Just when I think I'm going to chuck it all in and blow up my cable subscription, Turner Classic Movies sucks me right back in. They have a mobile app, you see, that allows you not only to watch their programming live, but also to catch up on the films you missed. Which is why last night in front of a roaring fire, my sweetheart and I watched Topper on a 9.7" tablet screen balanced on a pillow, sharing a set of ear buds -- as in the good old days, when you could split a malt at Pop Tate's Chock'lit Shoppe and television was still free.

The film opens on thirtysomething, one-percenter couple, George and Marion Kerby (Cary Grant and Constance Bennett), drunkenly speeding through the Long Island countryside in the Most Awesome Car Ever. George has a trustees meeting with his banker in New York in the morning, so the two have left a party in full swing at their house to get to the appointment on time. 

George doodles his way through the shareholder's meeting, while Marion sleeps in their car, illegally parked outside the bank. Kerby's banker is Cosmo Topper (Roland Young), who, for a powerful bank executive, is pretty easily and regularly pushed around by his manservant (Alan Mowbray) and his wife (Billie Burke). Topper's life is regimented to the second, so he is both thrilled and envious of the Kerby's carefree ways. When Marion awakens, bored, she glides into the bank, charms Mr. Topper, grabs George and the two head out for more partying.

While speeding home, George loses control of the car on a sharp turn and crashes, killing both him and Marion. Their ghosts get up, assess the situation, and realize that they haven't led particularly productive lives -- they haven't hurt anyone, but they haven't helped anyone either. So they decide to "help" Topper to put a deed in the plus column and maybe move on.

Topper, in a fit of independence, has purchased the Kerby's sportscar, newly repaired and groovy again, over the objections of his wife and manservant. On his first midlife test drive, he takes the same fatal turn as the Kerbys' and wipes out. While unconscious, his spirit walks around and runs into his two ghost friends, who proceed to plague/help him for the rest of the picture.

The ghosts can materialize every so often, but it takes a lot of energy. This allows for a lot of good scenes where tires change themselves, drunken Toppers get "carried" around hotel lobbies, and so forth. It's a Hal Roach picture after all, but without so much pie. Marion materializes in some uncomfortable places for Topper, which allows hotel detective Eugene Palette and elevator-operator-bell-hop Arthur Lake to do some creative blundering.

All good clean fun and a great way to spend time with Roland Young, who turns out to be a pretty fine physical comedian. Constance Bennett is charming and Cary Grant can drive with his feet.

No matter how many times I see this movie, I am always taken aback by what wonderful performances Cary Grant and Jean Dixon give in it. So great are they (and Edward Everett Horton), that you don't mind Katharine Hepburn's occasional scenery chewing, or the fact that Doris Nolan's character, Julia, seems like a highly unlikely choice for hero Johnny Case (Grant).

Holiday was originally a play by Philip Barry (author of The Philadelphia Story, another play-to-film success for Grant, Hepburn, and director, George Cukor). It had been filmed already in 1930 with Robert Ames as Johnny, Ann Harding as Linda (the Hepburn role), and Mary Astor as Julia. Edward Everett Horton played Professor Potter in both films, with (get this) Hedda Hopper as his wife, Susan. No Jean Dixon, she.

I have never seen the 1930 version, an oversight that shall be corrected forthwith. I mean --the poster alone...

Holiday is the story of Johnny Case, a happy-go-lucky self-starter, who has worked his way up from humble beginnings to a place of some promise in the world of finance. He meets Julia Seton while on his first vacation ever in Lake Placid and after two weeks of apparently not talking at all about anything that matters to either of them, they fall in love and decide to get married.

Back in Manhattan, Johnny meets up with his pals, the Potters (Horton and Dixon), a homey, perfectly-matched, charming couple, tells them he's getting married, and runs over to his fiancee's house to meet the family and get the father's blessing. The house in question takes up a block of Fifth or Park Avenue or something, so he figures Julia must work there and goes by the servant's entrance. Turns out she lives there and a freaked out butler escorts a baffled Johnny to a marble-lined entry way the size of an airplane hangar. Johnny is asked, in the words of Firesign Theater, to sit in the waiting room or wait in the sitting room, and runs into an unsteady young man in a top hat and head plaster who turns out to be Julia's massively hungover brother, Ned (Lew Ayres). Julia finally shows up and explains that she has to go to church to break the news to her father there so that he can't raise his voice about it. Johnny asks her why she didn't mention she was one of THOSE Setons, but says it makes no difference; after all, it's like learning that she can play the piano or something. He is to come back at lunch time to meet Father (Henry Kolker). On the way out the door, they run into Linda, Julia's elder sister, who is NOT going to church, and takes an instant liking to Johnny's carriage and humor.

So we've met just about everyone we need to and we've learned the following: The Potters are awesome and love Johnny; Ned is a drunk who does everything he's told, which is why he's a drunk; Julia is beautiful and manipulative; Johnny is at ease in any situation; and Linda is the black sheep. And once we meet Father, the rest falls into place. 

Old man Seton is a domineering martinet who dotes on Julia (who is very much like him, as we come to learn), barely tolerates Ned, and is continually exasperated with Linda (who is very much like his late wife). Johnny gets a chance to talk with Linda and Ned before meeting Mr. Seton. There is a special room in the house -- the children's old playroom -- where Linda spends most of her time. Johnny charms the bejeezus out the two of them and they are delighted that Julia made such a surprisingly good decision. We also find out that Johnny has a master plan: he wants to make a pile of money then retire to roam the world, see what it's All About, then come back and work when he knows what he should be working for. Who knows how long it will take, but he wants to do it while he's "young and feel(s) good all the time."

Linda thinks that's fantastic, but has he told Julia?

No. No, he hasn't, because I guess they hadn't covered that in the two weeks they hung out together on the ski slopes of Lake Placid. That, and her tremendous position of privilege and desire to keep it.

Anyway, Mr. Seton agrees to their marriage and proceeds to ride roughshod over their marital plans, which is just fine with Julia. At their New Year's engagement cotillion (Linda wanted to throw them a nice small party in the playroom, but father wouldn't hear of it) Johnny learns that a deal has gone through that earned him the necessary pile of dough to take his holiday. He finally tells both father and daughter about his life's ambition, and they are deeply horrified at the notion that there may just be "enough money." Johnny is stunned, but the engagement is still on. Maybe he should compromise. Maybe she'll come around.

Meanwhile, Linda, sulking up in the playroom, strikes up a friendship with the Potters, who have stumbled upon the room while trying to escape the sea of wealth and power of the party below. Their introduction to that event is one of the most delightful bits of writing and acting in the history of writing and acting.

I'm not telling you how it ends, but you can probably figure it out. You can get this picture streaming from various sources or on DVD. If you haven't seen it in a while, do yourself a favor. Then imagine how much better it would have been if Irene Dunne had been cast as Linda as originally planned. Don't get me wrong: I love Katharine Hepburn, but this isn't her best era. That begins with The Philadelphia Story.

One of the best exes-destined-to-remarry-before-their-divorce is-final movies ever, The Awful Truth opens with husband, Jerry Warriner (Cary Grant), putting the icing on the lie that he has been in Florida all week, while wife Lucy (Irene Dunne) strolls into their home in evening clothes the morning of his "return" with her handsome music teacher, It's also one of those movies where friends and acquaintances just hang around the apartment of someone who isn't even there, drinking their liquor and talking about them behind their back.

Misunderstandings and suspicions are fueled by friends and flimsy explanations, ultimately leading the couple to decide that since they can no longer trust each other, they should just get divorced. So they do. It isn't until they get before the judge, that they realize they'll have to share custody of Mr. Smith (Skippy, the wire terrier who also played Asta in you-know-what), the dog who brought them together in the first place. This guarantees enough contact with one another that sooner or later they'll realize what an idiotic thing they've done.

You see it coming a mile away, but you don't care, even when Lucy's well-meaning Aunt Patsy (Cecil Cunningham) facilitates a diversion for Lucy in the form of their new neighbor, handsome doofus Dan Leeson (Ralph Bellamy), knowing that whatever romance might come of it will be doomed.

And it's so very very doomed. Even Leeson's mother, who hasn't yet met Lucy, is aware that Dan is riding for a fall. She actually defines "rebound" for her poor, dumb cluck of a son. No matter. They get engaged anyway, but it doesn't take long (one chorus of "Home on the Range," in fact) for Lucy to realize that life with an Oklahoma oil man is probably not for her and that she's really still in love with Jerry.

Just when it looks like the Warriners are going to get back together, the music teacher reappears to cause yet another misunderstanding that finally sends Jerry off to look for another women in earnest. As luck would have it, there is an available heiress with whom Jerry might actually fall in love. If not in love, then at least engaged. Because this is also one of those movies where recently-divorced couples immediately get engaged to other people before their divorce is even final. 

On the very evening said divorce IS to become final, Lucy crashes the engagement party at Jerry's wealthy soon-to-be in-laws by posing as Jerry's fictitious sister, Lola (it's his fault she has to do this, by the way), whom she decides to play as a chorus girl. Party successfully ruined and thinking Lucy is hammered, Jerry drives her up to Aunt Patsy's cabin, where Lucy was planning to spend the weekend for a "visit."

Patsy isn't there, of course, and having disposed of any way for Jerry to get home, Lucy provides time for the two to have the conversation they should have had at the beginning of the picture.

The Awful Truth is a symphony of one-liners, reaction shots, and brilliant comic timing. The chemistry between Cary Grant and Irene Dunne is real, if not downright steamy; they quarrel like people in love and show the greatest appreciation for one another, even in situations that might otherwise hurt. If these two didn't really like each other in real life, then they're the best actors I've ever seen.

If you haven't yet seen this film, you will be very glad you did. It's the best 90 minutes of inevitability you'll ever spend.

This post is my contribution to The Romantic Comedy Blogathon, co-hosted by Backlots and Carole & Co.

Please read all the great entries and enjoy!