We have seen countless examples of films that take a bold, universally applicable concept and reconfigure it to be the foundation for a hilarious and irreverent comedy. When George Stevens opted to direct the film based on the screenplay by Ring Lardner Jr. and Michael Kanin (whose brother was Garson Kanin, who in turn worked with his partner Ruth Gordon to put together some of the best films featuring the stars of this production), he was inadvertently crafting one of the more poignant examples of early-era feminist cinema, albeit perhaps not intently. Woman of the Year is a wonderfully peculiar film – a simple premise revolving around the growing relationship between a whip-smart political journalist and a dim-witted but kindhearted sports reporter is the foundation for a delightfully endearing romantic comedy, one that playfully revises gender stereotypes in a way that may not be entirely progressive by contemporary standards, but is certainly quite a departure from the conventions of the day. One of the more fascinating screwball comedies of the era (although whether it meets all the requirements for such a classification is open to discussion), both for the themes it addresses and the specific story being told, Woman of the Year is quite an achievement, a solid and well-crafted blend of humour and romance that feels a lot more complete than some of the other supposedly progressive films of the period, where it felt like complexity was something of an afterthought. Compelling and very funny, and filled with a lot of insightful conversation that resonates beautifully, this is a terrific film, and one of the more meaningful comedies in an era where the focus was less on inciting deep conversation and more on just entertaining viewers.

Woman of the Year is mostly remembered for being the first of nine films that paired Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, arguably one of the greatest duos in the history of cinema, and a partnership that extended into their personal lives and lasted until Tracy’s death. Interestingly, the film that brought these two remarkably brilliant comedic actors to the screen was directed not by George Cukor (who helmed many of their best films together), but rather Stevens, who had previously worked with Hepburn in a couple of productions in the 1930s (and was integral to her development, being at the forefront of a few of her more interesting roles), but had never collaborated with Tracy. It is an understatement to say that the pairing resulted in immediate chemistry – Hepburn and Tracy were simply electrifying together, bringing out the best in one another. It’s bewildering to imagine that this was their first time working together – from their first moment on screen, they are immediately at ease with one another, convincingly playing the parts of these opposed individuals that somehow manage to fall in love despite the odds. Hepburn is doing some of her finest work – she is as feisty and resilient as ever, but she combines this with a vulnerability we rarely saw from her, a kind of emotional complexity that was absent from many of her more steadfast characters. Tracy matches her beat-for-beat, taking on the part of a man dedicated to his profession, to the point of actively convincing detractors that the work he does is important. The pair are incredible together, and this film only proves how they were a perfect match – and it is only made better knowing that this served as the catalyst for their long-lasting partnership that is one of the most memorable in Hollywood history.

At the heart of Woman of the Year is a conversation around gender roles, and the stereotypes that were consolidated into everyday life as a result of cultural standards which viewed men and women as being valuable, just in entirely different cultural spheres, and dares to ask the question around whether one can succeed when the other encroaches on their socially-mediated space. This film is not revolutionary in its outlook, nor is it some secretly brilliant work of subversive feminist theory – it is important to acknowledge that this was a film written, directed and produced entirely by men, where seemingly the only female voice that mattered in its production was that of Hepburn herself. Yet, as is often the case with such films, we have to consider it as a product of its time, especially if we’re discussing how much of the film is really just about starting the conversation in the first place. Some of the humour may be off-colour, and a few of the more important resolutions feel severely outdated – but it all comes across as a lot more meaningful than many would expect, especially for a film produced eight decades ago, long before feminism and gender politics had evolved to the place of sincerity we see today (although its foolish to think these issues have been resolved – women continue to face many challenges, several of which form the foundation for this film, albeit filtered through a more upbeat comedic lens). It’s the fact that it starts the more important conversation, and we see some genuine attempts at subverting common perceptions of the boundaries and jurisdictions that differentiate masculinity from femininity, being turned entirely on their heads by a film that dares to provoke certain ideas that are far more complex than we’d think based on a cursory glance.

Despite its very bold premise and clear comedic sensibilities, Woman of the Year is a film as defined by its humour as it is by the more quiet, reflective moments. There’s a melancholy that underlies the film that we can probably attribute to Joseph L. Mankiewicz, who served as the film’s producer and had a considerable amount of input into the story. As was the case with another similarly complex romantic comedy (the wonderful People Will Talk, which features Cary Grant’s finest performance), the film works when it finds the balance between comedy and drama, which is integral to both the subject matter being explored and the specific narrative form it takes. There are a few moments where it feels as if Woman of the Year is dipping into melodrama – this is to be expected, since Stevens was not exclusively a comedy director, and had a lot of experience exploring a range of genres, which makes the multimodal nature of this film feel so interesting. There are some elements of melodrama that punctuate the film, especially in its latter portions – the very distinct comedic tone is undercut by some genuine sadness as the characters find their relationship falling apart. While it is quite conventional (and we knew it would have a happy ending regardless of what transpired), its surprisingly difficult to predict where this film is heading most of the time, with one of its biggest strengths being its ability to keep us engaged and invested in the story through the careful combination of different emotions, and the fact that it constantly avoids being too overly sentimental (while still applying the right amount of emotional complexity to provoke some reaction) allows it to be a much more well-formed comedy than some of the others produced in its proximity.

Woman of the Year is a very much a film built around the adage that opposites attract, and it takes this concept (which has certainly not suffered any shortage of films based around the idea) and uses it as the foundation for a very funny and heartfelt comedy that feels a lot more authentic due to the genuine human emotions that reside at the heart of the story. Whether this comes from the surprisingly compassionate script, in which Kanin and Lardner found the right blend of comedy and pathos, or the spirited performances by the two leads who are absolutely resplendent every time they appear on screen, or the masterful director’s ability to hold court and extract so much meaning from what is apparently a far more complex production than initially meets the eye. There are several reasons to appreciate Woman of the Year and find nuance in even its broadest moments – and whether we are looking at it as a piece of socially-conscious cinema, or just a charming comedy, there’s a lot of value that comes from seeing how far the story will go. It avoids cliches unless they’re entirely necessary (and in which case they’re still used well), and the witty writing is only made better by the dedication of all the actors to deliver compelling and meaningful performances. There’s a deep earnestness that pulsates throughout the film and makes it so memorable, which is precisely the reason it is not difficult to celebrate Woman of the Year as one of the most insightful and endearing comedies of this period.