A Film Canon

 

 

The Philadelphia Story plays like an extended apology for Katherine Hepburn's screen persona, as well as a mild caricature of it, in the guise of Tracy Lord, a "young, rich, rapacious American female" whose imperious detachment is variously described as that of a queen, statue and virgin goddess. There's a certain pathos, or even cruelty, implicit in this scenario, epitomised by Tracy's father's outrageous attempt to blame her for his adultery, as well as the sheer quantity of criticisms thrown her way, all of which feel like so many ciphers for the ratings responsible for Hepburn's status as 'box-office poison' in the late 1930s. From this perspective, Cukor's task is to clarify coldness as magnificence, and find some common denominator between worship and love, thereby confirming Lord's own recognition that "the time to make up your mind about people is never." This ensures that, with the exception of James Stewart, the cast are given little opportunity to be any more than bit players - especially Cary Grant, whose role almost entirely subsists on a series of smug facial gestures, although these are admittedly in keeping with the conspiratorial agenda of Lord's ex-husband, who insinuates a pulp reporter (Stewart) and his assistant into her mansion on the eve of her wedding. In the same way, the various screwball tropes - the clash of classes, the pervasiveness of the media, semi-rural remarriage - are ultimately subordinated to a more stagebound comedy, whose agenda is to justify and contain spontaneity, rather than celebrate it. That said, the very organisation of these factors around Hepburn is itself ingenious; a nexus between choreography and comedy that finds most iconic expression as the proliferation of drunken dancing in the second act.