It takes a very special person to keep audiences engaged while still redefining the art of cinema – and has anyone been more committed to this than Leo McCarey, a revolutionary filmmaker who rose beyond simply being a director-for-hire, crafting his own unique vision all the while challenging the confines of the medium that was still in his infancy when he first stepped behind the camera. A master with many exceptional films under his belt, McCarey made several incredible works, and choosing a standout is impossible, especially since this is someone who is somehow associated with both the broadly hilarious antics of Duck Soup and the absolutely devastating sadness of Make Way for Tomorrow, both of which are masterpieces of American cinema. Another celebrated work that exists between these two masterful efforts is The Milky Way (an adaptation of the play of the same title by Lynn Rott and Harry Clork), in which McCarey collaborates with none other than Harold Lloyd, an iconoclast in his own right and someone who played a part in shaping the way audiences perceived humour on screen. The pair work together to tell the outrageously funny story of a mild-mannered milkman who inadvertently finds himself the talk of the town after accidentally knocking out the city’s champion boxer, which leads him to be coerced into a secondary career as a prize fighter for a crooked promoter, who intends to use the well-meaning milquetoast for his own gain, but discovers that there is more to our protagonist than just what appears on the surface. A hilarious and irreverent romp crafted at the start of an entirely new era for comedy in American cinema, The Milky Way is an absolute delight – an upbeat and perpetually captivating satire with its ideas arranged neatly and brought to life in vibrant detail, the film is truly magnetic, and a highlight in the careers of absolutely everyone involved, which is certainly quite an achievement considering the calibre of collaborators on this terrific film.

Even if it is not explicitly stated as part of the plot, it’s safe to assume that any comedy made in the United States in the 1930s was influenced by the socio-cultural and political climate of the country, whether directly discussing these themes through the plot or simply as a means to offer some kind of escapism. This was an ambiguous era where the country (and the world at large) stood between two wars, and the shadow of The Great Depression certainly lingered heavily over the country and its population. It doesn’t address these ideas in the frankest of terms, but its extremely obvious that The Milky Way was fundamentally inspired by the plight of ordinary people at the time, with the general structure of the film being about the tug-o-war between the working class folk (defined by the character of Burleigh) and the hedonistic members of the high society, who believed those who were below them on the economic ladder were the fodder for their deranged games, pawns to be used to make themselves richer. It is easy to view this film as just a comedy about boxing, but its real brilliance comes when we look towards the margins and see just how profoundly compelling the film is in terms of how it tackles some of these ideas. The screenwriting team of Grover Jones, Frank Butler and Richard Connell all had their own prolific careers working across multiple genres, but many of their credits are in films that contain some degree of social consciousness. Working alongside the existing text and guided by McCarey’s superb direction, they craft a thrilling comedy that seems simplistic on the surface, but has a depth and nuance that is difficult to overlook, especially when delving into some of the deeper themes that define this story. It is a simple premise, but one with an abundance of curious details relating to the class system and how it isn’t always as easy to navigate as it would seem on the surface.

McCarey certainly found a worthy kindred spirit in the form of Harold Lloyd, an actor who defined a particular era in American cinema, and one of the most cherished performers from the Golden Age of Hollywood, where so much of his exceptional work kept audiences engaged for decades, and remain resonant to this day, which is always the sign of a truly gifted performer. He also had the benefit of being one of the few comedians who flawlessly made the transition from the silent era to sound film, which he did with such incredible ease that we cannot fathom any belief that his ilk would fail the moment talkies entered the mainstream. His performance in The Milky Way is just as compelling as we would expect – he plays a character who is the perfect blend of wisecracking and subdued, being consistently funny in all the ways that we would expect, but also having a lot of heart behind this performance, which is driven by a very particular soulfulness that Lloyd built his entire career around. He was unlike some of his peers, like Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, insofar as he didn’t have a particular niche as an actor, which he traded for a kind of versatility that may not make him as instantly recognisable, but still ensures his legacy is just as iconic as it deserves to be. He’s an absolute riot, and the film perfectly encapsulates all aspects of his talents – his prowess for physical movement as well as his penchant for a very particular kind of verbal humour that we are fortunate to have experienced, even if it’s his silent era work for which he will be most fondly remembered. He’s joined by a terrific cast – Verree Teasdale is a delight as the protagonist’s love interest, having a bubbly charm that manages to sustain the entire film, while Adolphe Menjou is a fantastic villain, playing the greedy boxing promoter who thinks he can outsmart someone whose entire life has been defined by a stream of good luck that has ultimately placed him in quite an intriguing position. It’s a fantastic cast, and one not explicitly defined by Lloyd, but rather the entire ensemble that keeps the entire production afloat.

While in some instances it can be considered enough to have a good concept and strong performances, a truly great comedy needs to have good execution. It doesn’t necessarily have to be innovative or push the boundaries of the medium all that significantly, but there should be some degree of consistency in how it is formed. The Milky Way does not attempt to reinvent the genre in any way – by all accounts, it is a simple, traditionally-crafted comedy that simmers with a subtle charm that we usually find in these lighthearted works at the time. It starts with some impressive setpieces and then gradually evolves into something even broader, all the while maintaining a level of candour that is impossible to overlook. Yet, there’s something so delightful about how McCarey uses this simplicity as the foundation for some genuinely intriguing and subversive commentary. Part of its appeal is how it is a fast-paced, rapid-fire comedy that seamlessly blends sharp, scathing social satire with broadly amusing physical humour, both of which pander to the talents of the two people guiding this production – McCarey’s penchant for more subtle forms of humour and Lloyd’s off-the-wall broad comedy work beautifully together to create this hilarious and irreverent little delight. The Milky Way was made only a couple of years after the first works usually associated with the screwball comedy emerged, and while I baulk at the idea of it being entirely defined under this category, certain traits make it somewhat adjacent, which is peculiar but not at all unwelcome. It moves fast, and packages a lot of content into a relatively short 88-minute running time, but yet each moment feels complete and thorough, as if it was aware of its own potential and spent enough time finding the balance between wildly entertaining comedy and more thoughtful, engaging humour, both of which are fundamental to the overall identity of the film, and the main reason for its charm.

At first, The Milky Way seems like a relatively simple affair – an opportunity for Lloyd to make a statement for himself as a lead in the sound era (which resulted in the demise of the careers of many silent era stars who were not able to match the expectations of this new style of filmmaking), and which ultimately yields exceptional results for everyone involved, on both sides of the camera. However, after spending time with the characters, we begin to see just how compelling they actually are – there are layers of complexity behind this film that keep us engaged and interested throughout, including an upbeat tone, a hilarious story steeped heavily in deep social and cultural commentary, and wall-to-wall humour that oscillates between outrageous and nuanced, depending on what is required in a particular scene. Yet in both instances, the film speaks for itself – it has a strong foundation and a daring soul that allows for a far more enthralling experience, much more than we would anticipate based on that first glance. Whether we are here for Lloyd or for McCarey (or a combination of the two – Lloyd was more than willing to work closely with directors that he felt understood his vision, and McCarey is similarly someone who brings out the very best in his actors), or simply to splendour in this unconventional premise, The Milky Way is an absolute delight – a constant stream of enthusiastic humour and heartfelt commentary, delivered in a captivating, nuanced form that feels earnest but also extremely rigorous in what it aims to achieve. Beautiful and poetic in a way that we are finding to be exceptionally rare, the film is a wonderful piece of early screwball sensibilities and an all-around delight from start to finish.