In the guise of a winsome, laugh-out-loud funny and impeccably executed romantic comedy, The Lady Eve delivers a fascinating text on the nature of male and female relationships. Richly loaded with crafty symbolism and memorable dialog, brilliant performances and ingenious plot twists, it's an easy film to underestimate if one hasn't actually seen it or only glanced at it indifferently while it showed on TV. In a collection of cinematic milestones, I think it's fair to put The Lady Eve among the upper ranks of Hollywood productions, comedies and American films in general.
The story fits into the genre of screwball comedies (introduced earlier in this series via Trouble in Paradise and followed up by My Man Godfrey) and as the commentary track puts it, "comedy of remarriage," a category I hadn't heard of before encountering it here. The basic idea is that the characters go through a break-up, fool around innocuously according to the censorship standards of the time, and then reunite happily at the end. The complications that ensue here are such that most of the pivotal characters go through varying degrees of identity confusion and concealment so that even when it's the same "bodies" getting together, the personae relating to each other don't necessarily match up according to expectations - either the audiences or the characters portrayed on screen. It makes for a very amusing and thought-provoking exercise as the viewers plugs in one's own personal relationship dynamics into the various roles.
The film opens with an animation sequence during the title credits, and its important to let its significance sink in - this is more than just letters rolling across the frame. In fact, we see a snake writhing on the screen, a classic early-40's style cartoon character, dressed in top hat like a master of ceremonies, playing on the theme of forbidden fruit with exuberant relish. (You can see him on the movie poster above, eyes popping out as he ogles Barbara Stanwyck's gams.) The snake turns out to be a rattler, but the rattle on it's tail is shaped like a baby's fist holding a toy rattle. And at the very end, the snake gets bonked on its head by a falling apple on which the name Eve is emblazoned. It crushes his hat, and quite curiously, causes a pair of arms to pop out of its side! The snakes goofy grin is replaced with a vexed expression of consternation, the arms cross defensively across his chest, and he warily slithers off the screen as the live action continues. What is that all about? It's never explained, but the Garden of Eden/Fall parallels seem obvious enough - and to cement the connection, we quickly learn that the male protagonist, Charles "Hopsie" Pike, is the son of a wealthy family who has chosen to dedicate himself to a career in ophiology - the study of snakes. We see him and his faithful sidekick, Muggsy Mergatroid, departing a remote South American settlement as they wrap up an excursion and return to the United States. Their small watercraft blows its low-pitched gurgling whistle and is responded to by a high-pitched shrieking counterpart from a larger cruiseship - symbolizing the meeting of the sexes, and the chase is on.
Pike (played by Henry Fonda) is heir to a brewery fortune and a highly eligible bachelor, immediately recognized by a range of young women on board. Among them is Jean (Stanwyck), the sharpest of them all, who rightly recognizes the various schemes and flirtations put forth by her rivals. She has her eye on Pike as well, but bides her time patiently and winds up snagging her catch so innocuously that it seems almost entirely coincidental. We quickly learn though that she's not simply a lady in search of romance - she's part of a trio of con artists perpetually on the lookout for an easy mark. With Pike's perceptions obscured by his focus on science and long stretches of time away from cosmopolitan society, he's effortlessly lulled into the snares thatJean's father, "Colonel" Harrington, has set up to part the fool from his money.
As is the case in romantic comedies, of course, the game can never unfold that simply, and swiftly enough, Jean finds herself deeply attracted to her would-be sucker. This scene is one of the film's highlights, an absolute gem of smoldering, hilarious seduction, masterfully performed and captured in one long, amazing take. It's really worth watching the whole six minutes of it to get the full effect!
I've watched it a few times and just laugh more and more with each viewing. So brilliant, so steamy, so charming! And such a great set-up for the interpersonal intricacies that follow - the exchanges between Jean and Charles presented to audiences of their time a new vision for how marriages might be arranged - a relationship of equals, where mutual respect, commitment and of course romantic attraction provide sufficient motivation to establish and maintain the bond, when tradition, religion and economic dependence no longer exert the degree of influence they did on previous generations. Operating as he did in the era of the Hayes Code, writer-director Preston Sturges not only proved effective despite the limits, he actually succeeded in crafting a highly sophisticated subversion of the enforced morality that made the Code necessary in the first place. (The Code was Hollywood's self-censorship effort to avoid government-enforced regulation - the special features indicate some of the cuts that had to be made in certain jurisdictions in order for the film to be shown locally, such as editing out the word "puke," and Jean's quips about "that's a new one" and most if not all of the dialog on the couch shown in the above clip.)
Hopsie and Jean enjoy a rollicking shipboard romance, until his reverie is shattered when he's confronted with evidence that his new sweetheart is actually a swindler. Despite Jean's sincere affection for Charles, he breaks off the relationship and we see her transition into the role of the woman spurned. She ends up adopting a new identity, as the lady Eve, and hilariously manages to pull off her biggest con job of all, getting Hopsie to marry her under an assumed name, convinced that she's not the same woman he met up with on the luxury liner!
How all that unfolds I will leave up to you to discover. It may be that my short synopsis creates the impression that this is your standard rom-com full of situational set-ups and cheesy overacting, but let me assure you that both Stanwyck and Fonda deliver such impressive performances. Stanwyck is a marvel of subtlety and carefully controlled yet fully naturalistic gestures and expressions. She's radiant or cool as the situation calls for, really understands her character and never makes her emotional motivations too obvious. And for those who like to check out what the leading lady is wearing (which in all honesty isn't what I tune into until I'm reminded to notice,) Stanwyck boasts designs that really helped propel Edith Head to the very forefront of Hollywood costume designers. Fonda is simply hilarious, executing several amazing pratfalls and demonstrating wonderful range in comparison to the folksy melancholic demeanor he put forth in Young Mr. Lincoln. I become more impressed with his abilities with every role I see him perform. We also get to reacquaint ourselves with the acerbically funny character actor Eugene Pallette, who plays Hopsie's father, much like the beleagured patriarch of My Man Godfrey. And also a young William Demarest (Muggsy), who I first got to know as grumpy old Uncle Charley from the 60s TV show "My Three Sons."
The central draw of this film, though, is the Lady Eve herself - that mysterious, beguiling presence that in the right circumstances seems capable of being summoned from the heart of any woman. As Jean says herself, in response to Charles' uncertrainty about her motives (and just before he makes the fateful decision to reject her):
You see Hopsie, you don't know very much about girls. The best ones aren't as good as you think they are... and the bad ones aren't as bad. Not nearly as bad.
And if that little quip doesn't provide enough risible food for thought, here's one last clip to ponder. The trajectory of the conversation is clear enough, but be sure to savor the sheer theatrical audaciousness of Sturges' cut-ins of trains through tunnels and all that Freudian stuff!
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