If there was ever an era in which filmmakers in Hollywood were active in their efforts to take risks, it would be during the brief period known as the Pre-Code era, which may not have been as driven by the “anything goes” mentality with which some seem to assume defined this period, but still had a slightly more lenient quality when it came to questionable or potentially controversial subject matter. Perhaps from a modern perspective, these stories seem relatively tame and innocuous, but at the time, many of these films caused quite a stir through their scintillating subject matter and ability to look at certain themes that would very soon be entirely erased from the mainstream industry, especially as the studio system started to adopt the Hayes Code, which dictated a very strict sense of standards that every film had to follow or risk the wrath of the censors, who wielded the ultimate authority, second only to the tyrannical producers that ruled over these studios. One of the more intriguing Pre-Code films is The Animal Kingdom, which was directed by Edward H. Griffith and then later George Cukor (who went uncredited, having been brought in after the original director stepped away from the production), based on a play by Philip Barry, which follows a wealthy and debonair man-about-town who is caught between the promise of stability offered by his fiancee (who was plucked from the same high society circles as he was), and the excitement offered by his former girlfriend, a spirited and lively young artist who provides him with both carnal and emotional satisfaction. The film captures the spirit of the original play by Barry, who was known for his fascinating and melancholic comedies that looked at the relationship between those within the high society, and translates it to the screen with wit and nuance, never losing a moment of insightful humour, and adding depth to the already poignant examination of the nature of love, and how it deviates from marriage, despite the supposed belief that they are synonymous, one of the many themes that films produced during this revolutionary era was active in disproving.

The Animal Kingdom offers us quite a unique perspective on romance, which is portrayed as something that cannot be condensed into a linear process of falling in love and seeing it through to the very end. By design, the film leaps between narrative themes at a rapid pace, dividing the story physically between two locations (with the luxurious penthouses of New York City and the elite manors of Connecticut being two sides of the same wealth-oriented coin that the film so actively embraces and uses as a thematic marker), and bringing with it a sense of division, which contributes to the main character’s inability to make a decision about what he wants in life. The film is tonally quite bizarre – it is undeniably a comedy, with the very nature of the narrative leaning towards humour, but it also carries with it a sense of deep, pensive melodrama, investigating the desires of these characters, but rather than stopping as soon as it introduces these ideas, it keeps moving forward, examining the more vulnerable aspects of the story, rather than just focusing on the more lighthearted aspects. The thoughtfulness that goes into this film not only keeps it interesting, but adds a refreshing amount of honesty into a genre that was soon to be defined by the same conventional, trite standards that may have been funnier, but were too aligned with a moralistic perspective, the likes of which would never allow a film that supposedly promoted the concept of infidelity to existing, at least not in a way where the resolution is not to have the main character pay the consequences for his indiscretions. Somehow, The Animal Kingdom manages to predate the cliched, overly conventional romantic comedies that were on the horizon, and instead presents a more bleak but not any less intriguing depiction of a love triangle, one where the humour is subtle but certainly still present, and the majority of its commentary is kept within the realm of the plausible, rather than becoming too overly stylised, which would unfortunately be the standard for the genre for over a decade, including in the remake of this film, One More Tomorrow, which removes many of the more captivating qualities in favour of a more conventional depiction of the subject matter.

However, The Animal Kingdom may be driven by its portrayal of romance, but it isn’t solely defined by this quality – for every moment in which the story seems to be directed at exploring the love triangle at the heart of the narrative, there is a moment that examines a different quality, not those that are necessarily entirely divorced from the central plot, but rather enrich it by building a world filled with eccentric and memorable characters. It expands beyond the confines of a very simple romantic drama, employing elements of humour in the continued creation of an unforgettable and very charming comedy-of-manners. The original play was constructed as being equally about the love triangle between the three main characters as it is the efforts of the protagonists to make their way through the hostile world of high society – the simple fact that the film is set equally between New York City and Connecticut shows the attention to detail in establishing a very clear sense of traversing different rungs of high society – it often feels like the main character is caught between the old money of his upbringing, and the nouveau riche sensibilities that he has recently adopted. The film derives a lot of its humour from these scenarios, especially in subverting the conventions in increasingly creative ways – whether it be in the form of an eccentric butler who is about as inelegant and vulgar as one can be (implying the trouble with having an American in a position so stereotypically British – the fact that the protagonist and his father are both of English extraction plays a delightful role in challenging conventions), or the efforts of various characters to engage in the kind of mandatory events that go into social climbing, there is a lot of very charming, irreverent humour that defines this film and makes it so thoroughly and effortlessly compelling, while never distracting from the broad overtures of melodrama that underpin the main narrative.

Perhaps the most captivating aspect of the Pre-Code era wasn’t the ability of these filmmakers to push boundaries to the point where they were standing right on the cutting edge of cinema at the time, but rather the kinds of characters that accompanied them to that point. In a genre that is defined by its over-dependency on stock characters (to the point where entire academic studies can go into analysing these archetypes), a film like The Animal Kingdom manages to be both revolutionary and deeply insightful when it comes to constructing its characters. Every individual in this film is realistic in a way that may not suggest a necessary realist point of view, since they’re all wonderfully eccentric, but rather each one is well-defined and interesting, and have their own arc, even if they don’t factor heavily into the storyline, but rather help shade in these characters and give them nuance, which is extremely important from such a film. Credit has to go to the actors, who are all uniformly terrific in the roles – Leslie Howard is as dapper and charismatic as ever, proving that he was by far one of the suavest actors during this era of Hollywood (and where his untimely death robbed us of a true talent), while Myrna Loy plays an unexpectedly villainous character, and Ann Harding (who also appeared in the first adaptation of Holiday, the most famous work by the playwright behind this film) goes from mildly annoying to the most heartbreaking character in the film. The performances are all tremendous, but it’s the way they work in tandem that really brings the film together and gives it the necessary complexity. They all handle the rapid-fire dialogue well, and infuse the film with so much emotional resonance, despite none of them being particularly likeable. We have to lament for this period in which Hollywood could produce a mainstream romantic comedy without needing to make the characters effortlessly likeable and immune to flaws, yet another reason behind the importance of looking at the Pre-Code era and its tendency to have the most three-dimensional characters, around a time when the industry would grow far too fond of archetypes, a trend that this film actively works to subvert, even before it became a widespread issue within this genre.

It can be quite easy to overlook a film like The Animal Kingdom and assume that it is nothing more than a conventional, down-to-earth romantic comedy, the likes of which were essentially a dime-a-dozen at the time, particularly because they offered the most reward for much less effort than other genres. It is true that this is an exceptionally simple film – it leaps between two locations, with only one or two expositionary scenes on either side, and it is glaringly obvious that this is not a film that is particularly complex, having its origins on the stage. However, the nuance comes in the form of how it constructs the story, and the execution of some of the bolder ideas that populate the film. This is a masterfully-directed film, the kind of quaint comedy that has a storm brewing within – the performances are excellent, and the actors work in unison to create a powerful and very poignant depiction of a love triangle that is spiralling out of control, and which reaches a fever pitch at a crucial but impactful moment. It may seem very traditional in its sensibilities, but there’s something remarkable about how this film navigates the more complex aspects of its narrative – it gradually develops into a powerful depiction of not only the challenges that come with being in a relationship, but the idea of human connection as a whole. It uses humour and pathos in tandem to create this unique sense of provocation, almost as if it is intentionally stirring a reaction, knowing exactly what the audience anticipates, and then subverting our expectations, taking what seems to be a steadily-constructed romantic comedy that has elements of the soon-to-be-established screwball genre, and turns it into a fascinating deconstruction of love and desire. There’s something so deeply electrifying about a film like this, and its poignant sense of sentimentality, coupled with its often outrageous sense of humour, make it an absolute delight, and one of the best films of this particular era.