queue de grace: The General and My Man Godfrey



Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.
                                                            ~Saint Francis of Assisi

Many years ago I started SCUBA diving and my first dive post certification was in Cozumel, Mexico at Palancar reef.  It was in a section of the reef called the "gardens", so named for its extensive variety of coral and altogether stunning display of massive coral pillars that stretches for hundreds of yards.  It is something like an underwater forest, comprised of coral and Caribbean fish and utilizing every color you've ever imagined (and then a few you haven't yet).  You literally, dive down into the reef, then spend a good thirty minutes (or so) floating in and around the giant coral pillars, with angelfish the size of dinnerware for company.

I was expecting it to be fun, and it was.  I was expecting it to be beautiful, it was.

I wasn't expecting it to be so quiet.

The silence adds to the intensity of the experience as your entire world shrinks down to breathing and looking.  It is very peaceful and when you eventually surface, it takes a few minutes before you even really want to talk again, because talking breaks the spell.

Watching The General (1926) was a similar experience for me.  Engaging a silent film in this way and removing the spoken word, made it more focused somehow and it was simply delightful.  I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that I've never actually sat through a full length silent film before.  I'd seen shorts, and snippets of Keaton and Chaplin and others, but never a full feature.

The How:

Bouncing between the occasional slide of written word (in a nice font by the way) and the visual movement of the black and white scenes, the story propels forward on the tracks of Keaton's grace.

What an amazing physicality Keaton has, a simple marvel of expression and groove in the way he moves from place to place. He embodies the moments of childhood fearlessness where you're jumping around with unbounded joy, before you almost get seriously hurt and remember to be more careful.  

I really didn't see any points where the action seemed to cut away from Keaton, he seems to be his own stunt man, which is alarming and fun in tandem.  He's dancing around an actual moving train for crying out loud!  In front of the "cow catcher", with what appears to be a real railroad tie... on the engine itself, springing from car to car on top of the train and at least one death defying leap from car to woodpile to steam engine in a go.

In modern stuff, we watch people outrunning explosions, etc... and even in our suspension of disbelief, we know that this is smoke and mirrors and the "danger" isn't real.  No disrespect to stunts or stuntpeople intended or implied.

With the stunts and visual gags Keaton is doing, you have the sense that most of this is first take material and you know that he's actually doing these things.  The choreography, the sense of actual danger and the coordinated execution of the physical movement he is engaged in throughout makes it more compelling.  The "please don't break your leg and get run over by the train that isn't a model" sense you're feeling makes the funny funnier and connection you feel with the action even stronger.

There's just something cool and distinctive about the vaudeville era of physical comedy we simply don't encounter outside of it.

It may go without saying, but the movie was really funny.  Both Karen and I laughed out loud enough times to lose count... the example I'm thinking of is when he gets the Lieutenant's uniform and immediately strikes a civil war pose - completely hysterical.   Even remembering it just now made me laugh again.  Has there ever been anyone else who could pull that kind of thing off as well as he does?

Keaton's ability to convey unpretentious expression is a joy to watch.

The What:

The General (1926) is about making the most of opportunity.  To flesh that out a bit, to make the most of opportunity by adjusting to changing circumstances well when our plans just don't work out, and holding to perseverance as you go.

Consider the following gags, but in the context of my proposed direction:

- Johnny alerts the army and gets dozens of men to climb aboard a car to go after the union soldiers, but then the engine isn't attached to the car and he leaves without them

- He deals with multiple obstacles on the track that are blocking his way

- He deals with the flaming car, intended to burn the bridge and block passage

- He runs out of wood to fuel the steam engine

- He's separated from his train by fire, by a fall into the river, through the train's reversing course...

This list could go on, but none of these occurrences are a reason to give up.  They provide the context for everything from stunts to silliness, but it really isn't ever an option to just call it quits and go home.

Even the final scene, where he is trying to kiss the girl, but also salute the enlisted men... the answer isn't to either stop kissing the girl, or ignore the saluting.

The answer is to move her to the other side and do both, which is silly but we get the point.

Three cheers for, in some small way, having our cake and eating it too.

This was an entirely uplifting and hopeful film.  I felt better after watching it, and I'm confident that you will too.

William Powell and Carole Lombard in My Man Godfrey

You have a wonderful sense of humor. I wish I had a sense of humor, but I can never think of the right thing to say until everybody's gone home.  ~Irene in My Man Godfrey (1936)

The How:

I haven't talked much about the actors yet, though they have been superlative without exception so far.  In this one I'll talk about little else.  

In My Man Godfrey (1936) the leads of William Powell with his patience and presence, contrasting with the geniusly manic machine gun fire dialogue of Carole Lombard are as good as it gets.  

I adored them both, but especially Lombard, I've just never seen anything quite like her. My goodness, she's a force of nature, speaking at 200 words a minute and not even considering stopping for a breath in her stream of consciousness hopping from one thought to the next.  It's funny, charming, ditzy, impressive, endearing, tiring, brilliant and screwballarific all at the same time.  I was looking for the handle to make it stop, while thoroughly enjoying everything she did.

The quote above might be better read as, "Youhaveawonderfulsenseofhumor. IwishIhadasenseofhumor, butIcanneverthinkoftherightthingto sayuntileverybody'sgonehome."

Don't try that at home, it's harder than it looks.  

Powell is the soothing and sarcastically careful counterpoint to her wackball melody.  He speaks with such a quiet dignity that you know from the start there is more to his story than meets the eye.  

The rest of the cast was pretty perfect as well, with the vacuous non-sequitur mother, the ice cold Cornelia with cat like posture and phrasing, desperate for approval, the sarcastic deadpan delivery of the father, the acerbically clever maid and my personal favorite - Carlos, in his starving artist, gorilla imitating, piano playing, "Ochi Chornya" goodness.

To the writers, casting agent, director and actors - I salute you, nicely done everybody.

The What:

This movie is about kindness, in a practical sort of way.

We first see this in how Cornelia approaches Godfrey, and then how differently he is approached by Irene.  They both want the same thing, but Irene is checked by kindness, where Cornelia really isn't.  And Godfrey doesn't have a chance.

Godfrey is really our paragon here, having gotten ahead of this learning curve through his experience discovering and living among the forgotten men.  In small ways they are shown sharing, speaking kindly to and helping each other and in their approach Godfrey finds something beautiful and determines to repay them.

He is kind to the mother throughout, but especially in delivering her breakfast after the initial party.  He shows kindness to the maid by doing the dishes when she wasn't feeling well, to the father by selling his stock short and giving him the proceeds to help him recover, to Cornelia by not immediately revealing her betrayal... but returning her pearls late and speaking to her kindly in a way she can understand.  And of course, the forgotten men are not forgotten by him at all.

One of my axioms of analysis is that there is meaning in repetition, so when I see something repeated, I tend to fasten on it. 

One of my axioms of analysis is that there is meaning in repetition, so when I see something repeated, I tend to fasten on it. (insert rimshot here)

Stepping back, this movie makes me wonder a couple of things:

One, why can't people doing romantic comedies now write this well?  Is it really that hard to find someone with game, pay them a million dollars and have them write something on this level?  Truly, not everyday is your birthday and I'm betting that not every movie made in the 1930's was this good, but I can't think of anything in the last 10 years that could hold a candle to this in terms of dialogue or execution.

Two, why do we settle for less?  Couldn't we pass a law that anyone making a bad movie has to watch this one 72 times until they understand where they missed it and make a solemn vow to do better?

Just a thought.  

Finally, if Shakespeare taught us anything, it's that the comedy ends with a wedding, and then the show is over.  The final scene where Irene corrals Godfrey had me grinning like an idiot.

So as the curtain draws, I'll leave you with this:

Stand still, Godfrey. It'll all be over in a minute. 

                                              ~Irene, My Man Godfrey (1936)