Not Coming to a Theater Near You

His Girl Friday / Howard Hawks’ His Girl Friday / USA / 1940

While watching my favorite Howard Hawks film (or maybe it’s just one of my favorite Howard Hawks films — I guess it just depends on timing), I became dismayed by the demise of the hat in Hollywood, or at least the decline of its use as a versatile and valuable prop. It’s a shame that contemporary filmmakers rarely make use of any article of clothing as astutely as Hawks does in his verbose and chaotic battle-of-the-(s)exes, easily using the headwear to accentuate regret, shame, and guilt at one moment, before demonstrating how effortlessly it can serve as an amusing comedic apparatus.

Another obvious illustration of Hawks’ impressive ability as a director is how expertly, efficiently, and resourcefully he establishes and expresses the power of his female-protagonist, Hildy Johnson. Through frame after frame, Hawks positions Rosalind Russell to almost tower over every other actor in the shot, whether male or female. Though some of this allocation of authority is accomplished through casting some smaller males in supporting roles, Hawks quite often takes the time to have the men that surround Hildy angled as if they were subservient. In fact, Hildy’s only legitimate rival for authority within the frame and power within the narrative (though a potential mother-in-law and a mayor briefly vie for influence) is Walter Burns (Cary Grant), who is naturally the only man who displays himself to be worthy of her affection. One moment I increasingly appreciate is when Burns successfully seduces Hildy’s on a professional level by making elaborate appeals to her ego and ambition, rather than making romatic requests with tender promises of adoration and devotion. In those brief moments the film feels progressive, if only because it almost signals the genesis of the modern career-woman.

It’s just unfortunate that Hildy winds up groveling for Walter’s attention at the end, elated by the idea that he loves her enough to torment those that would try to compete with him for her affection. Plus, Mr. Burns sure knows how to keep an eye on the bottom line — he’s keeping a pretty darn good reporter in his employment.

Bonus points for the casually self-referential moment when Walter describes his competitor, Bruce, as resembling Ralph Bellamy.

by Chiranjit Goswami | Source: Columbia TriStar DVD
04 Jun 2007 5:08 PM | Comments (2)

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1. leo / 6 June 2007 / 9:19 AM / URL

   … and when Grant refers to the last person who crossed him as “Archie Leach.”

   But I’m not sure I would call Hildy’s eventual capitulation to Burns’s affections (such as they are) as either “groveling” or “unfortunate.” It may raise some hackles as garden variety Hollywood misogyny, but I think the way Hawks places it in the film’s topsy-turvy moral universe makes perfect sense.

   The key moment is when Hildy begins to cry. Why is she crying?, Grant asks her; she’s never cried before. The immediate assumption is that Hildy is crying because Bellamy is in prison again (this time, as I recall, for carrying counterfeit money). But in fact, she’s crying because she had thought, until Ralph’s phone call, that Grant was doing the honorable thing by stepping aside and letting her go. What she perceives as Grant’s reversal, his sudden metamorphosis into maturity and integrity, is what she finds so upsetting, so utterly depressing.

   But of course, she’s wrong. He’s still the rude, lying bastard she’s always loved, and this final realization is the happy resolution of the film. That he is a bastard — that he dominates her, neglects to open doors for her, doesn’t take his hat off in her presence, and, in the last line of the film, tells her how to carry her own suitcase rather than helping her with it — is, I think, shocking and funny. And it’s doubly so because it’s Grant, otherwise the peerless gentleman, doing it.

2. Chiranjit / 6 June 2007 / 12:52 PM / URL

   Yeah, it was probably a mistake to use the word “groveling,” but the ol’ mental thesaurus has suffered greatly from lying dormant for far too long.

   I am by no means stating that Hildy’s reaction doesn’t make perfect sense within the topsy-turvy moral universe that Hawks has created. In fact, I agree that Hildy’s reaction seems entirely appropriate within the film’s convoluted sexual/gender-politics. I think you and I are also in harmony in admiring how Hawks (& co.) crafts the closing scene around Hildy’s unexpected response, thereby ingeniously manipulating the audience’s expectations by accentuating their misconceptions of the characters.

   Actually, I find the scene to be amusing in its unpredictable nature. In fact, I find the entire scenario to be hilarious, including Walter’s return to his natural loutish and inconsiderate behavior (a playful divergence from Grant’s customary screen persona, as you pointed out) after a brief moment of bogus nobility. However, even though Hildy’s whimpers are in response to finally comprehending that she still means enough to Walter to deserve his continued conniving schemes and that he remains the same unscrupulous man she has always known and loved (and she takes comfort in that predictability), it still feels as though her authority within the film has been abruptly diminished be her acknowledgment that she still requires Walter’s attention and she desires his constant pursuit of her affection. I guess what’s more disheartening is that Hildy’s actions almost serve as an admission that Walter remains capable of manipulating her emotions and that she is willing to concede this control over her personal restraint, even if she is aware of his devious tactics. Hildy seems aware of the sexual-politics of the circumstances, but she also appears to be willing to conform to their conventions no mater how much she initially resists.

   So while I’m certainly entertained by the entire situation I’m just not entirely thrilled with the concessions being willingly made by the characters after watching so much of a spirited struggle between the two (s)exes. It all makes sense within the film, but once I detach myself from the situation, the disconnection results in a slight ambivalence to the film’s chosen resolution.