by Paul Batters
“The whole world’s gone crazy. Am I the only sane one left?” Mr. Anthony P. Kirby (Edward Arnold)
“No, sir. Just the most frightened.” Grandpa Martin Vanderhof (Lionel Barrymore)
From cinema’s earliest days (and particularly when film began to talk), film-makers have turned to the stage for great stories. Stage plays rely on dialogue to drive story and allow character development, whilst holding the attention and interest of the audience. It’s no wonder that during the first years of sound, the studios not only turned to actors and actresses who could speak and annunciate but they turned to writers who could write dialogue for the all-new talkies. It’s no surprise that the work and material of two legendary writers of Broadway, George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart, would find its way to the silver screen. Such was the case with You Can’t Take It With You (1938), directed by Frank Capra, which would become one of 1938’s biggest hits in cinema theatres.
The Pulitzer Prize winning stage play had an incredible successful run after it premiered on Broadway, with a grand total of 838 performances till it wound up in 1937. As with any play by Kaufman and Hart, the sharp, crackling and witty dialogue was delivered by a superb cast whose comedic timing wowed audiences. The critics were also impressed with the back-and-forth between the eccentric yet warm Sycamore family and the conservative and very traditional Kirbys. It’s no wonder that the play drew the attention of Hollywood, particularly director Frank Capra – it was a story that was his cup of tea. Whilst Paramount had an option on the play, it was Columbia who took the challenge on with Capra at the helm. Columbia’s powerful studio boss, Harry Cohn had his concerns, as Capra’s perfectionism and attention to detail often saw him go over budget and over time. It had not been that long ago when Columbia was one of the poor studios and in many ways was still not one of the majors. However, Capra would spare Cohn (relatively speaking) the headache of his obsessiveness and did not go too far over budget as well as wrapping up pretty much on time. Well four days over time. Like the play, the film be a huge hit; likewise wooing the critics. It would go on to win the Oscar for Best Picture and for Capra, an astonishing third Oscar for Best Director in the space of four years.
Of course, the shaping of any book, poetic work or stage play into a successful film can be challenging. Naturally, there is a fine balancing act between maintaining textual integrity and shaping a script that is workable and transferable to the screen. Capra turned to regular collaborator Robert Riskin, the incredibly skilled writer who would co-write the screenplay. Together, they got the balance just right. The script retained the core elements of the play’s wit, humour and social commentary of the original, and enhanced it with visual gags and physical comedy that worked well on screen. Actor Jack Lemmon once said that ‘you don’t change George Kaufman unless you’re pretty damn good’; in this case Riskin was and the proof was in the final product. As Capra had done previously (and would become known for), the story’s warmth and humour were paralleled with the social commentary and thematic concerns that resonated with audiences living through the Depression. The timeless ideal of the pursuit of happiness in one’s passions and the sheer joy found in life, regardless of wealth, was more than a cliché or escape from reality. The Sycamores allowed audiences to embrace the unconventional and find joy in being authentic in one’s individuality. Indeed, the Sycamores prized individuality and the expression of oneself. Given the strictures of conformity and social conventions of the time, it must have been refreshing for audiences to watch the Sycamores become the personification of challenging those norms. Riskin and Capra were able to maintain the textual integrity of Kaufman and Moss and transfer their overall interpretation onto the screen with incredible success.
Of course, none of this could work without an outstanding cast. Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur are superb, and their chemistry is more than evident. Capra naturally saw this, which would lead to the pair bringing that chemistry to the screen again the following year in perhaps Capra’s greatest film Mr. Smith Goes To Washington. Both Edward Arnold and Lionel Barrymore play the respective heads of the Kirby and Sycamore families; their status as two of the greatest character actors of their time needs no defence from this reviewer. All would bring a naturalness to their performances which was all the more endearing to audiences (and remains so). But the supporting cast is where the magic happens as well and they allow for the main players to work with scope and depth. Indeed, Spring Byington would be a nominee for Best Supporting Actress for her turn as Penny Sycamore. The cast’s overall comedic timing, incredible talent in hitting the mark and reacting to each other, complimented the tight and snappy dialogue. The interactions and dynamics between and within both families is a treat to watch. For Jimmy Stewart, most notably, it would mean a huge shift in his career that would hardly change bar his time in the Service during WW1. Capra saw in Stewart the epitome of American idealism and hope – the everyman who audiences connected with.
As important and affirming as the Oscar wins were, You Can’t Take It With You needs not the validation to have it sit amongst the best films of the 1930s. Yes, the cinematic experience is always going to be a departure from the realities of life and certainly audiences of then 1930s needed to escape the difficulties and harshness of the Depression. However, to describe You Can’t Take It With You as mere escapism or idealistic optimism misses the point. One could almost miss the biting criticism that Capra makes of society’s superficial drive and ambition for material gain, as well as the snobbery and ugly contempt that the rich and powerful have for the masses. During the dinner scene, Grandpa Martin (Lionel Barrymore) will challenge Mr. Kirby (Edward Arnold) for his scorn for the poor, questioning Kirby’s superiority and declaring him to be impoverished for having no friends. Later, Ramsay (H.B Warner), one of Kirby’s rivals, will call him a loser and a failure of a man. Despite the ‘happy’ ending that will result, the film’s themes are not posturing or shallow. They are one of the reasons that the film held such powerful sway over audiences of the day.
Undoubtedly, the charm of the film undoubtedly pulled audiences into the theatres as well. But the beautiful portrayal of the Sycamores as a loving family filled with joy and accepting of others, despite all their eccentricities and problems, gave hope to people sitting in the audience. It encouraged the embracing of the individual and the joy in being oneself, as well as pursuing one’s dreams (a very Capraesque ideal as well). Most importantly, the film speaks for today’s audiences as much as it did then. In a time of political and economic uncertainty, after navigating the difficulties of a pandemic as well, we should heed the film’s message – that relationships and family we have are the true wealth that we possess. At times the film feels ‘stagy’ but not so that it takes much away from the experience. Whilst not as powerful or polished as some of Capra’s most celebrated films, You Can’t Take It With You Its wonderful quality remains, across all its elements and one where the best of Broadway and the best of cinema melded into an incredible experience for audiences for all time.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
Silver Screen Classics 