Double Indemnity

Man, I really love this movie. I've always had a thing for flicks with past tense voice-over narration, and this one does it with style and wit to spare. That "murder/honeysuckle" line kills me.

I'll admit, I have a mild love affair with Noir films, so I expected to like this movie, but upon one viewing it shot to the top of my list of favorite films of the genre.

This film is as carefully constructed as the murder they plot and carry out in it. However, unlike the murder scheme, the film has no real mistakes or overly observant offspring to trip it up. Or maybe, I'm just no Barton Keyes.

Double Indemnity is a great example of how creativity can flourish in restrictive environments. Because the Hollywood films of the time couldn't contain much objectable content, film makers were left with a choice: Leave the objectable content out, or find a way to fit it in. Billy Wilder found a way to fit it in.

Phyllis: Mr. Neff, why don't you drop by tomorrow evening about eight-thirty. He'll be in then.
Walter Neff: Who?
Phyllis: My husband. You were anxious to talk to him weren't you?
Walter Neff: Yeah, I was, but I'm sort of getting over the idea, if you know what I mean.
Phyllis: There's a speed limit in this state, Mr. Neff. Forty-five miles an hour.
Walter Neff: How fast was I going, officer?
Phyllis: I'd say around ninety.
Walter Neff: Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket.
Phyllis: Suppose I let you off with a warning this time.
Walter Neff: Suppose it doesn't take.
Phyllis: Suppose I have to whack you over the knuckles.
Walter Neff: Suppose I bust out crying and put my head on your shoulder.
Phyllis: Suppose you try putting it on my husband's shoulder.

Now, I’m pretty sure they are talking about more than just speeding tickets and motorcycles here. And I’m pretty sure that something they’re talking about is sex. And I’m pretty positive that, to the Hayes Code, sex is a big no-no. So give credit where credit is due. They slipped a lot of stuff in that the Hayes Code couldn’t say a damn thing about.

So, basically what I’m saying is that sometimes, under strict regulations and restrictions, art can improve. The sexual undertones and double entendres throughout this entire film are clever and hilarious. Because of the restrictions, they were forced to come up with new and subtle ways to talk about naughty things like sex and violence.

Therefore (this is debatable I guess, but in my opinion, which is what this whole blog this is about right?) the restrictions that the time period and Hayes Code posed, forced the film makers to be creative with discussion of naughty stuff, consequently making this film a better one. Thank you William Hayes.

I am serious, and don't call me...Frank?

Having been a big fan of movies my whole life, there are certain classic films that I inevitably saw and grew very fond of as a child. My father showed me many films and one that stuck with me in particular was Airplane. Most of you have probably seen it, but if you haven’t, I suggest you get on it, seeing that we’re all enrolled in an American Film course, and as far as American Comedy’s go, this thing is up there with the best of ‘em.

Anyway, the reason why I bring up Airplane in a post about Gregory La Cava’s 1936 film, My Man Godfrey, is because I recently realized that an exchange of dialogue in Airplane I have always loved dearly was actually done, years before, in My Man Godfrey.

Now I know this is all kind of an anecdotal rant, but bare with me for a second. I was thinking about it through the entire film, and left the viewing severely traumatized, knowing that something that had caused me so many (seemingly) sincere laughs, had actually been done about thirty-five years before.

Rumack: Can you fly this plane, and land it?
Ted Striker: Surely you can't be serious.
Rumack: I am serious... and don't call me Shirley.

Now that may seem like a mildly amusing throwaway line, but for a young Matt Wisniewski, that was straight belly laughs with Grandma in the overheated living room. So you can imagine my surprise, about eight years later, sitting in American Film class hearing the following exchange:

Godfrey: May I be frank?
Molly: Is that your name?
Godfrey: No, my name is Godfrey.
Molly: All right, be frank.

I mean, that’s like the exact same thing! I know it’s just this little, dumb line, but it meant a lot to me, damnit.

So, it’s obvious, at this point, that I thought a lot about the similarity of these lines throughout the film, and in hindsight of the film. Consequently, I concluded that in the context of this course, the only thing that gives this whole rant any sort of historical or cultural significance is the fact that nothing is new and everybody borrows from everybody.

I guess what I’m getting at (and I know this is a bit of a stretch) is that the history repeats itself in all aspects of life… even something as simple as a line in a film. You just have to wait thirty-five years so it’s not stealing.