Screwball Comedies: The Thin Man

Long before The Dude set out in The Big Lebowski to solve a kidnapping with white Russian in hand, former detective Nick Charles (William Powell) was stumbling into cases with whichever drink happened to be nearby. Charles first shook Manhattan’s to fox trot time in 1934’s The Thin Man, which would later rank at 32 on AFI’s list of the greatest American comedies. Charles is less bumbling than his latter-day counterpart is, but he’d probably not like us to know it.

Based on the book of the same name from Dashiell Hammett (The Maltese Falcon), The Thin Man is a screwball comedy masquerading as a detective story. A local inventor disappears, and the police pin three murders on him – including his secretary and squeeze, Julia Wolf – in his absence. The jilted ex-wife and other red herrings crop up as Charles deftly navigates the landscape of New York City drawing rooms. But Charles never seems particularly concerned about the case, except that it’s cutting into his drinking time. Charles would rather banter with his beloved wife Nora (Myra Loy).

All the good Powell and Loy go line for line and highball for highball in The Thin Man with charm oozing off the screen. (Powell earned an Academy Award nomination for the role.) While most screwball couples continually try to one up the other, Nick and Nora try to amuse each other. The evening after her husband is grazed by a gunshot, Nora says, “I read where you were shot five times in the tabloids.” “It’s not true. He didn’t come anywhere near my tabloids,” Nick replies. Loy might have a comparable presence in personality, but The Thin Man is Powell’s vehicle.

The Charles’s and their beloved dog, Asta, solved five more cases over the next 13 years. It’s easy to see why the films have had such lasting permanence. There’s an ease to the film, which overcomes a stiff, stagy direction. Drawing rooms, dinner parties, and a two-week shooting schedule for what was expected to be a B-movie don’t provide much opportunity for cinematic flourish though.

The Thin Man is currently available as a standalone DVD or as part of the Thin Man collection.

'Texas Chainsaw' Fails to Carve a New Niche

The name might say “Texas Chainsaw,” but Johnathan Liebesman’s new film bears little other resemblance to the horror classic. Instead, it falls more in line with contemporary gross-out horror films like “Hostel” and the “Saw” series where nausea is favored over fright.

“The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning” attempts to fill in the back-story of both Tobe Hooper’s original movie and its 2004 remake. In the film, four friends start a road trip to California but wind up stuck in a small Texas town and having to fight their way out of certain death after being captured by the murderous family that produces Leatherface (Andrew Bryniarski), the Freddy Krueger of the “Massacre” series.

Unfortunately, “The Beginning” ignores elements like story and establishing character in favor of escalating gruesomeness. Leatherface beats someone to death with a sledgehammer within the first ten minutes of the film and then moves on to more brutal implements.

Even “Hostel” took the time to make its characters sympathetic enough for the viewer to want them to get out of peril before fingers start coming off hands. Screenwriter Sheldon Turner (2005’s “The Longest Yard”), however, places our heroes in danger so early that we know little more about them than how they scream and plead.

Despite the minimal attention seemingly paid to everything else, “The Beginning” succeeds in providing maximum gore. Chrissy (Jordana Brewster), the film’s female lead, spends the majority of the film with cuts all over her body. Leatherface cuts off someone’s face and then wears it like a mask.

The newest addition to the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” line wears the ‘more is more’ approach to horror proudly on its blood-soaked sleeve. But when all you have is a bloody sleeve, it’s time to throw away the shirt.

The unrated edition of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning came out on DVD January 16, 2007. This review refers to the theatrical version.