Every marriage has its ups and downs, with some having more than others. This is the case for Anita Halstead and Tony (otherwise known as The Great Arturo) – he is a charming and world-renowned magician, and she is his doting wife, their relationship started when she was in attendance at one of his performances, an immediate attraction befalling both of them. They say behind every great magician, there is an assistant who is secretly the mastermind of the entire operation, and they’d both likely agree with this assessment – until their marriage starts to decline as a result of elements out of their control. This premise may seem simple, but it sits at the heart of Eternally Yours, an absolutely delightful and bitingly funny romantic comedy in which director Tay Garnett works with screenwriters      C. Graham Baker and Gene Towne to tell the story of a marriage that started as perfect as can be, but which endured many hardships over time, and eventually becomes the perfect example of how couples can grow apart once they discover they don’t have all that much in common, at least not as much as they imagined at the start. It’s a very charming film, and one of the many wonderfully endearing comedies that understand that audiences wanted slightly more challenging works, albeit not anything that was too far a deviation from the very simple, straightforward romantic films that existed during this period. Garnett, who was himself quite a formidable figure in terms of still being relatively young in comparison to some of his peers, yet had a very distinct control over the medium that extended into the earliest days of the silent era (and would continue right up into the heart of the New Hollywood movement, by which point he was a relic of the classical era, but not any less dynamic), many of the same qualities existing here in a compact but not any less impressive manner, and which form the foundation for a truly delightful and enticing romantic comedy.

Eternally Yours is one of the more interesting romantic comedies of this particular era, since it offers such a willy different perspective on the concept of love, while not stepping too far out of line in terms of the specific ideas being discussed. At the heart of the film, we have the story of two very different individuals who fall in love by chance, but soon encounter challenges in their marriage (which occurred far too quickly, a point that the film stresses as being intentional), which leads to their divorce, something that very few comedies at the time were willing to address, especially in a way that wasn’t lighthearted or making a more jovial affair out of a potential end of a marriage. Arguably, it isn’t enormously revolutionary, since the couple do get their happy ending (which one has to assume was less of an artistic choice and more the insistence on the draconian arbiters of the Hayes Code, who likely suggested a less bawdy storyline, and a tacked-on happy ending that restored everything to normal), but several very compelling details underpin this film and give it such a distinctly warm and vibrant narrative texture, much more than many of the more rapid-fire romantic comedies that were being produced at the time, mostly in response to the enormous success of the elite screwball comedies that were being made by the likes of George Cukor and Howard Hawks, everyone being under the impression that all it took was a semi-skilled director, a good screenplay and strong actors. This is ultimately true, but there is an elusive quality that only the best manage to demonstrate, which is unsurprisingly present throughout this film. The focus is ultimately less on their meet-cute and the subsequent courtship process, and more on the aftermath of their marriage falling apart, in which they separate and go down their paths, only to be brought back together, almost as if it was fate suggesting that they ultimately belong together, regardless of their past experiences.

An aspect of Eternally Yours that likely drew quite a significant amount of attention was the actors occupying the central roles – both Loretta Young and David Niven were relatively young by the time this film went into production, but were already well-established. Young had been acting since her infancy, having her debut as a toddler in a range of lost silent films – and thus she grew up in the spotlight, and developed the talents of someone who had always been involved in giving performances in one way or another. Niven didn’t have this level of experience, but he did have quite a few significant roles in his arsenal at this point – and while neither were at the level of some of the more traditional screwball comedy stars from the era, they still possess the charisma and wonderful charm required to play these roles. They’re both wonderful – the entire film is propelled by their charismatic performances, and their ability to infuse their characters with so much complexity and nuance is something of a minor miracle, especially since they’re more ambiguously written (and thus depended on the actors to bring them to life in a way that felt authentic and meaningful), which is why it is so important to recognize how unexpectedly complex their work in this film is. Both actors turn in solid, memorable performances that feel like they are drawn from a place of genuine interest in unearthing the major themes that simmer beneath the surface, with both Young and Niven approaching their characters as if they were in a straight drama (and I have a suspicion that this film was intentionally designed to be a melodrama, and was re-edited to be more of a comedy to appeal to the movement towards more lighthearted depictions of romance), which is precisely why their performances feel so rich and evocative, despite a relatively slight story. Any actor who can convince the viewer that they are truly in love with the person with whom they are sharing the screen is immediately worthy of our attention, and the work being done by Niven and Young is simply extraordinary.

It’s quite peculiar that Eternally Yours isn’t more well-regarded, having been relegated to the realm of being relatively obscure, and the reasons for it seem almost too tenuous to be realistic. This was the era in which the screwball comedy was reaching its peak – it had been around long enough to iron out the kinks, but had yet to overstay its welcome, meaning that nearly anything produced around this period would be at least marginally successful. Everything indicates that this film was received well at the time, and the presence of relatively major stars and a director with a proven track record all suggested that this had the potential for success. Perhaps the most significant reason behind this film’s faltering in subsequent years is due to the execution – this film has a tone that is far more prickly and varied than more traditional screwball comedies (to the point where referring it to as screwball comedy almost feels inappropriate, since it stops short on some elements, and overtakes others, never quite finding the perfect balance), and the thornier approach to romance somewhat disqualifies it from the daffy, lightweight works of masterful humour that dominated during this period. There is a somberness that lurks beneath the surface of the film – the main characters fall in love so quickly, it leaves far too much space for the depiction of their gradually declining marriage, and while this was entirely the point (especially since the film finds more value in the process of them falling in love again, rather than for the first time), it may have been slightly jarring for viewers expecting a more easygoing film, one where the challenges that stand in the way of the couple are far more trivial, and where the low-points are more innocuous, rather than a scenario where marriage is on the brink of collapse. The combination of comedy and drama creates a slightly more melancholic tone, and like every film cited as being ahead of its time, audiences probably didn’t quite know what to do with this film, which led to it never attained the mainstream success it deserved, despite being a terrific comedy all on its own.

Beautifully poetic in addition to mercilessly funny, Eternally Yours is one of the more poignant romantic comedies produced during this period, an extraordinarily charming film that is not afraid to oscillate between comedy and drama, being cognisant of the fact that a great story simply cannot depend entirely on tragedy or humour to be successful, but rather requires an effective combination of the two, which allows this film, in particular, to remain buoyant and charming, even when it borders on being very conventional, especially in the portions that were designed to satiate standards set by the producers, rather than being particularly artistic or important to the narrative, which is viewed as being far more intriguing in practice than in theory, a rare but delightful deviation from most comedies in which the inverse was more common. For everyone involved in Eternally Yours, the concept of love, at first sight, is woefully passé, with the interest being more on the process of falling in love all over again, where time and distance truly do make the heart grow fonder. Anchored by wonderful performances by Young and Niven, who surrender completely to the more complex aspects of the story, and just narratively and conceptually exquisite, this film is a fascinating character-based romance that offers us a unique perspective on a relationship going through the inevitable ebbs and flows, and while it does have its moments of exaggeration and abstraction, it is mostly a wonderfully succinct and authentic affair and one of the more compelling works of romantic comedy produced during this era.