the train station when William Holden's David Larrabee first notices her, the floral white ball gown that essentially serves as Sabrina's coming out outfit, and the black cocktail dress that "spawned a thousand knockoffs." These couture looks featured different necklines and cuts than were typical at the time, and were tailored to emphasize Hepburn's slight frame. When Hepburn doubted her acting abilities, Givenchy's clothes provided her with the solace that she at least looked the part.
Collins writes that the clothes also went on to inform plot details of the film. Inspired by Hepburn's sophistication in the Givenchy suit, screenplay writer Ernest Lehman changed the script to make David Larrabee unaware of Sabrina's identity when he picks her up at the train station. Later, in the ball scene, Sabrina's simple but elegant dress distinguished her character. Lehman said of the film's wardrobe, "[The clothes] were extremely helpful to the character, the mood, the movie. They made the transformation believable."
Hepburn's star--and salary--shot up after the release and success of Sabrina. In addition to their impact on the film's success, Collins believes Givenchy's designs for Sabrina shaped Hepburn's public persona. The actress added to this effect by wearing clothes from the movie while promoting it in Europe. Hepburn-eqsue designs also continue to influence current fashion. Collins' article is an interesting, though not scholarly, take on the influence fashion can have in the success of a film, or in Audrey Hepburn's case, an entire personal image.
Crowther, Bosley. "Screen: 'Sabrina' Bows at Criterion; Billy Wilder Produces and Directs Comedy." New York Times Film Reviews. 23 Sept. 1954. 1 April 2006. <http://hdl.library.upenn.edu/1017/22483>
The original New York Times film review of Sabrina couldn't provide the in-depth analysis later works offered through hindsight, but it does give an important peek into how the film was initially received. At the time of the film's release up until today, a review in the New York Times represents the opinion of the country's most respected and influential critics.
Sabrina opened up to an overwhelmingly enthusiastic review. Critic Bosley Crowther heralded the film as "the most delightful comedy-romance in years." This signifies that Sabrina had differentiated itself from movies of the preceding years, and as opposed to the popular screwball comedies of the age, the movie's fairy tale nature offered a welcome contrast. Crowther said a film of the sort had not been seen since "prewar days," and perhaps Sabrina provided some nostalgia for audiences, in addition to the escapism of its plot. It is also noteworthy that Crowther calls the film a "comedy-romance," because it shows that the now-ubiquitous genre of the romantic comedy had not yet been solidified.
The Times praises the story's trajectory from stage to screen, which is especially interesting when compared to Gerald C. Wood's later critique (see "Gender, Caretaking and the Three Sabrinas.") This could lead one to draw the conclusion that perhaps film at this time was less willing than theatre in embrace more modern gender roles. The Times also lauds Wilder for viewing the love story with "candid skepticism," but later scholarship also calls this into question, claiming the romance was too easy.
Each main actor's performance is acclaimed, and the praise gives further fuel to Hepburn's oncoming superstardom. Wilder is praised above all for his natural sense of what makes a good film, and this sense comes across years later in his interview with biographer Charlotte Chandler.
The review ends by calling Sabrina the best romance since It Happened One Night. Though many films earn great reviews only to fade away into obscurity, it seems Sabrina lived out the prophesy that the Times laid out for it. Not only was the movie successful in its own time, but it lives on happily ever after today, considered a classic by many.
In this article, Dave Tianen explores the difference between a good film and a good date film. Dating and movie-going are inextricably linked, and this association is one of the arguments used to explain why movie theaters will not become obsolete in the face of DVDs, the Internet, and other technological innovations. Tianen address the disparity in which Citizen Kane is the “perennial choice for greatest film of all time,” yet arguably one of the worst films to see on a date. There are no specific criteria for the “perfect date film” though numerous studies have been conducted to try to figure out what elements of a film make it a good date film and what aspects do not or have no bearing. According to this article, the American Film Institute conducted a study of critics in 2002 to determine the best movie romance and Casablanca was chosen as the best movie romance of all time. Alternatively, Harlequin Books recently conducted a study and polled entertainment and lifestyle editors on the ten most erotic movies of all time, in which 9 ½ Weeks was chosen as the sexiest film ever. In addition, Leslie Halpern compiles a list of the 100 best date movies based on her own first-hand research in her new book entitled Reel Romance: The Lover’s Guide to the 100 Best Date Movies. Halpern’s list does not include or even refer to Harlequin’s sexiest movie of all time, 9 ½ Weeks, demonstrating the level of ambiguity on this subject and the lack of objectivity. In fact, only two movies from Harlequin’s list are on Halpern’s Top 100 list. Tianen resolves this inconsistency by acknowledging that all such studies will inevitably have their own specific criteria and nuances.
Mike Nichols’ 1967 film The Graduate does not appear on the AFI 100 Most Romantic Movies List, but surprisingly, it does appear on the Harlequin study. The Graduate ranked number nine for the sexiest movies of all time, according to Harlequin Books. This is somewhat remarkable because the love affair that propels The Graduate to the top of the Harlequin list is not between two young lovers, but rather between a much older married woman and a young, sexually inexperienced recent college graduate. Regardless of whether or not The Graduate is a good or bad date movie, or whether or not it truly is one of the sexiest movies of all time, the relationship between Benjamin Braddock and Mrs. Robinson has solidified itself as one of the greatest love affairs in film history.In this article, Karen Lurie acknowledges the wide array of interpretations of The Graduate (1967) ranging from a sex farce to a generation gap comedy to a “ballad of alienation and rebellion.” These different interpretations affect the way in which viewers receive and react to the elements of the film itself. Lurie offers a plot summary and touches briefly on a number of the themes and symbols that permeate the film. After this hasty plot summary, Lurie delves into a more critical analysis and assessment of the film, mostly concentrating on its ending and the meanings that viewers impose upon this ending. Lurie argues that the widely accepted view of The Graduate as having a happy ending is forced upon the film by those who are determined to make it a romantic comedy. The way in which Benjamin and Elaine flee the suburban life that they have been restricted by further contributes to the cursory assumption that the ending implies happiness and triumph, but the final scene is actually much more profound and ambiguous. As Benjamin and Elaine sit on the bus driving away from the church, their smiles become forced and then disappear altogether. They do not say a word to one another as the lyrics of Paul Simon’s song “Sounds of Silences” fills the air, “Hello darkness, my old friend…” If one were to critically assess their relationship, though they claim to be in love, Benjamin and Elaine barely know each other. They do not have the support of their families and Benjamin does not have a job. With Paul Simon’s “darkness” foreshadowing a dark future, the ending is not one of bliss and contentment as so many viewers mistakenly believe.
Another misconception that Lurie addresses is the view of Benjamin as the figure that is rebelling against the status quo, when actually, Lurie argues, it is Mrs. Robinson. Benjamin seems to enjoy and make use of the very culture that he is supposed to be rebelling against. He is closely associated with his new flashy Alfa Romeo, a graduation present from his parents, and his parent’s swimming pool. Both the car and the pool represent the materialism and superficiality that he supposedly fears and despises. In addition, Benjamin ends up with Elaine, the girl that his parents chose for him. Mrs. Robinson is the true rebel, refusing to accept her submissive role in the patriarchal suburban family and demonstrating her sexuality, confidence, and power.Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1995.9.C55 R83 2001
The eighth chapter of Mark D. Rubinfeld’s Bound to Bond: Gender, Genre, and the Hollywood Romantic Comedy provides the reader with the fourth and final type of the Hollywood romantic comedy plots, which are outlined throughout the book. These four plots include the pursuit plot, the coldhearted redemption plot, the foil plot, and the permission plot. The permission plot, discussed in Chapter 8, “depicts a romantically involved hero and heroine encountering resistance from a parent and/or authority figure who vehemently disapproves of their courtship” (63). The disapproving figure tends to be a father, although it can be a mother or any person with authority over the hero and heroine. Within the permission plot there are two variations—the acceptance permission plot and the separation permission plot. The acceptance permission plot refers to instances in which the authority figure finally agrees to recognize and accept the relationship, and the hero and heroine are embraced by the formerly disapproving family. The separation permission plot, on the other hand, refers to instances in which the hero and/or the heroine never gain approval from the disapproving authority figure and must decide whether or not to betray their families or end their relationship. Rubinfeld then addresses the ideological contradictions inherent in both variations of the permission plots in that they both eventually support patriarchal ideology while at the same time appearing to challenge it.
Even far more ideologically significant, according to Rubinfeld, is the relative lack of films employing permission plots since 1970. Prior to 1970, the permission plot maintained a strong presence. Rubinfeld asserts that the permission plot played a vital role in The Graduate, produced in 1967, which according to box office statistics, is the most popular romantic comedy in history (as of 1999). Despite the widespread success and popularity of The Graduate, only ten of the “top” 155 Hollywood romantic comedies produced from 1970-1999 utilize a permission plot. Rubinfeld attributes this decline to the notion that parents no longer have control over who their children marry. Rubinfeld considers the potential extinction of one of the four integral love story plots to be a grave concern.The second chapter (pp. 29-66) of Romantic vs. Screwball Comedy presents an analysis of the genre of screwball comedy. Gehring argues that the main characters in this particular genre tend to exhibit five key characteristics: “abundant leisure time, childlike nature, basic male frustration (especially in relationship to women), a general propensity for physical comedy, and a proclivity for parody and satire” (29). Gehring cites various films from different time periods ranging from George Cukor’s Holiday (1938) to the comedies of today, noting that each film’s “comic antihero” shares these common characteristics.
Gehring also uses Howard Hawks’s Bringing Up Baby (1938) as a classic example of this particular genre. In Hawks’s film, Dr. David Huxley, played by Cary Grant, is the epitome of the comic antihero. As an absentminded professor (often a recurring character in such genre films), Huxley is essentially a member of “high-society.” He is a relatively wealthy man, despite his need for a million-dollar research grant, and has time to socialize with other members of high society, whether on a golf course, at a dinner party, etc. Yet his high education, paired with his seemingly paradoxical absentmindedness and bumbling personality, also serves as comic relief throughout the film. Referred to as “comic rigidity,” a term used in Henri Bergson’s theory of comic superiority, which Gehring cites, these comedic elements stem from this “inversion” of what is generally the norm for a professional such as Huxley.
Huxley also has a childlike nature, according to Gehring, which is reflected through the dominance of the female character, Susan. Throughout the film it is clear that Susan, played by Katharine Hepburn, is in command—she has the power to alter Huxley’s plans and eventually, his entire future. It is through this dominance that the element of basic male frustration is exhibited as well. Huxley is basically powerless as Susan drags him to Connecticut in hopes of delivering a tamed leopard named Baby. As a source of frustration for Huxley, Susan also draws out Huxley’s displays of physical comedy in various scenes. For example, Huxley often retaliates to Susan’s dominance with physical actions, not words. In a scene where Huxley is simply annoyed with Susan, he pretends to strangle her instead of saying something. Gehring also argues that the presence of physical comedy in screwball comedies is due to the fact that the genre was born out of slapstick comedy from the silent film era. In fact, Gehring mentions that Grant’s character was based on silent film star Harold Lloyd as well as Buster Keaton.
The last part of Gehring’s discussion focuses on the satiric elements of screwball comedies, which the author states was Howard Hawks’s specialty. This proclivity for parody and satire is evidenced in many instances, and is a running theme throughout the film. Like other screwball comedies, Bringing Up Baby, has a tendency to make fun of romance and the characters themselves. For example, Huxley’s engagement of convenience to Miss Swallow in the beginning of the film is a direct comment on marriage and the film’s jail scenes as well as the lavish party scenes poke fun at rich society.
Gehring concludes his argument by noting that these five characteristics, though not limited only to screwball comedy, serve to help define the complex genre.Chapter 1 in Wes D. Gehring’s Romantic vs. Screwball Comedy presents a clear and well delineated introduction to the five main differences between both genres. Moreover, the chapter outlines the historical circumstances that shaped the two genres. It ends with a description of the post-Depression developments of both genres.
The first main difference that Gehring describes is the emphasis on love vs. comedy. Screwball comedies place its emphasis on “funny” as opposed to romantic comedy which “accents love.” This represents the America’s “take on farce,” with its desire to see physical comedy and absurd events. This is in contrast to romantic comedy which grounds itself in reality. The second difference is the depiction of the love process. Screwball spoofs such romance, while romantic comedy keeps the process visible, consciously highlighting it. The third difference Gehring describes involves basic character development. Screwball comedy uses an eccentric main cast, with an equally satiric support cast. Romantic comedy uses a less controlling and more serious heroine and the supporting characters tend to be “more funny than flaky.” The fourth difference is the “dating ritual.” In screwball, the heroine often finds herself in a “triangle” with her desire and his fiancée and the heroine’s role is to separate the serious (and boring) fiancée and to then capture his heart. In romantic comedy, the tension often lies in character differences, as opposed to another character itself. The fifth difference is plot pacing. Screwballs escalate near the end, while romantic comedy drags the tension throughout the end.
Next, Gehring discusses “Depression-Era Developments.” The first point Gehring presents the emergence of the “anti-hero” in 1920’s film. The second point is the fascination of the population with the upper classes. The third development is the implementation of the Production Code in 1934. The fourth “period factor” was the film industry’s growing use of sound technology. The fifth discussion point was the influence of “manic comedy of teams.”
The chapter then discusses key pictures. My Man Godfrey is described and analyzed throughout this part of the chapter. Analysis of the connection between Marx Brother’s comeback film’s (A Night at the Opera) success and that of Godfrey. It is described as “a surreal lead-in.” Gehring argues that Morrie Ryskind aided in this success as he was the co-writer of both films.
The chapter ends with a presentation of “Post-Depression Developments of Both Genres.” There is focus on WWII as a reason for the dwindling demand for screwball comedy. Moreover, a slew of poor remakes is argued as tainting the screwball genre. Gehring then charts screwballs re-emergence in the 1960s and then a “mini re-emergence” in the 1980s.
Wes D. Gehring’s Screwball Comedy presents a thorough analysis of the said genre. Chapter 6, “The Screwball Genre and Comedy Theory,” applies comedy theory to screwball comedy. The first part of the chapter presents a “superiority theory” and applies it to the genre of screwball comedy. The model focuses on three key aspects: “the concept of implosion, genre space and conflict, and the comic tendencies of pivotal directors.”
Screwball makes fun of the status quo—in particular of the wealthy. However, it is done as to “grow fond of these wealthy wackos, in a superior sort of way.” Moreover, Gehring believes that screwball minimizes “socioeconomic differences of the leading duo and key on their initial conflicts concerning eccentric behavior.”
Gehring then reverts back to political implosion and space and conflict. It is argued that the leftist movement of the 1930s was upset that Hollywood focused on the Depression despite the public’s fondness of such topics. Gehring then discusses how screwball doesn’t have “determinate space” and isn’t concerned with “threatened space,” but rather society and attempting to adjust to the “cultural milieu.”
The chapter then moves to discuss Henri Bergson’s Theory of Superiority. There are three components of character development that can be applied to screwball comedy: absentmindedness, inversion, and supporting comedy characters as satellites of the lead performer. It is described that absentmindedness usually comes from the lead male performer. It can be seen through rigidity, as is the case with the slightly aloof Godfrey. Inversion is then described as when “‘certain characters in a certain situations’ pull a switch.” This can appear when the antihero male believes he is in charge of his life, but isn’t. Gehring then describes the incident in Godfrey when Irene (Carole Lombard) tells Godfrey (William Powell) that he “is my responsibility now.”
Gehring then presents three key items that differentiate female “activity” from that of the male. Firstly, the female assumes the eccentricity mainly to win over the male. Despite her zealousness, Irene (Lombard) displays rationality, telling her sister “you can’t rush a man like Godfrey.” Secondly, there is a double standard with respect to the reversal of “stereotype gender activity.” Thus, the female heroine is allowed to be aggressive. Lastly, is the” battle of the sexes.” It is argued that the female eccentricity is not anti-social because of her desire towards marriage—a societal foundation.
The final part of the chapter deals with satellite characters. Gehring describes the supporting characters as antiheroic and sometimes fatherly. This applies to Godfrey as the father character, Alexander Bullet, is indeed the true forgotten man as well as a satellite father figure.