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The Thin Man
“The murderer is right in this room, sitting at this table. You may serve the fish.”
It’s the history of art, but even more so in movies and television: technology, storytelling conventions, and culture all have an instant influence — and are changing all the time. What’s smart and fresh and interesting today might be considered archaic tomorrow. So when I sat down this week to watch The Thin Man, a movie made in 1934, I was a little afraid that I’d be wasting my time.
They don’t shoot ‘em that way anymore. Nowadays a typical movie contains many, many closeup shots. The closeup is nearly the norm — and may be the storytelling device of our Age. Not the case with The Thin Man. Back then, the medium shot was the prime choice — and the closeup was the exception. There are several shots in The Thin Man with lots of empty space in the frame:
Part of the reason for shooting this way was the format. When the Coen brothers made The Man Who Wasn’t There in black and white, they commented that the “new format” had affected their shot selection. They especially had to zoom out their closeups. A true closeup in black in white would be too dramatic, too extreme, too jarring to use.
Wider shots mean fewer edits, which mean a more leisurely pace. The film rarely cuts to a closeup, and if it does, it’s usually for dramatic effect.
The story is pretty simple. Clyde (the “Thin Man” of the title) goes away on a mysterious business trip and never comes back. Clyde’s daughter reports him missing. Clyde’s girlfriend turns up dead. Clyde’s girlfriend’s friend turns up dead. Clyde (still missing) becomes a murder suspect. But eventually, Clyde himself turns up dead — long dead, dead even before his girlfriend was killed. So the story is kind of well, circular, but somehow it all works, thanks to Nick and Nora Charles, the fallback heroes of our story.
Nick is a retired police detective. Or so he thinks. He’s resigned himself to running the businesses he inherited from Nora’s father (she’s basically his sugar mama) and to A LOT of drinking. When we meet him, he’s showing a few barmen the proper way to shake out a martini.
Nora is Nick’s wealthy wife. And like many wealthy wives, Nora is bored. So when she finds out that Dorothy Wynant (the Thin Man’s daughter) wants Nick to take on the case, she’s excited; it’s a chance for her to experience some of the fun her husband once had. Nick is reluctant to do it, until he sees that the police are taking the investigation in the wrong direction.
Like all great detectives, Nick digs out the truth: Dorothy’s father was killed. But with him dead, he still has to find the murderer. So, to clear up the case once and for all, Nick invites all the suspects to a dinner party. That’s right, a dinner party. (Jack Bauer would never do that.) Nick finds out who the true killer was, and gets back to partying — which is what he wanted to do in the first place.
The Thin Man is the true definition of a theatrical film. What I mean is that today’s films try to be, on the whole, naturalistic. They strive to quickly immerse the viewer into the action, or risk losing their attention — and they try to duplicate exactly, sometimes with virtual tools, the way reality actually is. In The Thin Man, more attention is given to artifice. Actors were given space to breathe in the frame, the plot and action weren’t always clearly intentioned (there’s an extended scene where Nick, still drunk on Christmas morning, shoots out balloons with a BB gun), and as a result, the audience is allowed to breathe a little too.
For me, 75 years later, The Thin Man still holds up. But I like old movies. I wonder how a modern audience would react. It has a lot to say about manners and principles. Twice in the film, Nick and Nora invite mortal danger into their home. Nick has a convivial relationship with the criminals he’s put away, and he doesn’t hold grudges against those who are after him. We can easily dismiss Nick and Nora as clumsy, naive, foolish drunks, but we love them — because they make what appear like difficult choices look easy. Watching the film, I even thought of our President, and how he’s trying to re-cast our country’s reputation and relationship with the world.
Is it time now, in this era so often compared to the Depression era of The Thin Man, to bring this kind of spirit into our art? Would it change anything?
Comments
I think I need to see this film.
For the mere sake of shooting balloons with a BB gun.
From what you described of Nick, I’ve had a difficult time thinking of another character (in contemporary films) that has walked those lines among criminals. Or has expressed a complexity rarely shown at the contemporary American box office. Perhaps Mary-Louise Parker’s Nancy Botwin in Weeds is the closest thing I can think of, but she tends to become those surrounding with rather than just interacting.
Nick and Nora’s are rarer today because most studios won’t put up with characters who aren’t easily defined by their motives/actions/grudges/desires. Just glancing at what’s currently in the box office, most of the lead roles are two dimensional: Beyonce is a the wife protecting her man/marriage. Wolverine is out for vengeance. Channing Tatum has to fight to succeed. These roles are so bromidic and yet, they seem to drive the American film industry.
What has happened to characters like Nick and Nora in American Cinema? Where are our Guido Anselmi’s (8 1/2)? Our Antoine Doinel’s (400 Blows, etc)? Our Poppy’s (Happy-Go-Lucky)?
Instead we’re inundated with films like Ghosts of Girlfriends Past.
Plot summary (as posted on IMDB): A bachelor is haunted by the ghosts of his past girlfriends at his younger brother’s wedding.
Comment found most useful by users on IMDB: Ghost lacks substance
YEAH FLORES! COMPLETING THE WEEK LIKE A CHAMP
Also, I really want to see this film now.
Thank you for your comments. Nice to see also that you both want to see the film. Outside of film study or a really strong interest in the period, it’s rare among folks like us (read: under the age of 80?) to watch a movie like The Thin Man.
Your further thoughts are interesting, Dr. S. You bring up the character from Weeds as an example. So then it seems that television (specifically pay cable channels like Showtime) is the place to “take risks” portraying characters of complicity. And the three films you mention were made in Europe.
See, people pay for subscriptions to Showtime and HBO — presumably in expectation of a certain quality of programming. If they don’t get what they want, they stop subscribing. Could it possibly work that way in the movie industry? Subscribing to a smaller studio to make a different kind of movie. Hmm.
Nick is a lot like the Poppy character in Happy-Go-Lucky, good catch!