Review of My Man Godfrey (1936) by Kevin M. W — 17 Mar 2009

The ever vivacious carole lombard only seems to star in this american 30's "upstairs, downstairs" but actually she's only a stand-in, a mannequin for what hollywood powers-that-be must've thought of most of the "girls-next-door", rich or poor: vapid chowderheads.

her only real job in this is to admire and long-for the offered smug boy-toy, william powell, who gamely is both "regular guy" hobo and erudite harvard grad, dream man. the lessons he "teaches" the upper class are made-to-order for what hollywood must've believed the lowerer classes (read: ticket buying) public really wanted to hear, which, if one watches, will have one dumbstruck at the audacious stupidity of the plan, played straight and w/o a wink.

the only real sparks then in the film are hidden in the scenes between powell and the "bad girl", gail patrick (as smug as powell and blow for blow his equal, his ideal and thus, the right choice), whom he psych-crushes with some smarter-than-thou insightful pity simply because she's hip, knows she's his ever livin' ying, which leaves him bubbleheaded lombard, which powell himself doesn't seem to understand.

still, a popular populist bit o'pablum that showcases the strong points of both leads.