Between the dazzling metropoles of Chicago and New York City ran a train that was aptly named the 20th Century Limited, referring to her modern approach to long-distance travel, which she undertook for over half a century, being the prime mode of transport between the two locations for almost the entirety of the first half of the century. Everyone from the poorest soul to the wealthiest impresario would undergo this lengthy journey, travelling in different levels of comfort between the two cities, on what was suitably labelled “the most famous train in the world”, one that could rival the Orient Express in terms of pure fame and status. It just so happens that one of the most vitally important films of the 1930s was set on this particular train, in which director Howard Hawks and screenwriters Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur constructed Twentieth Century, a marvellous comedy in terms of both form and content, based on the play Napoleon of Broadway by Charles Bruce Millholland. Telling the story of an influential theatre producer who has seemingly been cursed to produce only failures, and the leading lady whose departure from his company spells out nothing but misfortune, the film is an exhilarating and wildly funny examination of two characters who were always meant to be together (professionally and romantically), despite their clear differences – and while this may seem like a common premise, being found in countless romantic comedies over the decades, it’s quite a revolutionary idea here, with Twentieth Century laying the foundation for the genre as we know it – and through being written by a pair of the greatest screenwriters of the period, and directed by one of the most versatile filmmakers of his generation, there is little surprise in realizing what a profound success this film is, both in its inception and execution.

When we discuss romantic comedies, it seems strange that the Twentieth Century barely emerges as one of the central talking points, despite it having a very distinct place in the genre. Any cursory history of the era will tell you that this film, as well as Frank Capra’s It Happened One Night, were the pioneering works in the genre we lovingly refer to as screwball comedy. Capra’s film is normally considered the defining work that launched the genre since it is far more traditional in its vision, but it is surprisingly Twentieth Century that it serves to be a more foundational text, both in terms of the storytelling devices and their execution. Like any early work in a given genre, it’s obvious that most of the important elements will be either incidental or not the focus – but they are notable enough to be developed in later works, while the less-interesting components fall behind. It seems like the film was written to be a slightly more dramatic piece – it was certainly designed to be a comedy, but that was more aligned with a more sobering depiction of its major themes, which were carefully put together in such a way that their deeper themes were never in doubt. Logically, this is a perfectly reasonable way to approach these stories, and we saw it many times before (and subsequently) – but there is something so peculiar about exactly how Hawks takes this material, particularly in the elements he chooses to highlight. Pieces of dialogue that would otherwise be insignificant are emphasized, and there’s a looseness to his direction that sometimes threatens to pull us out of the more placid state into which we were placed by the almost hypnotic melodrama that kickstarts the film. The roots of screwball comedy are scattered liberally throughout Twentieth Century, but for those with some experience with the genre, they are clear enough to understand why this is considered one of the works that ultimately created the genre, with its pace of dialogue, use of mishaps as a source of comedy and most notable of all, a distinct irreverence to a traditional narrative structure that persists throughout the film.

It is always better to avoid hyperbole, especially when it serves to place too much credit on a single person for the success of something as enormous as an entire genre – but we can say with full confidence that without Carole Lombard, screwball comedy would not exist, at least not in the form that we know it today. Along with Claudette Colbert, Lombard set the standard for the kind of daffy, eccentric young woman that would normally be paired up with a more experienced actor as the leads of these films, usually being defined by their aggressive nature and refusal to follow conventions, which almost always lead to the comedic conflict that fuel these films. Unlike many of even the greatest comedic actors that would follow, Lombard made it all look so entirely natural – even when she was at her most eccentric, it never felt false or inauthentic in any way. She was naturally funny and had an abundance of charisma, which many directors were able to very effectively utilize when casting her in their films. When you have filmmakers like Howard Hawks and Ernst Lubitsch singing your praises and heralding you as one of the most important collaborators in their careers, then there is something valuable embedded within your set of talents. This film represented not only the start of the screwball comedy genre but also established Lombard as one of the funniest actors working in Hollywood, a surprise considering she had previously played more stoic, unmoving characters. She’s paired with John Barrymore, who is a delightful ham, playing to the rafters in a way that is truly extraordinary and almost revelatory. He was a seasoned veteran, yet his performance felt so fresh and invigorating, the work of a gifted artist whose intentions were always to give audiences a memorable performance, even if it meant resorting to excess – but in screwball comedy, this kind of offbeat persona and commitment to character is undeniably admirable, and both she and Lombard have immense chemistry, which is even more intriguing considering their collaboration was initially mired by conflict (since Barrymore thought Lombard wasn’t skilled enough at comedy to play the role), only for them to become close friends in later years.

To circle back to the discussion on how Twentieth Century pioneered the screwball comedy genre, we have to wonder why it was so influential because of its status and ability to be subversive, presenting viewers with something unique for the time (and as we know, the only way to breed innovation is to take the audience by surprise in some way), or perhaps it’s a more simple reason, one as simple as saying that this film is just endlessly funny, and never sets out to do anything intentionally revolutionary, but instead functions as a wildly entertaining film that knows how to capture our attention and maintain it, which is vitally important when it comes to any kind of comedy. The best jokes are those that aren’t forced, but rather come about organically and with a certain elegance that is difficult to find elsewhere – and Twentieth Century is populated with every possible kind of humour, but the one that stands out the most is the simple, straightforward kind of observational humour that doesn’t rely on broad expressivity (which still exists in this film and those that come later, it’s just more subdued and used in more intelligent ways), but rather clever wordplay and comedic vibrations that only really start to make an impact towards the end, making this a case of humour that doesn’t rely on immediate punchlines, but rather the cumulative impact of 90 minutes of all-the-wall scenarios that lead to a hilarious conclusion, where everything is tied together neatly and with a certain elegance that makes this by far one of the most sophisticated comedies of the era, which extends further from its luxurious surroundings and use of characters who are known for their love of excess. It makes for suitably thrilling, entertaining viewing that is never too direct to become unbearable, but also obvious enough in its intentions to be interesting and enthralling.

This film is driven by such a simple, evocative sense of humour, that it’s a surprise that it managed to be so effective among audiences that had likely never witnessed something of this calibre before. Screwball comedy has been a genre that I have been actively exploring. In going back to its earliest works, it’s easy to determine why it would become so dominant over the next decade – the fresh humour that was deeply compelling, especially when blended with romance (which was not compulsory but highly-recommended, since it allows for a built-in happy ending). The unique characters that normally occupied these stories were rarely anything less than deeply memorable and wildly entertaining. Twentieth Century is not definitive in the sense that it hits all the right notes required from a screwball comedy – if anything, its more cynical and melodramatic tone at times makes it feel almost counterintuitive to the breezy, lighthearted tone later works would feature. However, even when it stands at a short distance away from the more defining works, it is still a very important, captivating work that understands its audience, demonstrating a very sincere form of humour that is not groundbreaking on its own but becomes so captivating when delivered in this earnest, direct way. Hawks was a director who was never in need of more praise – as one of Hollywood’s most reliable and interesting filmmakers, very little of what he made wasn’t worth it. However, the details that propel this film and the overall sense of humour and sentimentality make it a wonderfully eccentric and charming comedy that never takes our attention for granted, and instead earns it with intelligence and genuine honesty, which is all that was required to light the spark that would lead to one of the most influential developments in the history of comedy, the impact of which we continue to see to this very day.