There’s something genuinely charming about the irony that the best depiction of what it means to be human usually tends to come in films that are focused around animals. One of the most bizarre premises for a film ever produced relates to this topic, and comes in the form of You Never Can Tell, in which screenwriter and director Lou Breslow tells the story of King, the beloved German Shepherd owned by one of the richest men in the United States, and after the death of the businessman, the dog inherits his entire fortune, with the intention for the money to be given to the beloved secretary and caretaker in the event of King’s death. After an opportunistic rival businessman sees the opportunity to not only merge their businesses but also take the fortune for himself, he sets out to arrange for the death of the dog, as well as courting the gullible secretary. However, what he did not account for was the fact that the dog is given the chance to return back to the mortal world, now taking the form of Rex Shepherd, a wily private detective sent to investigate his own murder, accompanied by a delightfully eccentric horse who is transformed into his dedicated assistant, the duo working laboriously to solve this case and ensure that the money remains where it belongs. You Never Can Tell is a strange film, but one that is compulsively entertaining and genuinely quite charming, which is to be expected from this specific era of Hollywood comedy, where it seemed the industry was far more receptive to give mainstream platforms to this specific kind of gonzo, off-the-wall humour, which would now more likely be relegated to the realm of independent cinema due to the belief that audiences are unable to engage with such peculiar narratives. This film proves that there is always a place in the populist canon for these offbeat narratives, with the charming demeanour and steady stream of genuinely funny jokes proving to be the ingredients this film needed to be a radical success.

The first step to truly appreciating You Never Can Tell is the willingness to suspend disbelief. This is the kind of film that has always worked better when the audience is capable of overlooking the lack of logic and instead embracing the innate silliness that drives this entire story. All of this is part of the appeal that gives this film such a unique tone, and which Breslow uses as the foundation for an actually quite insightful comedy. Many will look at this film and perceive it as just a conventional comedy based around a wacky premise, but there are layers to the humour at play. The director started his career working with luminaries of comedy such as comedy teams Abbott and Costello and Laurel and Hardy (as well as the notoriously strange Bedtime for Bozo the same year as this one), so he was clearly someone well-versed in the art of crafting works of humour that are not simply the same conventional fare that was peddled en masse, but rather more distinctly offbeat works, of which this may be the most intriguing. He employs a combination of physical humour and wordplay, which work together in tandem and create an unexpectedly tremendous blend of comedic styles that prevents the novelty from ever wearing off, despite it being quite a limited premise. The film moves at a rapid pace and never allows itself to rest on its laurels – it knows where to put the jokes so that they make the most substantial impact, and then moves on to the next gag, creating a long string of hilarious moments that never once overstay their welcome and instead create a more vibrant and captivating approach to comedy. We can immediately tell that we are in good hands when it comes to the direction of the film, since You Never Can Tell never seems impelled to justify its existence, and instead flourishes through simply engaging with its premise on a fundamental level, and allowing everything else to fall into place in a manner that is organic and genuinely very funny, which makes a big difference in many ways.

However, anyone who views You Never Can Tell as being merely a one-sentence premise stretched to occupy a feature-length running time is restricting themselves from actually seeing just how delightful this premise is – after all, the entire story revolves around a parable about the differences between humans and other animals, which we discover is actually surprisingly uplifting. The narrative borrows from films like A Matter of Life and Death and Here Comes Mr Jordan insofar as they all follow a similar trajectory in exploring the boundaries between the mortal world and afterlife (and it can be attributed to the rise of conservative values and the fact that Hollywood had not yet become as secular then as it is now, but that’s an entirely different discussion altogether) – this film just approaches it from a far more eccentric perspective, using wicked and wacky humour to almost parody this kind of overtly spiritual style of comedic commentary. This doesn’t mean that this film is by any means lacking in its own moments of sheer inspiration – there is something valuable in every frame of this film, and some genuine moments of revelatory genius, particularly in how it innovates technology that was still growing at the time (the presentation of the afterlife is fascinating and unlike anything we’ve seen before, despite its simplicity in comparison to modern filmmaking techniques), and which is beautifully supplemented by the narrative, which is effortlessly charming and frequently quite compelling, even when it is somewhat limited in perspective. There’s something truly charming about this film and its worldview, which Breslow amplifies throughout the narrative – it doesn’t offer any particularly daring insights, but it does give us a unique perspective that feels well-formed and genuinely quite moving when it needs to be, and when contrasted with the peculiar humour, it makes for a riveting experience.

When it came to casting this film, Breslow made a series of exceptional decisions, knowing that it can only be through the actors that such a strange premise can be reconfigured into something engaging and captivating. The role of the dog-turned-human is played by Dick Powell, in a very deliberate attempt to get him to riff on his iconic persona, which usually occupied the parts of private detectives and other hardened, cynical investigative types. From his first screen appearance, Powell is playfully referencing himself and his status in the industry – he is effortlessly charming and consistently funny, but has a sharpness and cynicism to him that plays very well with the character, as well as impeccable comedic timing that allows him to always be in on the joke, even at his most earnest. He’s joined by a tremendous ensemble cast, which includes the lovable Joyce Holden and Peggy Dow as his goofy companion and the well-meaning secretary plunged into a vicious conspiracy, respectively. They’re both playing archetypal characters that are immediately elevated based on the strength of their work, which is carefully and methodically developed to reflect much deeper ideas embedded in their performances – it doesn’t necessarily factor into the film in any consequential manner, but there are scatterings of conversations around the role of women in society and the idea of female agency, which was quite daring for a film produced when conservative, patriarchal values were arguably at their most intense. Other small roles include Charles Drake as the main villain, the always delightful Albert Sharpe as a charming older dandy, and Frank Nelson in a scene-stealing extended cameo as a police lieutenant growing steadily more frustrated at the impossible nature of what should have been a cut-and-dried case, but instead evolves into something far more challenging. The cast of You Never Can Tell is uniformly very good and understands the tone and register perfectly, which makes a considerable difference and drives the entire narrative to become something much more enthralling.

As far as comedies go, You Never Can Tell certainly knows how to weave a memorable narrative – you can immediately tell if a film is going to be special if its entire premise alone is enough to stir bewilderment and curiosity, especially at a time when comedy wasn’t always this daring. It may not be anything particularly daring in practice – outside of a few innovative elements that are wonderfully reflected throughout the film, it explores its themes in a mostly conventional manner, allowing the wacky plot to develop into something genuinely insightful and challenging, all the while maintaining a solid, well-meaning tone that is accessible and not all that unconventional in practice. This is sometimes the root of some of the most subversive and entertaining works, since the promise to be something utterly bizarre, but being delivered in a format that is very much aligned with the mainstream, is the definition of subversion, and one of the many reasons that we know that there is much more to this film than initially meets the eye. Anchored by splendid performances that are always consistently strong, and a screenplay that is filled to the brim with witty wordplay and peculiar scenarios, You Never Can Tell is an absolute delight from beginning to end. Unique, charming and enjoyable to a fault, there is a reason this film has gradually developed a status as a cult classic, and a recent revival in popularity after modern viewers stumbled upon its premise seems to indicate that it is poised to make a major comeback, and could be re-analysed as one of the defining comedies of this era, which would be a truly wonderful development for a film that dares to be different, and succeeds wholeheartedly.