The story of “Sorrowful” Jones, a wise-cracking bookie whose smart-aleck nature conceals a very insecure set of internal qualities is a timeless tale, so much that the story, as written by Damon Runyon (who first introduced the character in Little Miss Marker), has been told on multiple occasions, where luminaries such as Walter Matthau, Adolphe Menjou and Tony Curtis have all taken turns bringing the character to life in projects that go under a range of different names. However, arguably the best adaptation of the story comes from the appropriately titled Sorrowful Jones, in which Bob Hope plays the character in possibly his best performance. Joined by a tremendous cast, he plays the part of this man about town who finds himself thrust with the responsibility of raising a young girl after her gambling addict father abandons her after deciding to use her as collateral, leaving her in the care of someone who is hopelessly ill-equipped to take care of himself, let alone a young child. Directed by Sidney Lanfield (a great journeyman director known for helming several terrific comedies throughout this era), the film is a breezy, easygoing comedy with a lot of heart and soul, featuring many admirable elements that earn our respect, even if it is a straightforward film that doesn’t appear to be much on the surface. Elegant and charming in the way that we would anticipate from this kind of gentle, poignant character-based comedy-of-errors, Sorrowful Jones proves to be an absolute delight from beginning to end, carrying a slight heftiness that may come as a surprise to those expecting something slightly wackier, with the emotions that exist right at the heart of the film is far more nuanced than any expectations could have possibly implied, leading to a delightfully charming and surprisingly layered exploration of Runyon’s iconic characters and the unpredictable world in which they live, leading to a delightfully quaint and endlessly curious work that is as deep as it is peculiar.

Runyon’s characters are always so beautifully-written, but require actors capable of playing these larger-than-life individuals, which is usually not difficult to find considering these parts tend to lend themselves to highlighting many actors’ best qualities. In this film, we find that it is Bob Hope enlisted to play the writer’s iconic creation, in what might be his finest performance, which is surprising considering both the volume of work he did throughout his career and his longevity – but like any actor who primarily worked in broad comedy, Hope found his best work once he stepped into something slightly more dramatic. He is still extremely funny, and the part of this wise-cracking bookie fits him perfectly, but it’s a more nuanced portrait of a character that doesn’t just depend on his sense of humour and ability to time a punchline, but also on how he could handle the slightly more dramatic material that is woven into the narrative throughout. He’s joined by another comedic institution in the form of Lucille Ball, who was herself on the precipice of becoming the First Lady of Comedy in only a couple of years when I Love Lucy premiered, but was now still working more steadily as a film actor, peddling her wares as a reliable supporting player who could add grit and charm to any scene that required her. She had exceptional chemistry with Hope (then again, one of her great skills was that she had chemistry with just about anyone – it was the reason she became such a force of nature for her entire career), which was soon to be replicated on a few occasions, most notably in the even more ambitious Fancy Pants the following the year. Sorrowful Jones is worth the time just to see these two legendary comedic actors in a slightly more dramatic work, albeit one that just gives them the chance to do slightly more with their comedic talents than we would have initially expected.

One of the aspects that differentiates this version of Sorrowful Jones from all the other adaptations of Runyon’s story is how it is surprisingly not as focused on the plot as it is on the surrounding ideas. Lanfield, realizing that the story had been essentially told perfectly in the Shirley Temple vehicle Little Miss Marker, takes it upon himself to instead focus on evoking a very particular atmosphere throughout this film, which forms a delicate, earnest bundle of ideas that is as much about New York City at a particular point in the past as it is the specific plot, which eventually becomes irrelevant. The story of a down-on-his-luck gambling bookie who finds himself forced to become respectable by looking after a young girl is certainly very charming and has a lot of real-world implications, but it can only take us so far before it loses momentum, with the specific approach to the narrative being what is most important – and throughout the film, the director focuses on capturing the spirit of the time. New York in the 1930s is brought to life in such a way that feels very sincere – it wasn’t that far into the past that it could be considered a massively distant period piece, but the small details are still quite striking, and Lanfield adds many intricate ideas into a film that is positively teeming with ideas that are beautifully brought to life. We may not expect an off-the-wall comedy of this calibre to be so engaging in terms of underlying subject matter, but it was clear that Sorrowful Jones was a far more engaging endeavour, with the director working laboriously to ensure that it was consistent in its vision, even at its most simplistic, which ultimately makes quite a major difference in how the film is executed.

We can expand this discussion on the execution to find some fascinating details about Sorrowful Jones in terms of its tone. Despite featuring two of the most brilliantly comedic actors of the 20th century, as well as being based on a work written by someone who mainly peddled in humour, the film is filled with oddly melancholic moments – it is undeniably still a comedy, albeit one that is far more grounded within reality, and not at all afraid of exploring starker subject matter when it is appropriate. For Lanfield, in the same way, that it is less about the comedy and more about the story, the approach was focused on examining these characters as representatives of a particular moment in the past, people who work laboriously to support themselves and survive in hostile conditions, but can’t quite seem to make it as far as they would like. This results in a more gentle, tender style of comedy that is still very funny, but is far more focused on plucking at the heartstrings and giving us a more nuanced depiction of these characters and what they represent than anything else. In the more dramatic moments, of which there are quite a few, Lanfield makes sure to not become too overly sentimental, knowing that going too far with over-emotive dialogue and scenarios built on disingenuous, overly twee sensations will be immediately recognized as inauthentic, having the complete opposite effect on the audience than intended. Keeping everything simple and elegant is indeed the only logical way to tell such a story, and Sorrowful Jones maintains this commitment from its very first frame to the last.

Sorrowful Jones is a film that takes some time to fully reach its destination, but when it eventually does, it becomes quite delightful, offering us insights into subject matter to which we may not have been entirely aware before, but still are grateful to encounter in their own right, being beautifully poetic, genuinely funny and most importantly, heartfelt in both form and intention. It’s not an overly complex film and its ideas are simple and evocative enough to not have too much weight behind them that the entire film feels too intense, but it does have a heftiness that prevents it from being too simplistic, and feeling like it is making some valuable points about the characters and the world in which they live. It’s a simple film, but one with a lot of heart and soul, and while Lanfield is not a recognizable name, and Runyon has seemingly fallen out of favour (except for the continuous productions of Guys & Dolls, which seems to be his work that has any cultural cache), this film remains fresh, funny and wonderfully earnest. The central performances are wonderful, especially in balancing the sometimes intimidating combination of humour and dramatic material, and the quieter moments tend to strike us the most since the seem to be hinting at something much more profound lingering just below the surface. It’s a heartfelt, delicate and beautifully engaging work of cinema that is as charming as it is irreverent, and while it isn’t as well-remembered as much as other comedies from this era, it still earns our attention through its good-natured approach to challenging ideas, its quaint sensibility and its genuine compassion, all of which factor beautifully into this striking and captivating comedy that is as soul-stirring as it is genuinely quite engaging.