Since last month, the Criterion Channel has hosted a curated collection of screwball comedies, spanning the subgenre's pre-Code genesis to its postwar decline. Among the many screwy delights, you'll find The Awful Truth, Leo McCarey's 1937 classic, and a Best Director Oscar winner to boot. Indeed, the movie was most beloved by the Academy, scoring five additional nominations, including for Picture, Actress, and Supporting Actor. According to contemporary publications, that last honor was a relative surprise, especially since the movie's leading man was left off the ballot altogether.
You would think a major star associated with such an awards juggernaut would have an easy time nabbing themselves a coattails nomination, but Cary Grant was out of luck in 1937. Well, when it comes to the AMPAS, he was often unfortunate, only ever getting their seal of approval in the early 40s with a couple of dips into melodrama-land. Though much of the star's legacy relies on comedies, Old Hollywood voters seemed perpetually unimpressed by Grant's funny business. In that regard, The Awful Truth stands out as his most egregious snub…
Like any matinée idol worth his salt, Cary Grant was easy on the eyes, and any director in possession of their wits would be a fool to waste them. Leo McCarey was no fool, so The Awful Truth opens on its shirtless leading man, galivanting around a tanning bed while talking his head off in that crisp Mid-Atlantic accent that sounds like money, class, or the Hollywood pretense of those things. There's scarcely any hint of Archie Leach's working-class British origins, leaving only the silver screen dream that was Cary Grant. Or, more accurately, Jerry Walker, for that's his character's name in this rip-roaring romp.
He's a married man who's supposed to be freshly returned from a Floridian vacation. However, that whole trip affair was a subterfuge. In truth, Jerry spent the week at his New York sports club, enjoying himself away from marital responsibilities. The tanning is part of the ploy, faking the sun kiss he never received. Grant plays it sly and self-satisfied, adding enough charisma so that we're entertained by Jerry's antics rather than irritated. The man's a flake, mayhap a rake, but he's no nuisance to the viewer. Still, when his smugness curdles into indignation, it's hard not to snicker at the fabulist's domestic downfall.
It turns out that while he was "in Florida," Mrs. Lucy Walker was having fun of her own. Watch as Grant's smooth-talking confidence turns to a little boy's sullen gloom when Irene Dunne walks in, resplendent in platinum and white fur, all gleeful and gay in the arms of a handsome stranger. She spent the night with her music teacher, or so it seems. According to Lucy, their car broke down, and, in any case, she's also suspicious of her spouse's holiday stories. The Code precludes the players from being open about the sex farce in effect, but Grant and Dunne articulate the carnality woven within mutual suspicion.
As a matter of fact, The Awful Truth would be worth its canonic status if only for their adversarial chemistry – they're that good. Transitioning to the divorce court, their combativeness remains hilarious, the previous dynamic extra-sour for the judge's pleasure. While Dunne is an effortless clown princess, projecting amusement even when Lucy is hurt, Grant looks like a twisting knot of mounting tension. On-screen, the sedate seriousness stance draws a sharkskin black rectangle as opposed to Dunne's fanciful fashions and broad gesture. But his face, that miraculous mug, is nothing if not elastic, eyebrows dancing a whole routine of their own.
If you're familiar with Grant as a comedy star, you'll surely feel how wrong Jerry's stillness is. The Warrens may claim to be each other's enemy, but their split sprouts no satisfaction in either party. He's just more open about it. The face doesn't lie, not when you're in the hands of a man who could find sincere romance even when playing the slipperiest lothario in the world. And Jerry's no such extreme. He's just a charming idiot who took what he had for granted. Soon enough, the body will catch up with the facial gymnastics, inviting the audience to root for the leads' reconciliation. It's the truth of every 1930s divorce comedy expressed in the actor's awakening physicality.
Anyway, the nonsense to come needs more narrative context. Lucy gets custody of the couple's pup, but they'll still need to wait 90 days before the divorce can be finalized. In the meantime, the divorcee-wannabee moves out to live at her aunt's, where she meets Dan, a friendly oilman neighbor. It's not love at first sight by any means. Still, it's quite enough to leave Jerry in the pits of jealousy. When he comes about them during one of his many unannounced visits to the dog. Even in black-and-white, you can practically see Grant's eyes glow red and his face go green. His body is loose now, yet there's no lazy relaxation. Jerry's energized.
Soon, he gets himself a girlfriend and crashes a dinner date between Lucy and her beau. The sequence is a miracle of cinematic comedy, like a two-way duel with a couple of added bodies to serve as weapons, shields, targets, and recipients of much collateral damage. The more Dunne and Grant spar, the more Lucy and Jerry seem made for each other. Awkwardness reigns supreme, and the leading man proves himself the king of making a laugh riot out of petulant reactions. One moment, Grant looks like a kicked puppy, shrinking into himself. The next, he's sitting proud, having the time of his life watching Lucy's turn to be humiliated on the dance floor.
These affairs of the heart keep rolling along The Awful Truth's rollicking 90 minutes, with the two stars always at the top of their game. In this re-watch, I was especially impressed by the modulations Grant sneaks into Jerry, never jeopardizing the character's truth for a cheap laugh. A conversation with Dan and his disapproving mother is a chance to sharpen our notion of the man. There's an eagerness to spike Lucy with a silent accusation while outwardly singing her praises. The same sequence also allows some insight into Jerry's tender side. Grant creates holes in the façade, glimpses of vulnerability. It's that strange sincerity again.
Later, it manifests in the suggestion of humble origins, a reflection of Grant's life. For a moment, Archie Leech is no longer hidden in the glare of the silver screen stardom. For a deceitful instant, the actor is two personas juxtaposed, the fakery of screwball comedy sublimated into something genuine – some surprising affection instead of hurt or vexation. A surge of remorse and the happy ending are similarly laden with emotion. Never to the point where it spoils or lessens the laughs of course. Part of Cary Grant's magic was always that balancing act between the entertainer and the open heart, the ability to juggle the two and somehow get them to cohere.
Jerry Walker is a crowning achievement in that regard, allowing the movie to work in the field of romance as much as it does in the realm of farce. But I'm afraid I might be overpraising the dramatic side of the madcap act. Well, not overpraising. I wager it's a case of underpraising the comedic chops on display. Undoubtedly, for all the variation and modulation, the subtlety and the craftiness, The Awful Truth presents Grant at the height of his comic prowess. There he goes, performing a textbook pratfall. Oh, and there's that disastrous dinner party when Lucy pretends to be his sister, mortification as a mirth machine. And don't forget about the escalation to the finish line, a series of screwball mishaps that'll make you weep and wheeze from laughing so hard.
Sadly, none of that was enough to convince the Academy to bestow Grant with a Best Actor nomination. Part of it was the privileging of serious dramatic work in the masculine twin to the Actress race, where light fare was more readily embraced. There's also the matter of Dunne's third act extravagance, how it makes Grant's performance seem low-key by comparison. Between a clown princess and the “straight man,” it’s easier to crown the former. So, instead of The Awful Truth leading man, AMPAS nominated Charles Boyer in Conquest, Fredric March in A Star Is Born, Robert Montgomery in Night Must Fall, Paul Muni in The Life of Emile Zola, and Spencer Tracy in Captains Courageous. The latter won, while Grant would receive his first of two nominations four years later for Penny Serenade, also co-starring Irene Dunne.
The Awful Truth is streaming on The Criterion Channel and Amazon Prime Video. You can also rent it on Apple TV and Spectrum On Demand.