Archie Leach day: “Me jujitsu too!”

The Awful Truth has been described as a “tuning fork” for other comedies, and it’s obvious why. The tone of this film is so light, so crazed, so assured – the laughs come like clockwork – you know you are in great hands.

You can see the set-ups for disaster and comedy a mile away, but instead of the plot feeling predictable, you just start to get excited, like: “Oh God, this is gonna be bad … how are they gonna get out of this one??” You watch with ghoulish delight as other people’s lives fall apart spectacularly.


Apparently, Cary Grant and Irene Dunne both wanted to walk off the picture. They had no script. Leo McCarey, the director, would walk onto the set every morning, and say stuff like, “Okay, so you come through that door, call the dog, and …. just stand over there … and we’ll see how it goes.” They had no script. Cary Grant wrote an 8-page letter to the head of production at Columia, Harry Cohn, and he entitled it: “WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE”.

But eventually – Cary Grant saw that McCarey had a method to his madness, that his approach WASN’T random, and that he was asking the actors to trust the craziness of the situation, rather than trying to control it. Grant and Dunne, after commiserating with one another miserably about how insecure they felt, finally succumbed to the process – and thank God they did.

Half of the film is improvised. Which is so amazing, because it is so freakin’ funny. Like – laugh-out-loud funny. And it’s subtle behavioral humor for the most part:

— Irene Dunne playing piano as Ralph Bellamy sings “Home on the Range” very very very badly. Her FACE.

— Cary Grant’s little mannerisms, that go on throughout EVERY SCENE, in a private running commentary. His “tsk tsk tsk”, and “Hmm”, he always seems to be muttering to himself about the events around him. It’s hilarious. Even when he’s not the focus of the scene, he has 5,000 things going on with him.

— When Irene Dunne breaks into laughter during a recital where she is singing – she sees Cary Grant fall off his chair in the back of the room – she’s singing – and … hard to explain … but she laughs … ON KEY … and then somehow finishes the song. For me, it was the funniest moment in the movie (clip below – the fall comes about 3 minutes in. And just watch Irene Dunne laughing … on key. I adore it so much!)

— The woman who played Irene Dunne’s Aunt Patsy … This woman was a comedic genius. She hit a home-run with every one of her jokes. “Here’s your diploma.” I still can’t stop laughing about her deadpan reading of that line.

The Awful Truth is about a married couple, who are obviously crazy about each other, but who fight all the time. He’s suspicious that she’s cheating on him, she’s suspicious he’s cheating on her. She seems to have more reason to be suspicious than he does. (After all, the first scene is Cary Grant lying underneath a sunlamp at his athletic club, trying to get a tan quickly, in order to convince his wife he had actually been in Florida for the past week like he told her – he says to his buddy, “Of course I lie to her – I don’t want her to be embarrassed!”).

He has a lot of “broad-minded” ideas about marriage – that the couples should keep having separate fun, not be so conventional, not get all caught up in having to be together all the time – (he has a big monologue about it: “The road to Reno is paved with suspicion…”) However, he can’t actually LIVE with a “broad-minded” marriage, and actually – HE just wants to have fun, but SHE can’t start gallivanting about with other men – THAT isn’t cool with him, and so when he thinks she’s having an affair, due to some screwball misunderstanding, he flips OUT.

They decide to get divorced. They begin to fight for custody of their dog, Mr. Smith (the same dog Cary Grant chased around in Bringing up Baby). Both get involved with other people. And both start campaigns to mess up the new romances of the other.

Hilarity ensues.

Cary Grant has one pratfall (in the clip) which is one of the funniest things I have ever seen. You KNOW it’s coming, but you still are not fully prepared for the funny. He falls once, and then the fall just keeps going and going and going … and of course, he is in a situation where he is supposed to be very very quiet. It’s riotous. You just LOVE him. I LOVE him for giving me joy like that.

And the last scene is rightly famous. They are (for various and sundry lunatic reasons, involving a crashed car, a busted-up dinner party, and rides on motorcycles) stuck out at her Aunt Patsy’s house in the country, and their divorce is going to be final at midnight. She goes to bed in one room, he goes to bed in another room – both of them wearing borrowed pajamas. The sexual tension is huge. You are dying for them to make up, to kiss, something!!

A couple of screwball things happen – and he finally stands there in her doorway, staring at her – she’s lying in bed, he looks ridiculous in his borrowed nightshirt – and they start to try to talk about their marriage, and where it went wrong, but basically what is REALLY going on, is that he is trying to figure out a way to say to her: “Can I get in that bed with you?”

It’s even more amazing to look at the dialogue in this last scene, knowing that most of it is improvised. No wonder the two of them loved to work together so well. They’re so in tune with one another. It’s like a dance.

Here’s a snippet of that exchange. The entire thing is done with desperate seriousness. That’s why it’s so funny:

Jerry: I told you we’d have trouble with this…In a half an hour, we’ll no longer be ‘Mr. and Mrs.’ Funny, isn’t it?

Lucy: Yes, it’s funny that everything’s the way it is on account of the way you feel.

Jerry: Huh?

Lucy: Well, I mean if you didn’t feel the way you do, things wouldn’t be the way they are, would they? Well, I mean things could be the same if things were different.

Jerry: But things are the way you made them.

Lucy: Oh no. No, things are the way you think I made them. I didn’t make them that way at all. Things are just the same as they always were, only you’re the same as you were, too, so I guess things will never be the same again…You’re all confused, aren’t you?

Jerry: Uh-huh. Aren’t you?

Lucy: No.

Jerry: Well, you should be, because you’re wrong about things being different because they’re not the same. Things are different, except in a different way. You’re still the same, only I’ve been a fool. Well, I’m not now. So, as long as I’m different, don’t you think that, well, maybe things could be the same again? Only a little different, huh?

(I believe the spirit of this confusing conversation is also the inspiration for another one of the exchanges in What’s Up Doc. She says glumly to him, “I know I’m different, I know. But from now on, I’m gonna try to be the same.” He asks, “Same as what?” She says, “Same as people who aren’t different.”)

What started out as an annoyance to Cary Grant (the fact that there was no script, not really) ended up being the thing, the element, that shot him (and his career) off into the stratosphere. It was after The Awful Truth that Cary Grant became “important”.

It’s interesting: sometimes the things we resist most ferociously (in this case, improvisation) is EXACTLY what we need to do in order to succeed, fulfill our destinies, etc.

Other actors freeze up, or start to behave in highly conventional (read: BORING) ways when they don’t know what they’re doing, when they don’t have a script. Their imaginations aren’t fluid, they’re too afraid that they’re going to look foolish. Well, as we know, Cary Grant had no fear of looking foolish – that was part of his appeal. Improvisation is a gift and Cary Grant had it. He was, obviously, not just a funny man because the SCRIPTS he got were funny – he obviously was a funny man in real life, he had a relatively comedic outlook on things, and this was the first film where he really got to let that loose.

His fear at the beginning of the shoot ended up being a blessing: He just had to leap off that cliff, and stop trying to control everything.

Miracles of comedy followed. Zany, wacko, and still funny today.

Amazingly – everyone was nominated for Oscars except for Cary Grant. This is the price he paid for making it look so easy!!

Watch this movie and then watch Notorious and you’ll realize: damn, this guy is without peers.

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5 Responses to Archie Leach day: “Me jujitsu too!”

  1. Hank says:

    Thanks to you, I bought and watched this movie.
    It’s now one of my all time favorites
    and I recommend it to everyone.

    I was almost in tears after seeing the pratfall you allude to.

    The hiding in the other room scene was also a riot.

  2. Sal says:

    I’ve got to watch this again.
    They were so great together. I think Dunne had the same quality that he did- this incredibly classy and intelligent person not afraid to look extremely silly.(Though he was always sillier.) Is this the one where she sings “Gone with the Wind”?

  3. red says:

    Sal – she plays accompaniment to Ralph Bellamy’s horrendous version of “Home on the Range’ – it’s one of the funniest scenes in the movie – her deadpan face as she listens to her goofball fiance butcher that song. Is that the scene you mean?

    And I agree – I so love Irene Dunne’s silliness!! I love when she crashes the snotty family party in a flapper dress, pretending to be her husband’s jazz-baby sister. hahahahaha Totally scandalous!

  4. Sal says:

    I think when she crashes the party is the scene in which she sings that odd song. Trip to the library is in order to check it out…

  5. Britt says:

    Yeah, she sings a song when she crashes the party – I think it’s the one from earlier when Cary Grant’s “girlfriend” turns out to be a shady dancer. Hilarious. I can never decide if I like The Awful Truth or My Favorite Wife better… I always wish Irene Dunne had made more films with Cary Grant – they’re an absolute riot together!

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