World War II brought some big changes as to what a mainstream Hollywood hit could be. RKO’s biggest hit of the war was … no, not this picture. It was Hitler’s Children, an exploitative exposé of Hitler Youth oppression that attracted crowds with scandalous promises of Bonita Granville being stripped, whipped and who knows what. After Orson Welles, RKO did say it wanted to emphasize Showmanship, Not Genius!
RKO’s second-biggest hit of the war is this New York tale of a shifty crook who aims to fleece a war relief charity, to finance his gambling ship. What could have been a strained morale-booster is great entertainment — witty, suspenseful and more than reasonably intelligent. The director is H.C. Potter, a craftsman without a strong style, but who had years of stellar Broadway experience. Actors trusted him, and he didn’t ruin good screenplays. He did a lot of workhorse assignments, but also couple of decent Astaire musicals and the marvelous Hellzapoppin’, which is still a frantic whirlwind of a comedy. His The Farmer’s Daughter has a good reputation, while his Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House is an enduring classic that keeps on giving after multiple views.
Behind its generic poster art, Mr. Lucky soon gets us on its side. Cary Grant is said to have asked RKO to purchase Milton Holmes’s original story. Grant sometimes found himself in shows that weren’t a good fit for his talents, but this one lets him play to his strengths, showing exactly what makes him one of the best-ever Hollywood stars. His self-assurance is breathtaking.
Never give a sucker an even break, but never cheat a friend.
Gambler, confidence man and shifty crook Joe Adams is a quick thinker who uses his personal charm to bilk people. He wants to relocate his illicit gambling ship ‘Fortuna’ to Florida but is short $50,000 dollars to grease the way. Both he and his number two man, the more conventionally crooked Zepp (Paul Stewart) receive draft notices. Zepp apparently prepares to be processed, but Joe swaps identities with a crewmen who has just died. As Joe Bascopolus, Joe decides that the perfect way to raise his cash will be to cheat a mostly female-run war charity, led by the socialite Dorothy Bryant (Laraine Day). Joe easily hoodwinks Dorothy’s colleagues (Gladys Cooper, Kay Johnson, Florence Bates) but Dorothy isn’t so foolish: she assigns him to learn to knit.
Dorothy fools Joe almost as much as he fools her — she uses him to get through some tough negotiations, even as she doubts his commitment to anything except himself. Going against her conservative father, Dorothy allows Joe to put on a semi-legal gambling operation to raise charity funds for medical supplies to be shipped to Greece. What she doesn’t know is that Joe’s ‘pal’ Zepp is convinced that Joe has gone soft, and is making plans to take both the gambling receipts and Joe’s racket.
This is not a screwball farce, as pure silliness doesn’t enter into the comedy. It’s instead a nice balance of romantic comedy and homefront drama. Smooth cookie Joe and his gambling-ship buddies talk a made-up gang jargon somewhere between Damon Runyon and old-fashioned cockney rhyming slang, which between Joe and Dorothy becomes a courting device. By the time they’re partners, she’s using the funny phrases to protect him from the cops.
The clever story structure uses flashback bookends, set on a foggy NYC waterfront, and given a major boost by the film’s elegant production design. Joe’s ship’s captain Hard Swede anchors the serious end of the story, explaining to a night watchman why the swank Ms. Bryant is waiting on the end of a pier. Subsequent scenes soon turn lighter. A dying sailor sets up the relationship between Joe and Zepp, crooks perpetually working angles — keeping illegal gambling going, evading the draft. Zepp doesn’t hold with Joe’s ‘chivalric’ underworld code — he withholds news that Joe’s new identity, Joe Bascopolus, is wanted by the law.
Joe’s invasion of the charity organization has the film’s most adept scenes. Joe jumps through hoops trying to prove himself to the wary Dorothy. She buys none of his soft soap but can’t her own attraction. Their relationship grows, thanks to the good script and the combined charm of Grant and Day.
One big surprise is Joe’s helper Crunk, played by comedian Alan Carney, who we’d previously seen only in an unfunny comedy, Zombies on Broadway. An excellent foil for Joe’s slick moves, Crunk brings in a streetwise attitude and a good disposition. The ‘comic antics’ around things like being taught to knit are excellent. Both Joe and Crunk become very nervous when their knitting practice draws a crowd of fascinated men — which makes a funny statement on masculine insecurity.
The romance builds on a couple of emotional misunderstandings — Joe looks truly hurt when Dorothy accuses him of cheating at everything. Joe uses Dorothy’s guilt to get the Charity casino idea going again. They’ll use the gambling equipment from the ship … and Joe and his gang will steal the proceeds.
The sentimental machinations that spin Mr. Lucky to its happy ending may be the most elegant of any wartime movie charged with delivering a morale-building message. Joe gets a Greek Orthodox Priest to translate a letter from the mother of the real (and dead) Joe Bascopoulos, relating the horrors visited by the occupying Germans. It’s enough to motivate Joe to go straight. His reformation and the rosy ending verge into fairy tale territor — the Fortuna becomes a medical supplies relief ship in just a few hours? Such things don’t matter, with the focus on the romance between the ritzy charity lady and her newly patriotic beau.
Hey, these visuals have a real graphic sensibility.
Contributing mightily to Mr. Lucky is the work of Production Designer William Cameron Menzies. It is likely that Menzies storyboarded the whole movie — director H.C. Potter may have delegated the film’s entire visual aspect to Menzies and cinematographer George Barnes. That includes placing the camera and calling the shots. As noted above, the flashback bookends on a murky dock made good use of RKO’s crack optical printer shop. The production never went near the water. Numerous shots are almost entirely matte paintings and miniatures, perfectly arranged. Menzies’ bold graphics make the opening of a dock warehouse door into an elegant transition ‘wipe’ effect. Menzie’s designs can be seen in odd compositions that push important information high or low in the frame. Joe’s slot machines are seen only once, in an almost abstract angle. A tight group of gamblers is compared to a tight group of ladies in a knitting bee, with a befuddled Cary Grant in the middle.
The show is packed with clever details, from Joe’s various betting tricks, to his whistled signature melody, Something to Remember You By by Arthur Schwartz. * Dorothy employs Rhyming Slang to fool the cops. The substitution of ‘briny marlin’ for ‘darlin” also figures in the transformation of the gambling boat into a war relief ship.
The oddest detail looks like a William Cameron Menzies storyboard setup. After a certain villain is on the floor and unconscious, we get a shot of Joe stomping down at the camera. The implication is that he’s killing his foe, crushing him with his shoe. We imagine that audiences cheered in 1943, but today it seems more than a little bloodthirsty. For some war-effort movies the Production Code went out the window … just what criminal charges might Joe face when he eventually comes out in the open?
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