Arsenic and Old Lace Review (1944) (Throwback Thursday #15)
Director: Frank Capra
Writers: Julius J. Epstein and Philip G. Epstein (screenplay); Joseph Kesselring (original play)
Starring: Cary Grant, Priscilla Lane, Raymond Massey, Jack Carson, Edward Everett Horton, Josephine Hull, Jean Adair, Peter Lorre, John Alexander
Release Date: September 1, 1944 (U.S. general release)
Rating: Not Rated (NR) — released before the modern MPAA rating system.
There are certain households where one might reasonably expect to find a few skeletons in the family closet. The Brewster residence in Brooklyn, however, has dispensed with such tiresome metaphors. Its inhabitants prefer to keep their skeletons considerably closer to home, occasionally beneath the cellar floor, and seem rather surprised when anyone objects.
Welcome, dear readers, to Arsenic and Old Lace, Frank Capra’s wonderfully demented 1944 comedy, in which two of the sweetest elderly ladies imaginable have developed a most unfortunate hobby, Cary Grant discovers that marriage may be the least of his problems, and practically everyone involved would benefit from a lengthy conversation with a qualified psychiatrist.
I can think of few more delightful ways to celebrate the Halloween season.
Adapted from Joseph Kesselring’s enormously successful Broadway play, Arsenic and Old Lace occupies a rather peculiar corner of Hollywood history. It possesses the elegance and polish of classic studio filmmaking, the frantic energy of screwball comedy, and a sense of humor black enough to make a funeral director reconsider his career.
What makes the film remarkable is not simply that it finds comedy in murder. Dark humor was hardly a revolutionary invention in 1944. Rather, it is the extraordinary contrast between the perfectly respectable world its characters believe they inhabit and the increasingly outrageous circumstances unfolding around them.
And at the center of this delightful catastrophe stands Cary Grant, a man whose normally immaculate composure is systematically reduced to rubble.
A Most Unfortunate Family Reunion
Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant) is a celebrated drama critic and outspoken opponent of marriage who has committed the rather embarrassing indiscretion of falling in love. Having spent considerable energy ridiculing the institution of matrimony, he has now married the lovely Elaine Harper (Priscilla Lane), thereby demonstrating that even professional cynics are not entirely immune to romance.
Before departing on their honeymoon, Mortimer stops at his childhood home in Brooklyn to share the happy news with his beloved aunts, Abby and Martha Brewster.
The two women are pillars of their community. They are charitable, hospitable, unfailingly polite, and apparently incapable of uttering an unkind word about anyone. Their comfortable home radiates the warmth of an earlier, gentler America, where visitors are welcomed with affection and the offer of something refreshing.
Unfortunately, the refreshments occasionally contain arsenic.
Mortimer discovers that his darling aunts have been poisoning lonely elderly gentlemen, sincerely believing that they are performing a charitable service by relieving these unfortunate souls of their earthly burdens.
They discuss the matter with the same cheerful practicality that other women might reserve for preserving vegetables or organizing a church supper.
Naturally, Mortimer is horrified.
His aunts, on the other hand, cannot quite understand what all the fuss is about.
Complicating matters is Mortimer’s brother Teddy (John Alexander), who believes himself to be President Theodore Roosevelt and spends his days enthusiastically charging up the staircase. When the family’s considerably more sinister brother Jonathan (Raymond Massey) arrives with his peculiar associate Dr. Einstein (Peter Lorre), the household’s already precarious relationship with sanity deteriorates into absolute pandemonium.
What follows is a comedy of escalating disasters, mistaken assumptions, desperate improvisations, and one increasingly frantic man attempting to prevent his family from becoming the subject of tomorrow’s newspaper headlines.
It is a splendidly absurd premise, and Capra knows precisely how to exploit its possibilities.
Cary Grant’s Magnificent Nervous Breakdown
Cary Grant possessed one of the most extraordinary screen presences in Hollywood history. He could project elegance without appearing stiff, romance without becoming insufferably sentimental, and wit without sacrificing warmth. Few leading men have ever made sophisticated comedy appear so effortless.
In Arsenic and Old Lace, however, Grant abandons sophistication with almost reckless enthusiasm.
His Mortimer Brewster is a man whose entire understanding of the universe collapses over the course of one increasingly dreadful evening. Every discovery produces another expression of disbelief, every attempted solution introduces a fresh catastrophe, and every moment of apparent relief proves to be cruelly temporary.
Grant’s reactions are spectacularly exaggerated. His eyes widen, his voice rises, his limbs seem to operate independently of his better judgment, and his face becomes an astonishing instrument of comic bewilderment.
There are moments when he appears to be competing with the entire supporting cast to determine who can produce the most extravagant expression of alarm.
I confess that I find much of this enormously entertaining.
However, even my affection for Grant cannot persuade me that every moment of his performance is equally successful. His relentless physical reactions occasionally become exhausting, particularly when a quieter expression of horror might have produced a stronger laugh. The film sometimes mistakes greater volume for greater comic effect.
Yet I would hesitate to imagine a completely restrained Mortimer Brewster. The entire premise depends upon the absurdity of one relatively sensible man discovering that his apparently respectable family is a collection of spectacular lunatics.
Grant understands that Mortimer is not merely frightened. He is personally offended by the universe’s sudden refusal to behave rationally.
And there is something wonderfully funny about a man who has spent his professional life criticizing theatrical absurdities finding himself trapped inside one.
The Sweetest Murderesses in Brooklyn
As delightful as Grant can be, I believe the film’s greatest triumph belongs to Josephine Hull and Jean Adair as Aunt Abby and Aunt Martha.
These women are magnificent.
They never behave as though they are participating in a gruesome comedy. They possess the serene confidence of two respectable ladies who have maintained a perfectly orderly household for decades and see absolutely no reason to reconsider their domestic arrangements.
Their performances are filled with small gestures of affection, reassuring smiles, impeccable manners, and the gentle rhythms of women who have spent their lives looking after others.
That they have also been quietly murdering some of those others is, in their estimation, a rather unfortunate technicality.
The genius of these performances lies in their complete sincerity. Hull and Adair do not attempt to make their characters sinister. They play them as genuinely loving women whose moral judgment has wandered so far from conventional understanding that it has apparently taken up permanent residence in another country.
And because they remain so thoroughly charming, the audience finds itself enjoying their company despite the increasingly disturbing implications of their behavior.
That is no small achievement.
A less confident film might have exaggerated their wickedness, turning them into grotesque caricatures. Instead, Capra allows their sweetness to make the situation even funnier.
I particularly appreciate how their domestic conversations continue with almost complete indifference to Mortimer’s escalating panic. While he is attempting to comprehend the discovery of multiple murders, his aunts seem chiefly concerned with whether everyone has been made comfortable.
One suspects they would apologize profusely for serving the wrong kind of biscuits at their own criminal trial.
A Household of Beautifully Unhinged Characters
The supporting cast provides an embarrassment of comic riches.
John Alexander is thoroughly committed to Teddy Brewster’s presidential delusion, charging about the house with such unwavering enthusiasm that his behavior becomes almost ordinary against the surrounding madness. His performance gives the film one of its most memorable recurring jokes, although I particularly enjoy how little the aunts seem troubled by his eccentricities.
In their household, pretending to be Theodore Roosevelt scarcely qualifies as unusual.
Raymond Massey brings a wonderfully menacing presence to Jonathan Brewster, whose resemblance to Boris Karloff becomes a running source of irritation. The joke has a delightful theatrical history: Karloff originated Jonathan on Broadway, making the character’s indignation over the comparison especially delicious.
Massey is effective because he represents something genuinely threatening. Unlike his aunts, whose murderous activities are wrapped in benevolent delusion, Jonathan is a criminal who understands precisely what he is doing.
His presence introduces a darker note, and the contrast is essential. Without it, the film might become a succession of increasingly repetitive jokes about innocent-looking murderesses.
Then there is Peter Lorre.
Oh, how I adore watching that peculiar little man navigate a scene.
As Dr. Einstein, Jonathan’s nervous accomplice, Lorre delivers an exquisitely weary performance. His anxious expressions and understated reactions suggest a man who has spent far too many years accompanying a dangerous lunatic and is beginning to suspect that his professional associations leave something to be desired.
He seldom needs to compete with Grant’s theatrical fireworks. Often, a look of quiet apprehension communicates everything necessary.
Priscilla Lane, meanwhile, provides an appealing romantic presence as Elaine, although the screenplay does not always serve her particularly well. She is spirited and charming, but much of her involvement consists of entering situations at the least convenient possible moment and being understandably confused by Mortimer’s behavior.
Their romance is pleasant enough, yet it is hardly the film’s most compelling relationship.
That distinction unquestionably belongs to Mortimer and his terrifyingly affectionate aunts.
Frank Capra Takes a Holiday from Sentimentality
When discussing Frank Capra, audiences naturally think of films such as It Happened One Night, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and It’s a Wonderful Life. His reputation rests largely upon stories celebrating ordinary people, human decency, individual conscience, and the possibility of goodness prevailing against formidable circumstances.
Arsenic and Old Lace offers a rather different vision of humanity.
Here, the kindly elderly women are murderers, the family home conceals dreadful secrets, and the supposedly rational protagonist finds himself surrounded by people who have entirely abandoned conventional reasoning.
Yet I believe the film remains recognizably Capra in its affection for eccentric characters and its insistence that humanity is rarely as simple as appearances suggest.
The director seems positively delighted by the contradiction between suburban respectability and outrageous criminality.
He also demonstrates a keen understanding of the material’s theatrical origins.
Much of the action unfolds within the Brewster house, where staircases, doorways, windows, and the infamous cellar become instruments of comic timing. Characters enter and depart at precisely inconvenient moments. Conversations are interrupted by increasingly troublesome visitors, and Mortimer’s efforts to control events merely accelerate their collapse.
The arrangement is unmistakably theatrical, and I consider that largely an advantage.
There is a particular pleasure in watching accomplished performers navigate a carefully choreographed farce, especially when the humor depends upon who knows what, who has entered which room, and who has discovered something they were never supposed to see.
Sol Polito’s black-and-white cinematography also deserves appreciation. The Brewster home possesses the inviting warmth of an old-fashioned family residence, yet its shadows, enclosed spaces, and nocturnal atmosphere lend themselves beautifully to the film’s macabre subject matter.
It feels sufficiently cozy to invite us inside and sufficiently unsettling to make us question whether leaving might be the wiser decision.
As a Halloween film, that is an admirable combination.
When the Madness Becomes a Little Too Much
For all my affection for Arsenic and Old Lace, I cannot quite call it a flawless comedy.
At nearly two hours, the film occasionally strains under the weight of its own enthusiasm. Certain jokes are repeated beyond their natural lifespan, and some of the later complications feel less like delightful surprises than additional furniture being carried into an already overcrowded room.
Grant’s performance, as I’ve mentioned, is also a matter of personal taste. Those who appreciate his more restrained sophistication may find his frantic antics excessive.
I occasionally do myself.
There are moments when the supporting performers achieve more with a raised eyebrow or a quiet remark than Grant accomplishes with an entire sequence of elaborate facial contortions.
The film’s origins as a stage production are both a strength and a limitation. Its theatrical construction produces marvelous comic encounters, but the escalating series of entrances, exits, misunderstandings, and interruptions can become tiring before the final curtain.
And while I admire Capra’s willingness to embrace such outrageous material, the picture is sometimes so preoccupied with maintaining its feverish pace that it leaves little room for genuine suspense.
These shortcomings prevent me from placing it among the absolute masterpieces of cinematic comedy.
But they do not diminish the considerable pleasure it provides.
Because when Arsenic and Old Lace is working at its best, it is very funny indeed.
There is something immensely satisfying about discovering that a film made more than eighty years ago can still entertain through the strength of its writing, performances, and wonderfully imaginative premise.
Arsenic and Old Lace requires no elaborate visual spectacle, no expensive computer-generated destruction, and certainly no relentless attempts to explain away its own absurdity.
It simply invites us into a respectable Brooklyn home and allows a collection of gloriously eccentric people to make an increasingly spectacular mess of everything.
Josephine Hull and Jean Adair are an absolute delight, Peter Lorre is wonderfully understated, Raymond Massey provides an effective measure of genuine menace, and Cary Grant, despite occasional excesses, delivers a performance of remarkable comic energy.
I especially admire the film’s refusal to apologize for its peculiar sense of humor. It understands that comedy need not always be gentle, that lovable characters need not necessarily be good people, and that the most outrageous situations can become irresistible when everyone involved treats them with complete sincerity.
Is it perfect? Certainly not.
Would I recommend it enthusiastically to anyone who appreciates classic Hollywood comedy, deliciously dark humor, or an unconventional Halloween viewing? Without hesitation.
And perhaps that is the finest compliment I can offer. Eight decades after its release, the Brewster family remains such delightful company that I would happily visit them again.
Although I should very firmly decline anything offered from the wine cellar.
A rather lovely footnote to this review: our own Gary first reviewed Arsenic and Old Lace back in January 2013, when the film helped inspire his original Classic Cinema Wednesday feature. It was his introduction to Cary Grant, and he awarded the picture four stars. Thirteen years later, I find myself arriving at precisely the same verdict, although entirely through my own critical judgment. If you’d enjoy a second perspective, particularly one from a younger Gary discovering classic Hollywood, I encourage you to read his original Arsenic and Old Lace review.
Arsenic and Old Lace gets a four out of five: COMMENDABLE.
A wonderfully wicked classic whose extraordinary supporting performances, macabre humor, and magnificent absurdity easily outweigh its occasional excesses. A deliciously entertaining Halloween treat, best enjoyed with a cup of tea rather than a glass of elderberry wine. For more Throwback Thursday, check out our full archives here.
— Theia, Goddess of Cinema
The Halls of Titanquisitor
