As far as Classical Hollywood meet-cute conventions go, 'girl meets boy with the resolute intent of robbing him, then falls in love with him only for it to not work out, THEN obstinately aims to make him fall in love with her as revenge' is about as progressive as it gets. But Preston Sturges' The Lady Eve stands the test of time for more than pulling the rug out from under romantic comedy conventions and gender roles. Hilarious, razor-sharp, and enduringly sweet (disguised under a protective layer of acrid cynicism, 'natch), The Lady Eve is a raucously fun watch, befitting its status as one of the poster child comedies and romances of the screwball era.
Sturges was a notorious traditionalist, and, as in his more iconic 1941 companion piece, Sullivan's Travels, committed to embellishing every story into a grandiose, larger-than-life epic of human experience. The Lady Eve, thankfully, is substantially lighter and nowhere near as maudlin, but still shows glimmers of the same dogged pursuit of human truth, lingering ever-so-slightly more on the ethics, aspirations, dreams, and regrets of our central card sharks, and the shroud of customary screwball class disparity critiques, than the average, comparable zany comedy would. This may cost the film the zippiness of a Howard Hawks (with a staunchly three-act structure lending itself to some lags in pacing), but Sturges is his own animal. He painstakingly engenders our sympathies towards his flesh-and-blood characters, allowing the emotional authenticity of each scene and sight gag to play, giving each character moments to breathe and win our hearts, knowing our investment in them will make their subsequent antics all the sillier.
It pays off, as the film is as riotously funny as it is emotionally resonant. Sturges' talented ensemble inhabit their characters like gloves, making their blistering repartee and wordplay and effortless physical comedy (including a generous helping of, arguably, some of cinema's best-ever pratfalls) sparkle with joy and authenticity. Sturges also shows a remarkable knack for playing the silliness of situations to their hilt (the film's latter half, where Stanwyck hides in plain sight, disguising herself as an aristocratic version of... herself, amusingly pushes the limits of suspension of disbelief, even for Fonda's adorable nitwit), but without ever plunging into a superficial farce. The film is also surprisingly cheeky, with Stanwyck's seductive schtick, rife with double-entendres ("Are Snakes Necessary?" being the most pricelessly tongue-in-cheek sight gag), coyly nudging the boundaries of the Hayes Code, which rounds out the fun with a conspiratorial wink.
As the titular card shark with a conscience, Barbara Stanwyck gives a powerhouse performance. She practically radiates snappy charisma, and, from her mischievous role-playing to her acid-tongued disparaging take-downs to her surprising emotional vulnerability, she's a scream and all too easy to love from start to finish. As her proverbial 'girl next door' target, Henry Fonda gamely plays against type to hilarious effect, and his meekly principled millionaire simpleton is so delightfully adorable that serving as the butt of almost every joke only adds to his affable presence. Finally, Charles Coburn also subverts his usual typecasting as a blustering blowhard, his shrewd card shark instead stealing scenes as nimbly as he does money, and exuding quiet menace as much as he does gentlemanly compassion.
The Lady Eve's yacht may be full of snakes and simpletons, but his film is rife with delight, as boisterously funny as it is clever and emotionally heartfelt. One of the greats of Classical Hollywood, the film is nearly guaranteed to swindle laughs and feelings from you in equal, copious helpings. By now, after seeing Stanwyck and Coburn at work, you've surely learned your lesson on betting against it.
-9/10
Sturges was a notorious traditionalist, and, as in his more iconic 1941 companion piece, Sullivan's Travels, committed to embellishing every story into a grandiose, larger-than-life epic of human experience. The Lady Eve, thankfully, is substantially lighter and nowhere near as maudlin, but still shows glimmers of the same dogged pursuit of human truth, lingering ever-so-slightly more on the ethics, aspirations, dreams, and regrets of our central card sharks, and the shroud of customary screwball class disparity critiques, than the average, comparable zany comedy would. This may cost the film the zippiness of a Howard Hawks (with a staunchly three-act structure lending itself to some lags in pacing), but Sturges is his own animal. He painstakingly engenders our sympathies towards his flesh-and-blood characters, allowing the emotional authenticity of each scene and sight gag to play, giving each character moments to breathe and win our hearts, knowing our investment in them will make their subsequent antics all the sillier.
It pays off, as the film is as riotously funny as it is emotionally resonant. Sturges' talented ensemble inhabit their characters like gloves, making their blistering repartee and wordplay and effortless physical comedy (including a generous helping of, arguably, some of cinema's best-ever pratfalls) sparkle with joy and authenticity. Sturges also shows a remarkable knack for playing the silliness of situations to their hilt (the film's latter half, where Stanwyck hides in plain sight, disguising herself as an aristocratic version of... herself, amusingly pushes the limits of suspension of disbelief, even for Fonda's adorable nitwit), but without ever plunging into a superficial farce. The film is also surprisingly cheeky, with Stanwyck's seductive schtick, rife with double-entendres ("Are Snakes Necessary?" being the most pricelessly tongue-in-cheek sight gag), coyly nudging the boundaries of the Hayes Code, which rounds out the fun with a conspiratorial wink.
As the titular card shark with a conscience, Barbara Stanwyck gives a powerhouse performance. She practically radiates snappy charisma, and, from her mischievous role-playing to her acid-tongued disparaging take-downs to her surprising emotional vulnerability, she's a scream and all too easy to love from start to finish. As her proverbial 'girl next door' target, Henry Fonda gamely plays against type to hilarious effect, and his meekly principled millionaire simpleton is so delightfully adorable that serving as the butt of almost every joke only adds to his affable presence. Finally, Charles Coburn also subverts his usual typecasting as a blustering blowhard, his shrewd card shark instead stealing scenes as nimbly as he does money, and exuding quiet menace as much as he does gentlemanly compassion.
The Lady Eve's yacht may be full of snakes and simpletons, but his film is rife with delight, as boisterously funny as it is clever and emotionally heartfelt. One of the greats of Classical Hollywood, the film is nearly guaranteed to swindle laughs and feelings from you in equal, copious helpings. By now, after seeing Stanwyck and Coburn at work, you've surely learned your lesson on betting against it.
-9/10