TOPPER: Blu-ray (MGM/Hal Roach 1937) VCI Entertainment

Billed as 96 ‘roaring minutes of laughter’, director, Norman Z. McLeod’s Topper (1937) feathers in some joyously obtuse screwball comedy infectiously mixed with ribald sexual innuendo and the inimitable charm of two up-and-coming stars about to burst like a pair of bombshells into the cinema firmament: Constance Bennett (then, considered the more popular) and Cary Grant (at the height of his male sex appeal, and teetering on the cusp of super stardom). From top to bottom, Topper is a sterling comedy; its vignettes strung together by the feeblest of scenarios written by Jack Jevne, Eric Hatch and Eddie Moran, cribbing from Thorne Smith’s 1926 semi-risqué novel, The Jovial Ghosts. For producer, Hal Roach, Topper was decidedly a step up and, in retrospect, his fleeting foray into ‘the big time’. Partnered with MGM, then the greatest studio in the land, Roach was afforded all the lavishness Metro could muster up. Indeed, in viewing Topper today, it bears the hallmarks of MGM’s typical studio gloss; the art deco sets and elegant ensemble tricked out in some gorgeous costumes by Samuel Lange and an un-credited Irene.

We pause a moment here to pay tribute and homage to Hal Roach; one of Hollywood’s nearly forgotten renaissance men. In the late 1920’s and early thirties, Roach’s indie studio was home to the hallowed likes of Harold Lloyd, Will Rogers, the Our Gang kids, and, most famously, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. The profitability of his two-reel comedies, and, a 1927 deal secured with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer ensured Roach a steady stream of employment. By 1931, he had made the leap to full-fledged features with Laurel and Hardy’s ‘Pardon Us’. A scant five years later, Roach phased out all but his ‘Our Gang’ serial shorts. Roach ought to have been on the fast track to becoming another David O. Selznick. Alas, inveigled in a partnership with Vittorio Mussolini (Benito’s son), Roach was quite naively unaware of his conflict of interests: MGM intervening and forcing Roach’s hand to pay his way out of this venture. The pall of this misstep, coupled with the under-performance of Roach’s feature films released under MGM’s banner (save Laurel and Hardy and Topper) resulted in L.B. Mayer dissolving their partnership in 1938 with a complete sell-off of Roach’s rights to his former catalog.  

Topper is undeniably a good show. Invariably, audiences agreed, flocking to see its’ lithe concoction of supernatural merrymaking. Interestingly, while the focus is on Cary Grant’s bon vivant, George Kerby and his sultry Mrs. – Marion (Constance Bennett) the title refers to one Cosmo Topper (Roland Young as the utterly henpecked and befuddled Wall St. banker whose life is turned upside down by the return of his late stockholder). Topper also benefits from the inclusion of Billie Burke, as Clara – Mrs. Topper, and, Alan Mowbray’s sublimely stuffy butler, Wilkins. In planning his production, Hal Roach had already decided on Cary Grant. Indeed, Grant had been in the movies for nearly a decade, appearing in product of questionable artistic merit, yet always with an impossibly devilish verve that leant his drop-dead good looks an edge of uncertainty and dangerousness. Roach admired this quality in Grant. Even so, he had some serious convincing to do to get Grant to sign on the dotted line. Assured by Roach the resultant script would play to Grant’s strengths as a comedian, and offering the actor $50,000 for his services, convinced him to partake.  Roach had also aspired to cast MGM’s resident sexpot, Jean Harlow opposite Grant. Alas, unbeknownst to anyone, the actress was fatally stricken with uremia; her death at the age of 26 sending shockwaves throughout the industry. Reaching out to Constance Bennett, Roach managed a minor coup, getting the actress to accept less than her usual fee – and, in fact, $10,000 less than her co-star to headline this movie. But Roach was bitter about his inability to woo W.C. Fields to play the part of Cosmo; in hindsight, a bit of luck, as it is virtually impossible to imagine anyone except Roland Young bringing both genuine silliness and sincerity to the part.

Topper is set within the tastefully whimsical elegance of movie-land’s impressions of the hoi poloi; a white-gloved world of gleaming manor houses, stately banks, lavishly appointed penthouses and hotels, populated by a flock of devil-may-care aristocrats to whom the Great Depression has seemingly not even made a dent. I adore this never-land from Hollywood’s golden thirties. It reeks of style, sophistication and smarmy sex appeal. Cobbled together mostly from sets built at Roach’s Culver City Studios, with a few brief inserts lensed in and around town (Bullock’s Dept. Store on Wilshire, and, Pasadena’s Seabreeze Hotel), the picture’s one irrefutable flight into fancy is George and Marion’s sporty roadster. As no car in mass production of its time would suffice for this farfetched and fatal vehicle, Bohman & Schwartz built a custom-made hybrid between a Cord and a Duesenberg on the chassis of a 1936 Buick Roadmaster. Two identical models were built for the movie; one sustaining damage in the wreck that claims George and Marion early on (later reused to almost kill Cosmo as he overshoots the same hairpin corner), and another identical model left in near pristine condition for the remainder of the shoot. Afterward, this second vehicle was sold to the Gilmore Oil Co., used for many years as part of their promotional ads before being updated in 1954 with a Chrysler Imperial chassis and drive train.

Topper opens with a madcap fanfare by Marvin Hatley under the main titles; Hatley, just another of those work-a-day studio-hired ‘grunt’ composers, whose workhorse output and awe-inspiring precision have been set aside with the passage of time, but nevertheless deserve honorable mention in any review of at least this movie. Hatley’s contributions are matched by Hoagy Carmichael’s charming ditty, ‘Old Man Moon’, intermittently sung by Carmichael, Constance Bennett, Cary Grant and, in a medley, by the Three Hits and a Miss. Neither Carmichael nor Hatley received any credit for their contributions on Topper, although both elevate the mood of the piece; particularly Carmichael, whose inimitable ‘charm’ has oft escaped me, though herein seems quite endearing as – what else? – a saloon piano player. We are introduced to the Kerbys – George and Marion, careening in their convertible roadster down a moonlit country road. Typical of the bon vivant, George is sitting atop the back of his seat, steering the car with his feet. In short order, George elects to take his wife on a jaunty nightclub binge, eventually ending up at a cozy little Italian restaurant where he, Marion and Hoagy – the piano player, indulge in a few verses of ‘Old Man Moon’. George is due at Cosmo Topper’s bank for their annual Board of Directors meeting. To date, George – the bank’s largest stock holder – has not made a single appointment. But this time, he has faithfully promised.

We cut to a brief vignette in the life of Cosmo Topper; wealthy and yet deprived, even of the frolicking luxury of an invigorating shower, cut short by his fastidious butler, Wilkins. “It’s eight-thirty…we dress now!” Cosmo’s life is so straightjacketed it has become positively insufferable. What’s more, his own wife, Clara has quietly settled into this forced march existence. Cosmo begs Clara’s indulgence. After all, neither is a spring chicken. And despite their affluence they get so very little out of life. Of course, Clara doesn’t know what in the world her husband is talking about. We flash ahead to Cosmo’s arrival at the bank; as ordered as his home life, save the mild flirtations of his private secretary and spinster, Miss Johnson (Virginia Sale) who asks the outer office secretary (Elaine Shepard) to borrow a lipstick to freshen up for the boss. Meanwhile, George and Marion have fallen asleep in their roadster outside the bank, gathering a crowd of onlookers and one very annoyed policeman who is quite unable to reach either of them until George suddenly realizes he is a few minutes late for his meeting already. Bursting in on the accounting details already in progress, George makes a mockery of Topper’s fastidious bean-counting while Marion goes into Topper’s private office to continue her nap. A frustrated Cosmo enters, ranting about George’s ignorance before realizing Marion is in the room. Back-peddling with embarrassment, Cosmo is surprised when Marion concurs with his assessment of George – though not of life itself. Life is to be enjoyed. And poor Topper just isn’t having any fun.

As our story is about to reveal, too much fun can also be very detrimental to one’s health. On their return trip home George, speeding well beyond the limit, misses a hairpin turn and plows the roadster into a nearby tree. After a few bewildering moments, the couple stirs to discover they are ghostly apparitions, quietly observing their own bodies strewn amidst the wreckage. For the first time in her life, Marion fears perhaps neither she nor George has done enough good deeds in life to warrant their invitation into the kingdom of heaven.  To ensure their place beyond these pearly gates, the Kerbys hatch a plot – to liberate Topper from his regimented existence. We return to the bank. A month has passed since the Kerbys’ fatal accident. On a whim, Topper has bought their refurbished roadster as an anniversary present for Clara, still unable to fathom George and Marion’s untimely passing. He is even more shocked to discover their spirits returned to create a little bit of mischief on his behalf. Marion takes Topper under her wing, urging him to stop at a lady’s fashion shop so she can try on the latest in soft silken undergarments. The trick turns sour when the invisible Marion scares half the female patrons out of their wits. Topper confiscates the lace panties, stuffing them into his coat pocket where they are later discovered by Clara. She immediately suspects her husband of infidelity. Wilkins tried to calm his tearful employer after Topper indignantly storms out of the house. But even he tires of the whiny Clara.

Unable to reach his wife, Cosmo moves out of the house, determined to go on a bender to reclaim his youth. Clara believes Cosmo’s recent spate of erratic behavior has disgraced the household. She is quietly stunned when the denizens of high society, fronted by their grand dame, Mrs. Grace Stuyvesant (Hedda Hopper) pay her a social call and invite the Toppers to their annual soiree. Clara has dreamed of this day, but never thought it possible. Now, it seems Cosmo’s wicked ways have made them both quite ‘respectable’. Still wounded by Clara’s rejection, Cosmo drives out to the Seabreeze Hotel – a saucy hideaway where he hopes to tear up the scenery and live the life of debauchery he has already been accused of partaking. Marion has joined Cosmo on this little sojourn. Alas, so has George, the pair now plotting how best to get Topper to come to his senses. Meanwhile, the hotel’s house detective, Casey (Eugene Pallette) is bewildered to hear multiple voices coming from Cosmo’s suite. After all, he checked in alone. Suspecting the obvious – that Topper has a girl in his room – Casey convinces his employer to summon the police. Too bad, by the time the cops arrive George and Marion have created a scene to shock and surprise everyone; tossing papers at the hotel register into the air, and smashing lightbulbs from a perch on high to startle everyone. Amidst this hullabaloo, George and Marion smuggle Topper out of the hotel. Alas, George still hasn’t mastered the bend in the road. Another smash-up and it appears as though Cosmo too is now headed in the direction of Gabriel’s horn. Instead, the Kerbys force Topper’s soul back into his unconscious body. He awakens in his own bed some hours later, a reformed Clara by his side and vowing to indulge whatever future whims her husband may choose to explore upon being restored to good health.

Topper was such a massive hit with audiences it virtually rewrote the careers of Cary Grant and Constance Bennett. In time, Bennett’s reputation and popularity would be allowed to fade into obscurity. But Grant’s has remained perennially appealing to audiences ever since. It’s very easy to see why. In Cary Grant we have the epitome of manly grace turned slightly askew by the actor’s ability to laugh at himself. There is nothing sexier to women than a guy who knows he is good looking but refuses to take those ‘good looks’ quite so seriously. Grant is charming throughout Topper. The picture, in fact, comes right in the middle of Grant’s uninterrupted spate of great screwball comedies that include Leo McCarey’s The Awful Truth (1937), Howard Hawks’ Bringing Up Baby (1938), and George Cukor’s Holiday (1938). However, it is important to remember the latter two comedies were considered unmitigated flops when they premiered. Since then, each has been properly revered as a great work. Constance Bennett is Grant’s perfect foil – a smart and sassy platinum blonde would-be vixen, in love with her own figure of flesh as she cavorts in a series of form-fitted shimmering gowns. There is a wonderful antagonistic sex-chemistry at play throughout Topper, mostly because Grant and Bennett play their lines with more severity than comedic finesse. They are not trying to be funny and, as a result, cannot help but be even more so when calamity hits and the razor-sharp barbs begin to fly.

Interestingly, Bennett was to receive better notices for Topper than Cary Grant; enough for Hal Roach to attempt to launch her as a ‘great star’, reunited with director, McLeod and screenwriters, Jevne and Moran, Billie Burke and Alan Mowbray – for 1938's less than stellar, Merrily We Live. As for Topper: it needed a sequel. It’s really too bad the two that followed it were hardly worthy of the decision to ‘make more’: 1938’s Topper Takes a Trip and 1941’s Topper Returns, very weak-kneed inclusions into this franchise. In the first, Cosmo and Clara decide to take a vacation, one repeatedly intruded upon by Marion’s ghost. In the latter, only Young returned, co-starring this time with Joan Blondell doing thirty-minutes of ‘Blithe Spirit’ as a slain woman in desperate need of Cosmo’s help to solve the crime of her own murder.  In 1953, Topper was resurrected once more – this time as a television show running for two seasons, starring Leo G. Carroll, Robert Sterling and Anne Jeffreys. The movie and its spin-offs were then lain dormant until 1973 when yet another television pilot was attempted, starring Roddy McDowall, Stefanie Powers and John Fink. No such spark of magic was rekindled. In 1979, Topper was remade yet again for TV, this time starring Kate Jackson, Jack Warden and Andrew Stevens. One year later, Monty Python’s Eric Idle tried his hand at ‘Nearly Departed’, a short-lived American knock-off based on the same premise. The original 1938 classic holds another dubious distinction: the first B&W classic to suffer the indignation of colorization for its home video incarnation in 1985.

Since then, Topper has looked pretty darn awful on various home video formats. I have been unable to track down the reasons Roach’s classy comedy, whose rights were bought outright from him by MGM in 1941, should have long since fallen into public domain, allowing virtually every third-party distributor their crack at a home video release when actually Warner Home Video, the present-day custodians of the ole Metro library should have rescued Topper from oblivion with a stellar DVD and, by now, Blu-ray release long ago. In lieu of such wishful thinking, we get VCI Home Video’s 1080p remastering efforts; and, while not quite the travesty others have been referring to, it is very far from perfect and yet another lost opportunity for Topper to emerge on home video in a quality befitting its stellar performances and direction. VCI’s disc is a huge disappointment.

For starters, someone at the company needs to rethink the inarticulate marketing disclaimer that precedes a good deal of its releases: “This disc has been restored to its present condition”…whatever that means! There is much to suggest someone has been tinkering at the controls here. But the results are thoroughly lacking. The image has been over-processed. What we have here is an artificially waxen, and even more artificially sharpened, at times grotesquely digitized video presentation that does not look anything like it once derived from ‘film-based’ content. Artifacting, edge enhancement, tiling and film grain registering as grit all meet the eye. At times, one can almost excuse the bulk of these shortcomings as they are intermittently amplified, then calmed throughout this presentation. But on the whole, Topper looks about as ugly and unappealing as Blu-rays can when the proper attention to detail and quality control are not diligently applied. The audio is mono and adequate, though again, without being exemplary in any way. No extras either, save a badly worn theatrical trailer. I really was looking forward to Topper on Blu-ray. The results, while head and shoulders above all those aforementioned crummy ‘standard def’ releases, are nowhere near the art of film preservation being celebrated elsewhere in the industry today. This disc is a complete fail in my opinion. Now, can someone at Warner Home Video please look into reclaiming the rights to this lost classic – ditto for Meet John Doe, and, Till the Clouds Roll By. Bottom line: pass and be glad that you did.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

1.5

EXTRAS

0