Mr. Lucky

                 
H.C. Potter's Mr. Lucky, from 1943, is a likeable and lightweight wartime feature starring Cary Grant and Laraine Day. The story is piffle, a gambler falls in love with his mark: reminiscent of Preston Sturges' The Lady Eve and anticipating Guys and Dolls. Laraine Day has always struck me as a mallomar presence and her performance here, as a prig who learns to let down her defenses and love (well, who could resist Cary), struck me as typically unmemorable. Of course, Grant tends to be the cynosure of any movie he is in. His stiffness during the early 1930s is long gone. The physical grace retained from his early days as an acrobat is evident whether he is smoking a cigarette or struggling with knitting needles. The deftness and beauty of Grant is the film's main draw and Potter does well to play up the female attention lavished upon his star.

Potter, if he remembered at all, is best known for directing Hellzapoppin', The Farmer's Daughter, and Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House. The latter I've found to be an absurdly overrated one note comedy, but, overall, his work has a breezy charm which is in evidence here. Potter had the reputation, like Tony Richardson, of being a better theatrical than film director. His work has little visual elan, but his touch with actors brings benefits here. Familiar supporting players provide playful riffs on their usual typecasting: Gladys Cooper displays aristocratic charm, Paul Stewart oozes shiftiness, and Charles Bickford emanates avuncular crustiness.

Every time the script sags, however, Potter is unable to transcend his material. When Grant and Day trade coded slang, the effect is nauseatingly cute. Compare Grant's staccato ripostes to Roz Russell in His Gal Friday. Also, a long scene with Grant and a priest seems shoehorned in to provide wartime propaganda and a motivation for our titular heel to repent. RKO seems to have cut a few corners for this production. A few backdrops are clumsily integrated within shots. RKO soundstages stand in for wharf warehouses with nary a box of fish to imply verisimilitude. These stand out because the esteemed William Cameron Menzies did the production design and there are a few bravura moments that display his touch.