No, sir, I will not yield!

Frank Capra’s indelible brand of feel-good morality tales, sprinkled with romance and humor, has led to his films being labeled as “Capra-corn” by some critics. And it’s true that some of his most beloved and well-known movies tend toward the sentimental. But to deride Capra’s work as mere schmaltz is to ignore the sheer talent and craftsmanship that drove each of the director’s creations.

Though the perennial Christmas classic It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) is perhaps Capra’s best-known film, it is by no means his greatest. In my mind, that honor belongs to 1939′s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, a patriotic, heartfelt American celebration featuring one of Capra’s most effective casts, including James Stewart, Jean Arthur, and Claude Rains.

Stewart stars as Jefferson Smith, a young, idealistic leader of the Boy Rangers, who is tapped to replace the recently-deceased junior senator of his state. The head of the state’s political machine, Jim Taylor (Edward Arnold), pressures the state’s senior senator, Joseph Paine (Rains), one of Jeff’s heroes, to keep the young man in line to ensure that Taylor’s political schemes remain in play. Paine tries to distract Jeff with his alluring daughter, Susan (Astrid Allwyn), and convinces Jeff to sponsor a bill in order to keep him busy. Jeff’s secretary, Clarissa Saunders (Arthur), who is initially skeptical about her new boss’s ability to do his job, is eventually won over and assists him in crafting a measure to build a national boys’ camp on some land near Willet Creek in his home state. However, unbeknownst to Jeff, Taylor has his eye on the same property, and has buried the graft in a Public Works bill being supported by the crooked Paine. When the Taylor machine goes to work destroying Jeff’s credibility, he takes over the Senate floor via filibuster in an effort to convince his fellow senators–and his constituents–that there are corrupt forces at play within the government.

This movie is, for all intents and purposes, a political fairy tale, wrapped up neatly–and somewhat unbelievably–at the end. Are we to believe that Paine, a seasoned politician with years’ worth of political shenanigans under his belt, is so moved by Jeff’s efforts that he first attempts suicide, and then confesses the entire scheme? It seems too far outside the realm of possibility to be realistic.

And yet, we believe anyway. This is a grown-up fairy tale, and one that those of us who have become jaded by “politics as usual” wish could come true. How different would our government be if all politicians believed as Jefferson Smith does–that liberty is both our right and our privilege, and that it is their sacred duty to uphold that construct on behalf of all of us, the forces of corruption be damned?

Smith shares several themes with the aforementioned Life, the most prominent of which is the notion that one person has the ability to make a difference in the world. But Life has a more cynical take on man’s existence than does Smith; amidst the subtle digs at government corruption and the political machine, there is an innocence to Jefferson Smith that Life’s George Bailey decidedly lacks. It’s fitting that both roles are played by Stewart, the everyman to beat all everymen. We believe Smith–believe IN Smith–because of Stewart’s very capable and passionate portrayal, and we feel for him and his fight as much as we feel for George’s despair in the latter film. Stewart was nominated for an Oscar for his role as Jefferson Smith, but lost to Robert Donat for Goodbye, Mr. Chips. He went on to win the Academy Award for Best Actor the following year for his performance in The Philadelphia Story–an award many in the industry felt was not so much for his comedic turn as Macaulay Connor in that film, but as an overdue recognition of the brilliance of her performance in Smith.

This film also marks one of Jean Arthur’s best roles as the street-smart Capitol Hill insider won over by Jeff’s corn-fed “hokum.” Arthur is sometimes overlooked in the annals of film history–for instance, it remains inexplicable to me how AFI could list the supposed “25 greatest film actresses” and NOT include Arthur–and to modern audiences, she is not among the more well-known film legends. It’s a shame more people aren’t familiar with her work, because Arthur was a truly great actress. More known for her comedic roles, particularly her deft hand at screwball comedy in films such as 1937′s Easy Living and her two previous films for Capra, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) and You Can’t Take It with You (1938), she was also quite good in more serious roles, particularly her final turn in the seminal 1953 Western Shane.

Her performance in Smith is no exception; as Clarissa, Arthur is the perfect combination of the lover and the cynic, demonstrating a tenacious spirit that lights up the screen during her scenes. Watch her face as Jeff expounds on the preciousness of liberty. You can literally see her shift from skepticism to disbelief to a dawning sense of wonder. Simple, heartfelt, marvelous.

The supporting cast is equally admirable, led by Rains as the conflicted, yet determined Paine. Arnold provides one of his typically bullfrog-esque performances as the loathsome Taylor. And Harry Carey is a delight as the winking, far-seeing President of the Senate, whose quiet interference keeps Jeff on his fighting path.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is airing on TCM on Wednesday (the 10th) at 9:30AM EST. If you have yet to catch this lovely slice of film history, take advantage of the opportunity to do so, and see if you’re not cheering for Jeff, too, by the end of the movie.

“Damn the torpedos! Full speed ahead!”

The More the Merrier (1943)
and The Devil and Miss Jones (1941)

Airing noon and 2PM EST

Jean Arthur has always been one of my favorite actresses. To look at her–and to listen to her–you might wonder how on earth this woman managed to succeed in Hollywood.

She’s lovely to look at, true, but at her peak, Arthur was well into her 30s (though she didn’t look it, did she?) and making top-grossing films in a town that, to this day, values youth over age and experience. She walked away from film soon after reaching the pinnacle of her career (only returning to the screen twice more in celebrated roles), reportedly because she suffered from such severe stage fright that, according to her frequent director Frank Capra, she would vomit between takes–an issue that likewise caused her to fervently avoid interviews. She became a virtual recluse after retiring from acting for good in the 1960s, though she would spend some of her later years as an acting teacher at Vassar (where one of her students was a young Meryl Streep). And, through it all, there was that voice–sometimes high-pitched, sometimes husky, a little smoky, the slightest bit squeaky–certainly a far cry from the homogenized vocal tones of many of her contemporaries. An odd voice, to be sure, but memorable above most others. This clip, from 1937′s Easy Living, highlights that quirky voice brilliantly.

It’s this essential quirkiness that makes Arthur such an enigma, and so fascinating a figure in the history of cinematic women. Unlike many of her more ambitious counterparts, it was almost as if Arthur had simply stumbled into the profession; as she stated herself in a rare 1971 interview, “I guess I became an actress because I didn’t want to be myself.” Thankfully, despite her apparent lack of cutthroat drive, she had the talent to thrive on the silver screen in every role she tackled. And while Arthur was a talented dramatic actress, to be sure (for evidence, just watch her turn as the cynical chief of staff in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington), with a nimble wit and impeccable timing, Arthur was an extraordinarily adept comedian.

Two of her most winning comedies are playing today on TCM, starting with 1943′s wartime comedy The More the Merrier.

In the second of three films for director George Stevens (the first being the previous year’s The Talk of the Town with Cary Grant; the third, Arthur’s final film, the classic 1953 Western Shane), Arthur plays Connie, a single woman looking for a roommate to share her apartment in the midst of the Washington housing shortage (a real problem in D.C. during World War II). The retired and wealthy Benjamin Dingle (Charles Coburn) finds himself without a place to stay and answers Connie’s ad; against her better judgment, Dingle convinces her to let him stay. When Dingle allows a young serviceman, Joe Carter, to move in and share his half of the apartment, Connie becomes angered but cannot ask them to leave as she has already spent Dingle’s rent money. The three share the apartment somewhat uncomfortably, but despite the fact that Connie is engaged to an uptight politician, she and Joe begin to fall in love, and an already complicated situation becomes ridiculously convoluted …

You can imagine that the Production Code had quite a bit to say about this film’s premise, what with two bachelors living in the same apartment with a young, unmarried woman. Still, any expression of disapproval on their part did not alter the film’s content, and the somewhat cheeky camera setup, in which the film viewer sees McCrea and Arthur sleeping in twin beds side-by-side, the thin wall between them barely visible on the screen, remains a sly wink at salaciousness.

[Side note: this film was remade in 1966 as Walk, Don't Run, which has the distinction of being Cary Grant's final film; still, the original is definitely superior.]

Arthur is hilarious as the put-upon Connie; her confusion and inability to argue the situation are played to great comic affect, and for someone who was 43 at the time the movie was filmed, she looks remarkably young and fresh. This film also marks Arthur’s only Oscar nomination, though she lost to Jennifer Jones (for The Song of Bernadette). McCrea is also typically wonderful as the stalwart young sergeant waiting to head to war. But Coburn steals the film as the meddlesome millionaire. As he enters a scene, yelling, “Damn the torpedos, full steam ahead!” you can’t help but laugh with delight. Deservedly, after a long career of memorable character roles in some amazing movies (including the next film discussed here), Coburn finally won an Oscar for Supporting Actor for this film.

Though Merrier marks perhaps their best-known collaboration, Arthur and Coburn had previously appeared in two other films together, and their agreeable affinity was evident from their first pairing, in 1941′s The Devil and Miss Jones.

In Devil, Arthur plays Mary Jones, a shoe clerk working for a store owned by John P. Merrick, the wealthiest man in the world. In an attempt to unmask employees who are secretly trying to organize a union, Merrick goes undercover in his own store and befriends Mary and her friend Elizabeth (Spring Byington). In the process, he is introduced to Mary’s boyfriend, Joe (Robert Cummings), who turns out to be the ringleader of the union movement (and who had previously hung Merrick in effigy in front of the store). His friendship with the three workers eventually opens Merrick’s eyes to the difficulties faced by the working class, but his new friendships–and his budding romance with Elizabeth–are threatened as he continues to conceal his true identity from them.

This film really is an ensemble piece; though Arthur and Coburn, the titular pair, are the centerpiece of the film, the supporting turns by Cummings (an underrated comedic actor) and Byington (a reliable character actress whose presence graced many a classic picture) are essential to the success of the movie’s premise. The quartet is enjoyable and capable, and the pairing of Coburn and Byington, particularly, is sweet (it also bears mentioning that the film features a supporting turn by my favorite character actor, “Cuddles” Sakall, as Coburn’s hapless butler). And the film’s deliciously arch humor is evident from the start, as the opening credits conclude with the plea: “Dear richest man in the world: We made up the character in the story out of own heads. It is nobody, really. The whole thing is make-believe. We’d feel awful if anyone was offended. Thank you, the Author, Director and Producer. P.S. Nobody sue. P.P.S. Please.”

If you’re looking for some laughs, with just a touch of romance, make sure you watch these great films today. The Devil and Miss Jones is unavailable on DVD, and The More the Merrier is still relatively expensive, so best to catch these while you can!

Oscar checklist:

The More the Merrier

Wins: Best Supporting Actor (Coburn)

Nominations: Best Actress (Arthur), Best Story, Best Screenplay, Best Director (Stevens), Best Picture

The Devil and Miss Jones

Nominations: Best Supporting Actor (Coburn), Best Screenplay

TCM Spotlight: Frank Capra

Tonight, Turner Classic Movies will show a lineup of some of director Frank Capra’s best.

SET YOUR DVR.

Now that I’ve gotten the warning/mild-threat-of-violence-if-you-don’t-comply out of the way …

If you’ve read my introduction page (in the links to the right), you know that I consider Capra one of my five favorite film directors of all time. His films, considered by some to be overtly corny (evidenced by those “high” critics who would later label his films “Capra-Corn”), reflect an almost idealized view of the American sensibility, for at the heart of every Capra film is the message that humanity, in and of itself, is inherently “good.” Fittingly, many of Capra’s characters tend to find redemption in the seeming mundanity of their lives (a perfect example of this being George Bailey, the erstwhile hero of Capra’s Christmas staple It’s a Wonderful Life), and the films celebrate a kind of “Average Joe American” who triumphs over the forces of cynicism and greed. Not for nothing, Depression-era audiences of the 1930s lauded Capra’s approach, and he was awarded all three of his Best Director Oscars within that decade.

On a side note, for those who may be wondering why Turner Classic Movies has left Capra’s best-known work off its schedule this holiday season, It’s a Wonderful Life does not belong to Turner Entertainment; instead, all broadcast rights in the United States belong to NBC. Thus, if you’re going to catch it on TV this year, you’ll have to endure it with commercials (I know … that sucks. A lot).

Tonight’s lineup does not include my personal favorite Capra film, 1939′s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (sadness). But the five films being shown tonight embody one of the things that made Capra’s work so great: that amazing, seamless blend of screwball comedy and genuine heart. Of these, I’d like to draw your attention to my favorite three: It Happened One Night (showing at 8PM); You Can’t Take It With You (showing at 12AM); and Arsenic and Old Lace (showing at 2:15AM).

It Happened One Night (1934) is a milestone film in that it was the first film ever to win the top five Academy Awards (Best Picture, Actor, Actress, Director, and Screenplay) in a single year, a sweep that is all the more surprising considering that the film’s stars reportedly did not enjoy making the film. In fact, according to the TCM film guide Leading Ladies (a review of which will appear here soon), Claudette Colbert was so frustrated with her experience making the film that, upon completing her role, she reportedly told several friends: “I’m glad I got here; I just finished the worst picture of the year.”

Well, that's one way to hail a cab.

Yet Colbert gives what is arguably the best performance of her career in this film. As a spoiled heiress who runs away from her father when he attempts to annul her marriage to a gold-digging pilot, Colbert flees by bus from Miami to New York, encountering Gable’s rakish reporter on the road and falling under his wing. Ultimately, through their increasingly ludicrous journey, each learns lessons about life and love from the other. From the infamous hitch-hiking scene, wherein she hails a ride by showing off her shapely gams, to the “Wall of Jericho” she insists separate her double bed from that of Gable’s in their shared cabin, Colbert brilliantly portrays the awakening of a pampered princess to the joys of freshly-picked carrots and bargain breakfasts. Gable’s own work here is first-rate; as he deftly straddles the line between pragmatic “everyman” and romantic gallant, it is not hard to believe that Colbert’s dilettante could be attracted to the rough-edged journalist.

Four years later, Capra won his second directing Oscar for 1938′s You Can’t Take It With You, starring his self-proclaimed favorite actress (and one of mine as well), the squeaky-voiced Jean Arthur (in the second of her three collaborations with Capra). The film also features the always-wonderful James Stewart (in the first of his three collaborations with the director) and a very effective supporting cast that includes Lionel Barrymore, Spring Byington, and Ann Miller. Of special note for Alabama natives such as myself, the cast also features character actor Dub Taylor, a former player for the University of Alabama football team, in his first role. And while the performances truly make this a film to remember, the screenplay, based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning play by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart, crackles with wit and heart.

Harmonica solos make everything better.

The story revolves around Arthur’s eccentric family, the Vanderhofs, and its clash with Stewart’s moneyed clan, the Kirbys, which creates difficulties for their star-crossed romance. While the Vanderhofs believe that people should always do what they please in order to live their lives to the fullest, the Kirbys pursue social advancement and the almighty dollar with an unmitigated passion. When Kirby Sr. decides to buy up an entire section of real estate in order to build commercial property, he runs into a roadblock when Grandfather Vanderhof refuses to sell. A proposal, some fireworks, and an unexpected visit by the Kirbys to the unconventional Vanderhof home lead to utter chaos … and utter hilarity.

After a detour into drama in the aforementioned Washington and 1941′s Meet John Doe, Capra revisits his love of screwball comedy in 1944′s Arsenic and Old Lace, one of the ultimate examples of the genre. The film had actually been made in late 1941, but was not released theatrically until the original play had completed its run on Broadway. Cary Grant plays Mortimer Brewster, the sane center of a completely psychotic family, and plays the increasingly crazed straight man brilliantly. Grant is sometimes underrated as a comedic actor, in part because he typically plays urbane, witty types rather than straight screwball characters. But in this movie (as in such previous films such as Holiday and Bringing Up Baby, both with the luminous Katharine Hepburn), Grant lets loose with a wild, unrestrained performance, reminding filmgoers that the suave “Cary Grant” had, in his earliest acting days, been a product of broad comedic training on the burlesque circuit.

Say what??

In this film, he has a great supporting cast of kooks to play off of, including Raymond Massey as his creepy brother, Priscilla Lane as his unwitting new bride, Josephine Hull and Jean Adair as his addled aunts, and Peter Lorre as Massey’s unwilling accomplice. The script, adapted for the screen by playwrights Julius and Philip Epstein, is a great blend of screwball and black comedy, with just enough lightness to take the edge off the darker themes of murder and mayhem. As Mortimer comes home to announce his wedding to the family, he is at first horrified by and then determined to hide his aunts’ “mercy poisonings” of their lonely, elderly male callers. Things are complicated by the antics of his brothers: the delusional “Teddy,” who thinks he is Teddy Roosevelt, and the murderous Jonathan, an escaped criminal. Mortimer scrambles to cover some crimes and expose others, in the process wondering if he’s just as crazy as the rest of them.

And there you have it. If you’re looking for some feel-good, laugh-your-ass-off comedy, check out these films (and more!) as TCM celebrates the amazing Frank Capra tonight!