I Married a Witch

I Married a Witch (René Clair, 1942) A Preston Sturges production (that he quit over differences with the director) partially written by Dalton Trumbo (who quit over his differences with Preston Sturges—maybe he should have waited), this is one troubled flick, and, sadly, it shows.  Where it should be charming, it's merely cloying.  And the off-screen wrangling has an effect among the actors, too.  Joel McCrea (who would have been a better match here) passed on the starring role after his difficulties with Veronica Lake on Sullivan's Travels ("Life's too short..." was his comment) and Frederic March—a better actor and no slouch at comedy (see Nothing Sacred) was inserted.  But, his efforts comes off forced and flat, and Lake's antics off-screen soured any chemistry when the two were photographed together. 

And yet, Lake is great.  She didn't take any of this too seriously—it's a fantasy, after all—and she's that perfect combination of alluring and goofy.*  Her character, a witch named Jennifer burned at the stake during the witch-trials by one of the ancestors of March's character, places a curse on the male family-line to always marry the wrong woman.  By the time, lightning strikes a gnarled tree which frees the spirits (in smoke form), the latest of the Wooley clan is a scion running for political position and on the eve of marrying the starchy daughter (Susan Hayward) of his chief supporter, a newspaper publisher (Robert Warwick).  Everything seems well-orchestrated and on-schedule, prim and proper and corrupt.  What's needed is a little black magic.

And where there's smoke, there's fire.  Wooley and Jennifer "meet cute"...in a burning building—whatever the merits of the film, you can't say it's "formula"—and Jennifer's witch starts popping up everywhere, most notably in Wooley's pajamas in his bed, which makes things...complicated.  Now, that formula we mentioned earlier comes to the fore, when the witch decides to seal the deal with a love potion to ensure Wooley's love for her.  Guess who drinks it?  You don't need magic powers to guess.

Where the film picks up (and actually does catch fire) is in the drawn-out wedding sequence, where Jennifer's manipulations (along with her father's, played in corporeal form by Cecil Kellaway) manage to derail the most staged of political-social weddings and does so four times.**  The wedding singer sings "I Love You Truly," the wedding march begins, and then (boom) something happens and everything gets pushed back to the starting point—"I Love You Truly."  Having to pick up the pieces and re-stage something so elaborate that many times is comedy gold, and Clair and the writers (including Robert Benchley who has a prominent role) keep ramping up the stakes when returning to the ritual, leading to a fine capper involving the ceremony's stodgy wedding singer.

But, then, things turn "charming" again, undercutting the satire and the basic push-pull of organization and chaos.  But, for a brief time, anarchy reigns supreme, turning the greased gears of prominence and political glad-handing into a thudding, shuddering mess, seeing a processional and wanting to pull the rug out from under it.  No wonder Sturges wanted to do it.  And Trumbo?  He knew a lot about witch-trials (but not as much as he would).  Benchley is nicely droll throughout, light on the irony, heavy on the farce.  There's a constant battle between the wisenheimer and the twee and the result is rather milquetoast.  What should have bubbled like a cauldron comes across as rather tepid.

But that wedding section.  It's crashingly good. 


"that perfect combination of alluring and goofy"



* What is it with blondes and comedy?  As much as Hollywood tries to shoe-horn gorgeous blonde-types into drama, some of the most alluring women are at their best doing comedy—Carole Lombard, Grace Kelly, Kim Basinger, Cybill Shepherd, Charlize Theron (all serenely beautiful) were at their best (in my opinion) when they were sly and antic, as if there was something in their DNA (or peroxide) that compelled them to find the "funny" in a situation, especially their own, and blow it up.  One of those little mysteries that occupy my brain in stray moments.

** The bride is played by pre-stardom/America's sweetheart Susan Hayward, who's character is such a straight-laced sour-puss that she has to be reminded by her newpaper-editor of a father to smile at her own wedding, which she manages to do only the first three times.  It's among the collection of running gags in the extended sequence that builds to a satisfyingly disruptive conclusion.

Sullivan's Travels

"Sullivan's Travels" (Preston Sturges, 1941) Entertaining 1941 "message picture" "with a little sex in it." Director John L. Sullivan has a case of "Hamlet disease,"* and wants the studio to bankroll a serious picture about poverty--"Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?"**--but while the brass haggle over whether they want to do it or not, "Sully" (Joel McCrea) dresses the part and goes amongst the poor and down-trodden for research. There, a girl (Veronica Lake, playing "The Girl") down on her own luck trying to get acting jobs, uses her last thirty cents to buy him breakfast. Sully gets the guilts, and tells her of his idea, and ropes her into the scheme.

The two then skip the studio publicity-mill bus that's been set up to track their moves as they spend the next few days hopping freights, eating at soup kitchens, and sleeping at flop-houses. The movie fairly careens with changes of tone from earnest pathos to roaring comedy--the poor are saintly (though one thief is particularly verminous), while the rich Beverly Hills folk, they are a foolish bunch. And Sully's "experiment" falls a bit short when he and The Girl can abandon it at a moment's whim (although Sturges does insure a more authentic experience, just to ensure that his point gets made).

Ultimately, the film seems a bit self-justifying in that a comedy film-maker makes a comedy about why comedies are needed. One would think that Sully could read the trades and see how well his movies were doing and come to the same conclusion. But let's not quibble. The movie is a great construction with Sturges' rock solid writing delivering a punch or punch-line every third line or so, all delivered at a break-neck pace by his stable of regulars and McCrea, whose sense of light comedy was impeccable, and Veronica Lake, who was never better than the breezy blonde who goes along for the ride.

"Sullivan's Travels" is the brightest star of the Preston Sturges series of Paramount comedies. If it can lead one to seeking out the rest of this too-overlooked writer-director's films, then that's gravy.

"Sullivan's Travels" is in the United States National Film Registry.

* When a comedian yearns to play Hamlet.

** Yes, this is where the Coen Brothers got it.