My Man Godfrey

When a down in the dumps upper cruster (Powell) licking his wounds over a dead romance in a shanty town address, gets pulled into a blue blood scavenger hunt on pretext of charity, he will drain a pint of their precious pride at a gala that seems more bazaar than fundraiser (goats monkey), but then accepts a job to "butle" for his sponsor's (Lombard's) zany family of fellow swells (See; Merrily We Live) (38).

A delightful tale on strong acts from familiar faces of the 30s with a pretty fantastic ending, but that's what they liked back then and we could use more of today. If Thin Man leaves you craving calories, you'll satisfy on seeing a mostly sober William (the perpetually soused Nick Charles and his dutiful dame, Nora, never struck a chord with this critic), hearing Jean Dixon's wit & wisdom that would turn world class wisenheimer Thelma Ritter green with envy, and then guzzle the haughty glow of Gail Patrick who'd go on to produce the iconic Perry Mason. And Carole, the ex-Mrs Powell (31-33), she should not've been happy playing darling but ditzy Irene, a role like too many this terribly talented actress was made to suffer, stuck in the silly (tar pits of pre-war cinema), though, oddly bringing the blonde an Oscar nom, one of its six (3.5/4).