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Comedy that doesn't include characters in some kind of pain I don't think works very well

Maybe, but I can think of many, many exceptions among my own favorites...Lady Windemere's Fan, So This Is Paris, One Hour With You; unless a bit of trivial romantic disappointment qualifies as "some kind of pain," which would be stretching the point, I think.

Comedy that doesn't include characters in some kind of pain I don't think works very well

Maybe, but I can think of many, many exceptions among my own favorites...Lady Windemere's Fan, So This Is Paris, One Hour With You; unless a bit of trivial romantic disappointment qualifies as "some kind of pain," which would be stretching the point, I think.

I don't believe characters in comedy have to be grand tragic figures, but they do need to get the audience's sympathy and suffer, even if just a little, to do so. Just think of how much suffering goes on in a Jane Austen novel. The key is: Can the actor sell it to the audience? If he or she can't, the comedy fails.

Comedy that doesn't include characters in some kind of pain I don't think works very well

Maybe, but I can think of many, many exceptions among my own favorites...Lady Windemere's Fan, So This Is Paris, One Hour With You; unless a bit of trivial romantic disappointment qualifies as "some kind of pain," which would be stretching the point, I think.

I don't believe characters in comedy have to be grand tragic figures, but they do need to get the audience's sympathy and suffer, even if just a little, to do so. Just think of how much suffering goes on in a Jane Austen novel. The key is: Can the actor sell it to the audience? If he or she can't, the comedy fails.

I've been struggling with titles along the likes of above to find films where clearly there was 'no pain.' And then it hit me, The Thin Man. Nick and Nora, sailing through life and we sail with them. I would not be so pedantic as to include the murder victim, that pain doesn't count. Even Nick's flesh wound seems painless. One could argue I suppose that there is a underlying anguish of alcoholism and existential anguish, but that would be churlish, at least in regard to the film, not the book.

So there are plots that work this way: An Agatha Christie, Miss Marple sort of puzzle plot, where the fun of the story is figure out the story. Pain is this case would detract from the pleasure of the puzzle.

I've been struggling with titles along the likes of above to find films where clearly there was 'no pain.'

I realize there are such movies that are highly regarded; I just don't like them much. Call me a snob, but I like movies to mean something. If a movie is all light and airy it leaves me cold.

I've been struggling with titles along the likes of above to find films where clearly there was 'no pain.'

I realize there are such movies that are highly regarded; I just don't like them much. Call me a snob, but I like movies to mean something. If a movie is all light and airy it leaves me cold.

Mitch, I completely agree, was just trying to be affable. But there are times when light as a feather is a good thing. My mother was in the hospital for a month and watching TV with her next to her bed, I decided that there are times when Murder She Wrote is just the right thing to watch.

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I realize there are such movies that are highly regarded; I just don't like them much. Call me a snob, but I like movies to mean something. If a movie is all light and airy it leaves me cold.

Certainly not a snob...but perhaps not so well acquainted with the tragedies of life as others. Remember Joel McCrea at the end of Sullivan's Travels? By the time in life one's address book is filled with the crossed-out names of beloved friends, "light and airy" is not to be despised.

For those of you who've made it this far on this thread, here is a real treat-this is from a wonderful article titled 'Margaret Sullavan and the Art of Dying.' For the rest, google her name and Bright Lights Film Journal.

'It was joked that she had a clause in her contract that required a lengthy death scene in each of her films; she seemed to be always dying. Gore Vidal wrote, "Margaret Sullavan was a star whose deathbed scenes were one of the great joys of the Golden Age of Movies. Sullavan never simply kicked the bucket. She made speeches, as she lay dying; and she was so incredibly noble that she made you feel like an absolute twerp for continuing to live out your petty life after she'd ridden on ahead." Sullavan dies in her first film, Only Yesterday (1933), and she dies in her last film, No Sad Songs for Me (1950). In between, she threatens to die in childbirth (Little Man, What Now?, 1934), nobly dies from tuberculosis (Three Comrades, 1938), nobly tries to die in a fire (The Shining Hour, 1938), is shot by Nazis (The Mortal Storm, 1940), expires in front of Charles Boyer's photograph (Back Street, 1941), and contracts a fatal case of malaria (Cry Havoc, 1943). In real life, Sullavan took pills and killed herself in 1960, at the age of 51. But she's not a gloomy actress; her characters are not portentous. In fact, her foregone tragic fate seemed to exhilarate her. She taught an audience the many ways of dying, yes, but she also showed them how to live: fearlessly, poetically.'

In real life, Sullavan took pills and killed herself in 1960, at the age of 51. But she's not a gloomy actress; her characters are not portentous. In fact, her foregone tragic fate seemed to exhilarate her. She taught an audience the many ways of dying, yes, but she also showed them how to live: fearlessly, poetically.

I have a lot of trouble with that closing line. Committing suicide is not showing us how to live "fearlessly, poetically." By definition, it is doing the exact opposite.

Jim

Remember Joel McCrea at the end of Sullivan's Travels? By the time in life one's address book is filled with the crossed-out names of beloved friends, "light and airy" is not to be despised.

And how many Sturges comedies are without some depth and a necessary amount of suffering from McGinty on? Comedy without depth and an acknowledgment of human doubts and fears is a trivialization of life. In Sullivan's Travels Sully discovers that comedy is more important to the people who actually suffer than tragedy, but that statement comes in what is probably Sturges' darkest - and in my opinion best - comedy. I'm not saying human angst needs to be so dark for me to enjoy it. Sometimes it's barely perceptible, merely sensed, but it's there. And Murder She Wrote always puts me to sleep.

In real life, Sullavan took pills and killed herself in 1960, at the age of 51. But she's not a gloomy actress; her characters are not portentous. In fact, her foregone tragic fate seemed to exhilarate her. She taught an audience the many ways of dying, yes, but she also showed them how to live: fearlessly, poetically.

I have a lot of trouble with that closing line. Committing suicide is not showing us how to live "fearlessly, poetically." By definition, it is doing the exact opposite.

Jim

Jim, read those last lines carefully. I'm sure with 'her foregone tragic fate' he was referring to her roles, which did have the hint of doom about them all even from the first scenes. I don't think he meant that her suicide was foregone, how could it have been? I do agree it's confusing, he has a tense problem: he should say- 'Their foregone tragic fates seems to.. well that's not quite right either. I can see why he put the tense like that, but it's the only way to make sense out of the three sentences. The rest of the review is quite well written.