Howard Hawks makes newspaper work look irresistible without pretending its practitioners are decent. Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell give the romantic sparring extraordinary precision; the constant clamour is the price of an unusually sharp comedy.
His Girl Friday is a sharply funny romantic comedy that makes us believe two combative ex-spouses might belong together. Howard Hawks lets a newspaper editor and his reporter ex-wife argue at speed, and makes their pleasure in the fight more convincing than any declaration of love could be. We recommend it without much hesitation, though its appetite for noise can be tiring. The attraction lies in watching two people who know exactly how the other works and still choose to engage.
Cary Grant makes Walter Burns’s scheming enjoyable enough to cause a small moral problem: we keep wanting him to get another sentence in. Rosalind Russell gives Hildy Johnson the speed to answer and the assurance to refuse to be impressed. Neither performance would be half as funny without the other listening so competitively. Even when the words overlap, there is a clear contest for control. Their shared profession gives that contest something more substantial than a string of insults.
Ben Hecht and Charles Lederer are credited with the screenplay, and the writing lets an argument serve several purposes at once. A professional exchange can carry resentment, attraction and an attempt to get an advantage without stopping to explain any of them. Howard Hawks trusts us to follow the important thread rather than gather every syllable. We occasionally miss a line, but rarely lose track of who is winning. That is what distinguishes the speed here from actors simply speaking quickly.
The reporters’ excitement over the gallows story made us laugh, and we felt grubby about it. A man’s possible execution is something for these people to turn into copy, and their briskness makes the callousness funny before it has time to become appalling. Howard Hawks does not make them less entertaining to help us disapprove. The ugliness matters because it stops the pleasure of newspaper work becoming a simple excuse for everything done in its name.
Joseph Walker’s cinematography gives the actors space to compete without making the competition difficult to read. Gene Havlick’s editing is similarly useful: with so many voices demanding attention, we need to understand who has gained ground. We notice the timing of the performances before the work of either man, which suits this comedy. Music is credited to Felix Mills and Sidney Cutner, but it is the collision of voices that supplies the memorable rhythm. The pressroom works as a setting because nobody’s personal business can remain separate from the job for long.
The same relentlessness is also the film’s limitation. At 92 minutes, it is compact, yet there are passages when another interruption feels like another demand rather than another joke. Howard Hawks is so committed to the leading pair’s pace that a gentler response can seem beside the point. The black comedy sometimes moves past other people’s discomfort too briskly, even allowing for its deliberate callousness. Anyone who finds the volume wearing will not necessarily be rescued by the romantic chemistry.
As screwball romance, it earns its reputation through the precision of the partnership. The work gives these ex-spouses a convincing reason to find each other interesting, however poorly either might qualify as a sensible choice. We believe in their attraction because we can hear how much they enjoy the argument. Watch it when there is enough attention left in the evening for two people determined to talk over each other.
