Fred MacMurray plays a beefy Irish sandhog (tunnel worker) who encounters photographer Claudette Colbert when she visits his work place under Manhattan as he and his buddies (who include Rhys Williams, Tom Neal and a briefly glimpsed Woody Strode) toil away. She has been assigned to record their activities for her magazine, whose editor is hoping she'll record their activities for her glossy magazine, even though she prefers finding ways to photograph "exciting" eggs, and the interplay of light and shadow on the ropes and the stairs backstage at the ballet and the burlesque house. Her magazine, being in business at least as much for money as for art, would prefer "a little legitimate leg art." When Colbert spots Fred at work, looking pretty dang buff without his shirt, she focuses on him as her model. Eventually, circumstances allow her to save Fred's life and, when a published photo of a fight with his co-workers lands Fred on suspension, he becomes the fish out of water, knocking around Colbert's amusingly over-decorated studio being oohed and aahed over by her effete pals, (who include the always welcome Ilka Chase & Richard Haydn).
Marjorie Gateson, Ilka Chase, Colbert, and Paul McGrath gazing with wonder on Fred's form in her dark room.
The milieu in which Colbert lives and works is tacitly homosexual, with no real competition for her love from publisher/fiance Paul McGrath or composer/friend Richard Haydn, who is not even put out when called "a pantywaist" by one of MacMurray's coarser pals. The scene that follows immediately after this, when Fred, bursting with curiosity and an unacknowledged interest in Colbert, bursts into her world, one of her startled (and clearly gay) friends asks another "My dear, do you think we could harm this Viking?"
Fred, acting like the bull in the china shop, decides to try out the chair that Colbert says has more "character, grace, and dignity" than he does. The effect of this is quite amusing.
Sure, you've seen this before, but, as played by this pair, who co-starred seven times together, with a very playful script by one of Paramount's more inventively frothy writers, Claude Binyon (story by Robert Lees, Fernando Rinaldo and adaptation by Warren Duff), this movie manages to juggle all of its comedic and romantic screwballs in the air throughout the brisk proceedings without dropping a one. This movie reminded me that MacMurray showed considerable skill for physical comedy, which was especially funny when trying to flummox a he-man being photographed by Colbert. Some favorite moments:
1.) Claudette tries to teach the sandhogs to play musical chairs.
The beginning of the musical chairs scene
2.) Claudette dreams of Fred as Superman, (he was the real life inspiration for Captain Marvel), with MacMurray dazzling in white leotard, with glistening teeth and even broader (padded) shoulders than usual.
3.) Fred carrying Claudette over his shoulder after they both finally acknowledge their love for one another, leaves the studio. As they are about to exit the door, Richard Haydn, a mooch throughout the film promises to drop by "tomorrow night for supper." Colbert, not missing a beat, and ignoring any chilly glances from the Production Code boys, says, "Oh no, not tomorrow night."
4.) I also like the way that Fred asks Claudette point blank in a blunt but still charming way, a couple of times, "Do you want me?" The conventions of the period, the Code, and the style of comedy prevent her from answering directly for much of the movie, but we know exactly how much she does. If only she did!
5.) In a climactic sequence, Fred is supposedly showing the press a machine that he has developed to prevent mud from filling a tunnel. The scene, shot on Paramount's Stage 18 according to the director, required all the actors to work in the extremely uncomfortable environment up to their necks in mud. In one sequence, Leisen later recalled after successfully filming a wall of mud inundating the actors, he yelled "cut". As all the participants ran for the showers, a very faint voice was heard crying out: "Let me out, I'm the star." It was Fred, buried under several feet of mud. Funny, on screen, he was a very believable sandhog!
Fred, being extricated from the mud (actually a mix of sawdust, water and real mud).
As a photographer who seems to be a cross between Margaret Bourke-White and Berenice Abbott, the movie gives a big wink toward the world of fashion photography, magazines and theatre in the movie version of the NYC playground of that time. Trying to sort out her conflicted feelings about MacMurray, Colbert is given to talking to herself quite a bit. While this puzzles and bemuses her practical minded sister (Ilka Chase), the film never brusquely negates Claudette's intelligence or independence, but follows her developing affection and self-knowledge along throughout the movie. Having seen one too many movies in which the leading lady is humanized by being humiliated, the spunk, ingenuity and game attitude that Claudette displays throughout the movie is very refreshing. She also may never have looked more lovely on screen, thanks in part, I suspect, to Leisen's care, Charles Lang's cinematography and Edith Head's comfortable looking costumes.
Fred, playing a bemused, if largely passive male, is exceptionally good, even though I suspect that the character he played seemed a bit overly familiar to him. While MacMurray reportedly felt that he (and his co-star) were getting a bit long in the tooth for these kind of romps, it seems to me that the actor was becoming more adept at a highly skilled, if unacknowledged gift for comedy at this period of his acting career. If his impeccably crisp playing here had a flaw, it might be that he made it look too easy. Perhaps that's one reason he, and just about everyone else seemed to overlook his contributions to movies from this period.
Interestingly, the only reference I caught to the ongoing war when this movie was made was a brief, derogatory word from Colbert about the name "Darlene" sounding like another name for a butter substitute. Btw, the showgirl "Darlene" she was referring to was played by a funny June Havoc. The chorine, flinging an insult at the imperious Colbert, promises that "If I get mad, I'm liable to throw ya a dirty look. And where I look dirty, no grass grows. Ever." Later, snuggling up with a self-satisfied MacMurray, she murmurs in her most kittenish voice: "Aw, gee, you're wonderful!" to which, Fred, who has a gift for looking both guilty, greedy, comfy and happy simultaneously, sighs as he says, "Just keep that in mind." I like to think that this movie really gave movie goers in 1943 a break from the very dark world they lived in. It certainly gave me a lift. Now, if only TCM would unearth my other enjoyable pairing of these two actors in The Egg and I again!
