The Mayfair Swells Without The Music-Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant And Jimmy Stewart’s “The Philadelphia Story” (1940)-A Film Review 

DVD Review

By Associate Film Critic Alden Riley

The Philadelphia Story, starring Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, directed by George Cukor, 1940

[A while back my “boss” in this space Sandy Salmon the long time film critic for the American Film Gazette who took over the chores here from the retiring Sam Lowell did a review of Howard Hughes’ production of the film adaptation of the successful Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur play The Front Page where he ruminated that he thought that he had already reviewed the film since the story line seemed very familiar. Sandy thought he was having a senior moment, thought maybe he had seen one too many films and had scratched his head over the plotline and message behind too many such efforts as well. As it turned out he had merely “confused” himself with the fact that he had previously reviewed His Girl Friday starring Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell which was just the distaff perspective, Sandy’s word, of the same story, in other words a woman is the ace reporter who can’t give up the newspaper rat race when a big story hit her right in the face despite her avowal she was going for the white picket fence, dog, three point two children and a nine to five guy to bring home the bacon.

The same thing, that deja vu thing has happened to me recently, and I am far younger and less fragile than Sandy, when I reviewed a 1950s musical extravaganza called High Society starring vivacious Grace Kelly in her last role before becoming a fairy queen, princess, you know royalty, Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby. Somebody, maybe Sandy, had shortly thereafter suggested that I check out the film to be reviewed below which except for the music is very much the same freaking story. Let me tell you this and be done with it this is the last time I will be reviewing this story line although somebody, not Sandy, says there is yet another version of this same sappy, soapy story line if I want to disturb my sleep futher than it already had been to no good purpose. Enough. Alden Riley] 

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The Mayfair swells whether in plush Main Line Philadelphia (of which the very underrated novelist from nowhere Pottsville, Pennsylvania made a literary career out of detailing starting with Appointment At Samarra if you really want to get the load down on their work habits and sexual inclinations) or high end summer watering holes like Newport which a guy like Henry James would have had a field day “celebrating” if he hadn’t gone Anglo-exile, certainly have their problems. Whether or not they have musical abilities or not. Can croon to make the angels blush for their inadequacies or not. And no matter what time frame from the edge of the Great Depression which they, at least the survivors of 1929 had heard about in passing or in the dead of the red scare Cold War night as one film critic has described the 1950s. When I first saw this film I said to myself in some disbelief that I had already seen the film, or at least knew the story-line because I had just reviewed a Technicolor production of High Society with Grace Kelly (before she went off to be the real queen of Sheba or some kind of royalty in some fake kingdom by the sea), crooner Frank Sinatra (last reviewed in this space as a psycho hired assassin in Suddenly, no that is not right it was his well-deserved Oscar-winning performance in the film adaptation of James Jones’ From Here To Eternity) and crooner Bing Crosby (last seen probably in an un-reviewed Going My Way ) getting into mischief down in sunny Newport during the Jazz Festival.

That mischief, as here, involved the nefarious, yes, nefarious schemes of one Dexter Haven a high-end Mayfair swell tunesmith (figures for crooner Crosby) to get his ex-wife comely high-spirited and high-minded Tracy Lord (played by Princess Grace before she was Princess Grace) back in the fold. Problem: a big problem was that Ms. Tracy was getting ready to democratically marry a non-Mayfair swell the very next weekend. Here Dexter, played by cavalier Cary Grant, is nothing but a scheming high-end nautical architect slumming in the leafy suburbs of Main Line Philadelphia (you know among the Quaker-influenced old line gentry). Old Tracy, played by handsome and bright Katharine Hepburn, though is hard to get what with those high-spirited and high-mined ways that either version of the Mayfair swell assertive young Tracy held in hand. So the chase was on to see if old Dexter, or somebody could make Tracy see reason and dump this snobbish upstart who is looking to go up the social food chain by this timely marriage.                      

Enter Spy magazine in the person of frustrated writer Mike, played by Jimmy Stewart, who is hack writing for this scandal rag to keep the wolves from his door. In fact to have a door to keep them at bay with otherwise tossed out on the mean streets. This tainted high society marriage idea is meat for that publication. Mike, a hard-boiled, realistic, witty, sardonic guy is smitten, seriously smitten, by the upscale Tracy. Now the chase really was on. The three suitors spent the rest of the film jockeying for Tracy’s affections. Naturally the upstart guy she is supposed to marriage will be left at the altar and was a non-starter. Mike almost made the whole distance when Tracy had an epiphany after a drunken pre-nuptial reverie and was ready to go down and dirty to push Mike onto that serious writer’s career he longed for. But in the end, in the almost inevitable end among the Mayfair swells old-line class and breeding won out as Dexter’s anaconda strategy paid off.

Like I said I have already covered this plot-line. Enough. No mas. Even if it is a great story well- acted.