“There’s a name for you ladies, but it isn’t used in high society…outside of a kennel.”

The sheer amount of individuals I’ve encountered over the years that claim to have been radicalized by George Cukor’s The Women is absolutely staggering, but far from surprising. In his capacity as one of Hollywood’s most lovable eccentrics, Cukor was able to assemble any cast he desired, telling the stories that interested him and giving audiences the chance to sample from his very peculiar worldview, which was rarely anything less than utterly galvanizing and fascinating to behold. One of the few directors who made so many masterpieces in his long career, there isn’t a single work that defines Cukor (despite resounding cries from traditionalists that The Philadelphia Story fits the bill – I personally think he’s made works that are far stronger, but that’s another conversation), but rather a vivid tapestry of films that cover a number of genres and call into question several conventions, which the director is quite content in dismantling entirely, as long as it has some narrative value. The words that start this review are taken from one of the final moments of the film, and is perhaps the best embodiment of what it is that makes The Women such a tremendous experience – caustic in its wit, willing to give the viewer the credibility to figure these references out, and not afraid of treading through territory that could have been damaging in the late 1930s, especially during the height of the studio system. It’s a terrific film that only gets better with age – and despite having been produced nearly a century ago, The Women is as refreshing and biting a satire as anything made recently, which indicates not only a timeless quality to its comedy, but to the overall way we perceive the underlying concepts being provoked throughout the film, making for quite an enduring piece of character-driven humour that never quite fails to make evoke hearty laughs and profound thought.

The Women has a very traditional premise – it follows a group of eccentric characters that have a few factors in common, such as their social standing in the high-society of Manhattan (with the tragedies of the Great Depression being so far from the lives of these characters, it may as well be fictional to them based on their lavish way of life), as well as their tendency to annihilate any adversary that gets in their way. Cukor was a master of taking on a simple story and allowing it to come about organically, and in adapting a play by Clare Booth Luce, which has itself inspired a number of direct adaptations, as well as films that are loosely inspired by her work, Cukor was able to strike gold through keeping everything on the fundamentally human level, understanding exactly what it is that makes characters like those at the core of the film work, and putting the audience in situations where we’re the captivated voyeurs, given a glimpse into the trials and tribulations of a dozen characters who would be despicable if they weren’t so thoroughly fascinating, which is exactly where The Women succeeds, not only understanding its own strengths, but acknowledging the limitations embedded in the genre that could not necessarily be overcome, but could at the very least be concealed behind a veneer of mile-a-minute dialogue and outrageous circumstances that don’t necessarily distract from the flaws, but just bolster its virtues as a solid, compelling work of sheer comedic genius. It’s truly a testament of a great filmmaker when they’re able to take something so simple, and develop into a film as unforgettable as this, one that stands the test of time and remains as charming today as it did all those decades ago when it was first unleashed on unsuspecting audiences who were unaware of the delightful chaos they were about to bear witness to, the kind that is certainly historically resonant in its own unique way.

Like every version of Booth Luce’s play, The Women doesn’t have a man anywhere in sight, which gives it a very peculiar sense of independence that is almost revolutionary for a film produced in the 1930s. Part of its success therefore has to be attributed to, as the title suggests, the actresses populating it. From the first moment, where we’re given a whistle-stop tour of each of the major players (accompanied by animal imagery that sets the tone for the kinds of characters they’ll be playing), the audience is immediately captivated. Choosing a standout from an ensemble this rich and varied is impossible, since we’re spoiled for choice – most commonly singled-out are Joan Crawford, as the beguiling young department store clerk who sets off the central conflict, and Rosalind Russell, as the muckraking gossip-monger who enjoys a well-placed rumour, particularly those that can incite a wave of hysterics amongst her high-society colleagues. However, beyond them we have Norma Shearer, playing the film’s tragic heroine who has a dynamic resolution, Mary Boland as a scene-stealing dowager who may enter relatively late into the picture, but still makes a profound impression through firing up the screen with her unique brand of outrageous humour, and even the young and impressionable Virginia Weidler, who was already something of an industry veteran by the time this film came out before even reaching her teenage years, mainly due to her ability to extend beyond simply being an adorable child appearing in front of the camera, showing a wonderful control of her craft impressive for such a young age. It’s a fantastic cast, and dedicating space to elaborate on a select few means that the others don’t receive any attention, which seems profoundly unfair for a film built almost entirely on the strength of its ensemble as a whole, which has always been the aspect of the film that is most cherished and often remembered when discussing it as a notable piece of Golden Era filmmaking.

If there was ever a film that proved the value of a good script and some strong actors interpreting it resulting in a great success, it was to be The Women. What makes this such an absolute delight is the fact that, despite its premise, this is a relatively simple film – there are a large group of characters (some of which only exist in a single scene, serving a particular purpose before exiting the film), but it never feels overwhelming, even when there are situations where we may feel exasperated at the sheer amount of plot being thrown at us. It’s a quintessential Golden Age comedy, with wisecracking characters firing off hilarious one-liners and making sure to establish their dominance with alarming rapidity, but we never feel lost, which is part and parcel due to Cukor’s incredible control of the material, which he handles like the consummate professional he is doubtlessly cited as being when it comes to discussing formative directors from this era. His distinctive mise-en-scène, and ability to extract extraordinary performances from his actors, made Cukor the best possible candidate to bring this to the screen, not only because he was accustomed to these kinds of stories that appear lightweight but have a surprising amount of heft to them, but also since he was always fully-dedicated to showing restraint where it was necessary, never allowing his work to descend too far into self-indulgence or mockery. There’s a constant tenderness that sharply contrasts the acidic wit, creating an experience that is beautifully calibrated to fit in with the director’s style of sophisticated humour with regular touches of surprising depth that works in conjunction with some of the broader ideas.

The Women is a terrific film, but that is barely a surprise, considering the reputation it has earned over time. Despite running at least a quarter of an hour too long, or sometimes meandering into overly-detailed situations that could’ve easily been relegated to being mentioned in passing, the film is perfectly paced, moving along with a steady rhythm that can only come from someone fully in command of their craft, and with the self-assurance from everyone involved that what they’re doing is worth watching. The overt theatricality of The Women is its most significant merit, since everything surrounding it, from the lavish production design to the over-the-top performances, eventually converges into a gloriously bizarre cacophony of socially-mediated chaos, which was clearly created as a scathing critique for the high-society affairs of those who occupied the upper echelons of the community, and which has continued to be relevant, with the themes this film is exploring resounding with complete sincerity even by modern standards. Mainly due to the strong script, but also a matter of touching on universal themes that aren’t exclusive to the particular context in which this film takes place. Ultimately, The Women is a film that gets to exactly where it needs to be – it’s funny, heartfelt and never comes across as anything other than totally authentic and honest, making this a delightful way to spend two hours, and a firm reminder that there was a spark to comedies during the Golden Age of Hollywood that has stood the test of time like very few others have managed, and proven that sometimes making something simple can end up producing an almost historically-significant result.