My dad was a plumber, so one might think I would have a greater affinity for that work than I do. Unfortunately, I dread the possibility of any issues arising which require such skills, and loathe having to use them.
Jennifer Jones, as the titular character in Ernst Lubitsch’s 1946 screwball comedy Cluny Brown, obviously enjoys plumbing far more than I could ever hope to. I think she enjoys it more than anybody in the history of the trade, as she is blissed-out with a post-coital glow after unclogging a drain. Unfortunately for her, a woman having a passion for such manual labor was greatly frowned upon in the London of 1938, where this film is set.
We first see Jones plumbing at the apartment of Reginald Gardner. He had tried to summon plumber Billy Bevan on a Sunday to clear his blocked kitchen sink, as guests for a cocktail party were arriving shortly. The belligerent plumber refuses, and is unaware his enthusiastic niece will go in her stead.
Gardner is appalled when she arrives, and still so even after she successfully dispels the clog. Charles Boyer, as a visitor to the man’s apartment, is very intrigued by this unusual plumber who has such enthusiasm. He also obviously enjoyed watching her roll down her stockings before getting down to work.
Her uncle is far less thrilled about what has happened, appearing later at Gardner’s apartment to find her laying down on a sofa, completely relaxed and stretched out in a manner suggesting she had cleaned out a different type of pipe altogether. Then he’s even more upset when he learns the only service she supplied was of the plumbing trade. He’s also likely feeling a bit of umbrage regarding the martini she had in celebration afterwards.
And so, he sends her off to be a parlor maid at the estate of the wealthy and titled Reginald Owen and Margaret Bannerman and their son Peter Lawford. It is there, and in the nearby town, the various characters converge and have a great many strange and hilarious misunderstandings of the type for which director Ernst Lubitsch was justifiably famous.
Lawford is a young idealist who, with the world on the brink of WWII, invites Boyer’s professor to stay with them, as the Czech fugitive whose criticisms of der Fuhrer have forced him to flee Europe. A distraction for Lawford’s attentions is wealthy socialite Helen Walker, who has been playing with his heart, as well as those of other men. I think every male character aside from the butler comment how she sits a horse well, which made me wonder if that is really a euphemism for how another activity they can imagine where she straddles something else.
The other romance is a repressed attraction between Boyer and Jones. I really couldn’t determine the reason they don’t express their feelings, except that this is necessary to drive the plot. And so, Jones instead responds positively to the affections of town pharmacist (Richard Haydn). His is a completely repulsive character, with an even worse mother (Una O’Connor). Haydn likes to keep customers waiting, which sets up a great gag where Boyer opens the shop door each time he walks by, summoning the increasingly outraged pharmacist to find a store empty of customers. I could watch an entire film of just this gag repeated ad nauseum.
Typical of comedies, and the screwball sub-genre in particular, reaction shots get the majority of the biggest laughs here. It helps that, the straighter the straight man or woman, the funnier those become. And the heads of the household (Sara Allgood and Ernest Cossart) are so stiff-backed as to be two Margaret Dumonts, the “wealthy dowager” archetype so perfectly realized in the Marx Brothers films. The very best scene has them overhearing Jones talking to Boyer after he has left her room, something which is already a compromising situation. Just imagine how they react to this without any other context: “I can’t thank you enough. I feel so much better. How lucky we met in that flat. I wish I were back there right now. I wish I could roll up my sleeves and roll down my stockings and loosen the joint. Just bang, bang, bang.”
Also typical of Lubitsch films, the dialogue is consistently razor-sharp and often hilarious. Even relatively minor characters, such as Walker’s droll social butterfly, get choice lines, such as her intentional obliviousness at Lawford’s claim they had a huge fight the prior evening: “If we ever do have a row, tell me about it, so we can have a long chat about it.” O’Connor’s character also has perfect dialogue, even if she never says a word. Instead, the pharmacist’s mother communicates a great deal using just grunts, huffs and snorts.
The performances are very solid all around. Jones seems to have an endless supply of energy throughout the runtime, and her joy is infectious. One odd element of her character is her enthusiasm for everything and not just plumbing. How she could find Haydn’s mundane interests, such as playing the harmonium, interesting is beyond me. Boyer has never been funnier, and it is enjoyable to see him play something a bit different from his usual schtick, the kind of thing for which he was the inspiration for Pepe Le Pew. Peter Lawford appears to be the least confident of the cast, but he is awfully young here. I can’t help but wonder how he eventually became a member of Sinatra’s Rat Pack. At least he has a genuine British accent, whereas Jones doesn’t have one at all. On the other hand, it is just as well the Tulsa-born Jones didn’t attempt one.
I had a great time watching Cluny Brown, though it is not even among the top favorites of the director’s films. That said, I can’t imagine anybody seeing this and not laughing at least once. There is a recurring line here, a shared joke between Boyer and Jones about feeding squirrels to the nuts instead of nuts to the squirrels. If somebody doesn’t like this movie then I’d say nuts to them.
Dir: Ernst Lubitsch
Starring Charles Boyer, Jennifer Jones, Peter Lawford
Watched on Criterion Collection blu-ray