I have a strange relationship with screwball comedies. When they’re good, I think they’re great; when they’re ordinary, I think they stink. Leigh Jason’s The Mad Miss Manton is an odorous screwball comedy. The film, like most screwballs, isn’t really about anything—there’s a plot, of course, in the form of a whodunit, but it’s poorly implemented with the main characters only ever running circles ’round its circumference—and relies on interaction between its lead actors as well as a potentially sharp script to draw laughs. Unfortunately, the script is dull, providing maybe six or seven zingers, and the two leads (Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda) are merely alright, paling in comparison to two supporting performances: Hattie McDaniel’s as yet another maid and Sam Levene’s as a police inspector.
About the only exceptional thing about The Mad Miss Manton is an unexpected bit of erotic cigarette-play about twenty minutes from the end: Barbara Stanwyck, in bed with a blindfold over her eyes and a cigarette sticking up out of her mouth, asks a suddenly strikingly handsome Henry Fonda to light her up, which he sensually does as she complains that her lighters never work and he retorts that his do because they’re filled with the cheap kind of gasoline.
This one shot is a little spark of brilliance in an otherwise mundane exercise in tame screwball comedy that no one involved in seemed to enjoy. The funniest bit of writing comes at the end, when the film’s villain is holding Stanwyck and Fonda at gunpoint and Stanwyck’s gang of kooky girlfriends runs in. “If you shoot Miss Manton, you’re going to have shoot all of us, too,” cries one of the gals at the baddie. “Why, that’s communism!” replies, no less loud, another. Taken in its historical context, the line is even more interesting. In 1938, communism was the enemy. Several years later, it’d be an ally. Several more years later, it’d be an enemy again—but an honourable one. How different this line would have sounded in 1938, in 1943, in 1949!
I think there’s a hidden bonus in watching average or bad films: it makes the good and great ones stand out! Because value judgments are necessarily based on comparison, you need the bad to distinguish and cherish the good. For example, if you watch a long string of great films, you’ll end up with a narrow scale of valuation that will distort your appreciation of those films. Obviously, you’ll like one of these the most and another the least, and both will suffer for it: the least-liked great film will be judged inferior to the others, though it may be superior to most other films; and the most-liked great film will be judged to be only a little better than least-liked, which is a great film, too. But, before I confuse myself, another approach:
I like Federico Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria more than Howard Hawks’ Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. If these were the only two films I’d seen, I’d give Nights of Cabiria a rating of 2 and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes a rating of 1. “Howard Hawks,” I’d say, “is the worst director in the world, and Nights of Cabiria is twice as good as the worst film I’ve ever seen.” But what would happen if I then watched The Mad Miss Manton? My ratings would change! The Mad Miss Manton would now occupy the lowly rating of 1, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes would move up a rating to 2, and Nights of Cabiria would become a 3 (1+Gentlemen Prefer Blondes).
Looking at the numbers, I’d now like Gentlemen Prefer Blondes as much as I used to like my favourite film, Nights of Cabiria, which I would now love even more! Because I watched a terrible movie, I could now truthfully say that: “Leigh Jason is the worst director in the world, Howard Hawks isn’t a bad one, and Nights of Cabiria is three times as good as the worst film I’ve ever seen.”
A toast to the ordinary, for exposing the extraordinary!
The Mad Miss Manton is certainly watchable, and even entertaining for two or three scenes, but there’s no reason to seek it out unless you have a strong craving for screwball and have already comprehensively exhausted the laughs from His Girl Friday and Bringing Up Baby. The film is best viewed as a generic and historical artifact.
Pacze Moj
© Cinephile Magazine, 2006