The Thin
Man Goes Home
(1945)
The
penultimate Thin Man movie arrived
after a four-year gap spanning the majority of the US’ involvement in WWII. This
time Nick (William Powell) and Nora (Myrna Loy) visit the former’s parents in
Sycamore Springs. The small-town New England locale is the antithesis of Nick’s
preferred fast-living big city comfort zone. The juxtaposition is irresistible,
and much fun is had with the couple snooping around a backwater. Slightly
awkwardly, since character development wasn’t of great importance previously, the
theme of Nick just wanting to please his father is caught lurking on the verges
of the plot. Fortunately the interplay between Powell and Loy atones for this;
they are as strong as ever, and the picture pulls off some fine comic sequences.
Less surefooted is the reveal of the murderer, which, despite some well-devised
red herrings, feels like an afterthought. This person (or persons) doesn’t
become any more likely a perpetrator (or perpetrators) once Nick has explained their
motivation.
Robert
Riskin and Dwight Taylor take screenplay credits (Harry Kurnitz, who
contributed to Shadow of the Thin Man,
gets a story nod). The former worked on a number of Frank Capra pictures
(including It Happened One Night and Mr Deeds Goes to Town) while the latter
was one of the many wordsmiths who pitched in on Astaire/Rogers musicals Top Hat and The Gay Divorce. While they’re good with the gags, they also stick perhaps
a little too devotedly to the murder plot. Consequently, The Thin Man Goes Home lacks the sense of borderline anarchy, the feeling
that the picture might go off on a complete tangent at any moment, which
characterised earlier outings. Nick’s arrival is even acknowledged with a Scooby Doo welcome whereby he is
expected to get straight to work solving an unspecified crime (“I dare say there’s plenty of evil in
Sycamore Springs, and its your duty to ferret it out”).
The plot-first
approach is emphasised by the set up. Nick is just visiting home on an off
chance? Not really, but the extent to which he is visiting with intent is never
made clear. He knows a whole lot about the relationship of the murder victim to
one of the townsfolk, which suggests this is at least partly why he fetches up in
Sycamore Springs (the murder is presumably not something he expected, but quite
possibly the scheme that led to it is), but this in itself puts him on a
different footing to the signature reluctant-but-not-really tipsy ‘tec who’d
rather sit pretty with his wife’s fortune.
The
involvement of Brogan (Edward Brophy, who played a different character in the
original) is never fully clarified either; he’s presumably in Nick’s employ,
but it isn’t revealed just why he is lurking in the bushes at the time the
murder happens (aside from giving Nora reason to get the wrong end of the
stick). In any other era we’d suspect he was up to something rather
unwholesome, hiding in shrubbery and peering in through windows at night. Perhaps
something was excised. The interconnecting relationships in the town are well
mapped out (and explained), making the weakness of whodunnit an added
disappointment. One can feel the emphasis on plot more consciously this time
out, so when it comes up short the effect is more damaging. Some of the
coincidences are on the clumsy side also (Nora just happening to buy a painting
of vital importance to the plot, which admittedly leads to an amusing routine
where Nick fails to acknowledge it as a present).
There is
something approaching slavish devotion to the cute routines by this point too, even
if part of the fun comes from the makers recognising this. Nick must lead Nora
up the garden path so he can head off alone to do some real detecting, but in
doing so she happens across vital information. Her account of Nick’s preferred
method for revealing the murderer verges on the meta; asked why they have all
been herded into a room she comments “For
a very simple reason; this is the way he always works”. And then there’s
her confidence in the likelihood of a gun going off (“That’s the way these things usually end up. It’s called the pay-off. I
usually duck under the sofa when it starts”) and undisguised disappointment
when everyone is frisked. This scene is more exacting exposition-wise than
we’re used to, but this serves to make the comic punctuation points more
memorable; a musket going off, Brogan arriving with a sniper rifle, mother
coming in with an update (“Just keep
doing what you’ve been doing. I’ll have the cocoa in a few minutes”).
So too,
Police Chief MacGregor (Donald MacBride) is basically a reworked Lieutenant
Abrams, protesting that he isn’t as dumb as everyone thinks while Nick runs rings
around him. Like Abrams, he is granted a smattering of memorable lines. When
Nora asks him to arrest Brogan she asks why it has to be for something
definite. He deadpans “No, no. You just
pick out anybody at all and I’ll put him in jail for life”.
Nick: Who’d
like some cider?
Having Nick
switch to cider seems like a betrayal almost as horrific as a 12 certificate Predator/Robocop/Die Hard/Alien. How can a character that is equal
parts pickled have his calling card struck from under him? In truth, it doesn’t
actually diminish his character (but more could have been made of this than the
short-lived gag of everyone thinking he’s soused again when in fact he’s
sober), and the notion that cider doesn’t really count as alcohol is amusing,
but there is a feeling that Nick is
being gradually defanged. It’s a good while since prohibition was repealed, and
in the midst (well, towards the end stages) of WWII there was a feeling that
perhaps temperance is in order as a reflection of then in force rationing. Surely
the movie ought really to have been giving folks something to aspire to; like
getting completely blotto?
The signs
of war aren’t sledgehammered, though. The trains are packed like sardines
(complete with a fat chap Nick refers to as Blockbuster). We see a few assorted
servicemen, including the one who dances with Nora, and a souvenir Japanese
sniper rifle. Even the bigger plot relates only to a non-specific foreign power,
albeit the victim works at an aircraft factory. There’s little to announce, if
one didn’t know, that this was wartime. Certainly not the way the Rathbone
Sherlock Holmes pictures dwelt on the subject.
The
flirtatious fun is a little more restrained than previously, although there are
some memorable moments. There’s Brogan’s assumption that Mrs Charles is only
pretending to be Mrs Charles and that Nick is up to his old dog’s tricks. Then
we have Nora assuming, in a not really very jealous way, that Nick is smoothing
his way with the ladies; finding Nick with Helena Draque (Helen Vinson) out
cold on the floor she comments, “Well,
you certainly got right down to business”. Unfortunately Laurabelle’s
over-dramatic play for Nick fails to result in an encounter between the sleuth
and her jealous boyfriend, so it’s the attentions Nora attracts that get more
laughs; a crazy dance floor number where a visiting sailor doesn’t let her feet
get anywhere near the ground (Powell must content himself with giving good double
takes) and a trail of wolf whistles every time she walks through a bar. Less
commendably, there’s a spanking scene in which Nick puts Nora across his knee.
Even in jest, it’s rather uncomfortable to watch. Nora calling him a wife
beater fails to alleviate matters, and then dad deals the deathblow when he
admiringly comments, “I’ve wanted to do
that to mother for 40 years”. More alarmingly still, MGM clearly thought
this would be a selling point as the moment is captured in some of the film’s
posters.
Talking of
dad, Harry Davenport’s Bertram Charles isn’t sufficiently authoritarian to sell
genuine disappointment in Nick. Aficionados of the book have made much of
Nick’s absent Greek background, but I think the only real issue here is turning
him into someone who only wants to make daddy proud. It’s a bit too cosy, as
the Nick of the original really wouldn’t give two hoots. However, it’s endearing
that Nora is itching for something terrible to happen so Nick can solve the
case and impress pater (she also gives Nick some free press publicity; “Nick Charles is in town. Nick Charles is a
detective. You can draw your own conclusions”).
Powell appears content to let Loy steal scenes all over the place, perhaps in part a
reflection of her return to the big screen. If not for her detour into the Red
Cross, this picture might have been made three years earlier. The scene in
which she tells dad how Nick solved the Stinky Davis case is a comedy tour de
force; both Nick and his father are left high-and-dry as stranded straight men
while the rapt mother asks “Do you still
take two lumps in your stinky? I mean, your coffee?”
Elsewhere,
perhaps to balance things out, the makers seem conscious of some of their past
errors and return to the line up of the first two films. There’s no sign of
Nick Jr who is consigned to school via a rather dismissive line to Mrs Charles
(Lucile Watson, taking the role of the endearing parent who only sees good
things in her son). It isn’t clear if his parents have visited Nick in the city
before, but they don’t seem to treat Nora as if this is the first time they’ve
met. And yet, as doting grandparents, you’d have thought it would be a huge
snub not to bring the little urchin along. Perhaps the producers thought better
of the inclusion of Nick Jr (if so, he surely wouldn’t have return for the
final film in the series), although I’m the first to admit he very surprisingly
didn’t damage the previous two pictures;
a six or seven year old junior might be precocious to an unwelcome degree,
though.
The
supporting cast isn’t quite as merry as it has been but there are a few genuine
oddballs and quirks. Brogan’s penchant for quoting Tennyson. Donald Meek as the
overly literal gallery owner who can’t understand Nick’s colloquialisms. Then
there’s screaming maid Hilda (Anita Sharp-Bolster) and Crazy Mary (Anne Revere)
with her yen for bashing people on the back of the head. But we want a few hard-boiled
types to add some bite to the proceedings. Threatening Nick’s dad with blocking
his proposed hospital (he’s a doctor who wishes Nick had taken up the
profession) doesn’t really do it. So when a couple of Nick’s dubious associates
show up for the finale, and can’t get any hooch (“Cocoa? What a break!”) there’s a definite sense that Nick’s
vacation ought to be coming to an end soon.
Asta has been
refurbished, in that he’s a different Asta. The original pooch was retired and an
energetic newcomer takes his place with a few interesting tricks up his furry
sleeve. His encounters in the animal compartment of the train vary from
amusingly cartoonish (the fake duck that pecks him) to the rather unnecessarily
harsh (repeatedly being head-butted by a real goat). But as usual he provides
invaluable aid in solving the mystery (finding the missing item, he is told “Astor, you’ll get an extra bone for this”).
He drinks a good measure of Nick’s cider but the expected drunk doggy scene fails
to materialise. Most impressively Asta launches onto a hotel’s hatcheck counter
like he calls it home.
This a
perfectly amiable Thin Man outing,
coasting somewhat on the charm of its leads and as diluted as Nick’s liqueur.
Richard Thorpe, who wasn’t much of a noir man, or any kind of style-maker, directs
with a brighter, less fettered look than in earlier adventures, although its debatable
if the change is to the ultimate benefit of its increasingly sober lead
character. Two years later, and thirteen
years after the series had begun, the series would end with the (swan) Song of the Thin Man. Which at least
goes to show that erratic and long running movie series are nothing new.
Maintaining this kind of quality over such a period is a rarity, though.
***