Silver Screen Standards: Sylvia Scarlett (1935)
Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant starred in four movies together, two of which, Bringing Up Baby (1938) and The Philadelphia Story (1940), are now widely celebrated classics, but their first pairing went so badly at the box office that it’s somewhat surprising they got to make the rest at all. Sylvia Scarlett (1935) brought the stars together with director George Cukor for a gender-bending, Shakespearean dramedy that absolutely bombed at the box office and threatened to tank Hepburn’s career, but it’s well worth revisiting in spite of its dismal debut. Personally, I adore this unusual outing for the pair, partly for its Forest of Arden sensibilities but mostly for its depiction of a gloriously gender queer Hepburn heating up the ardor of both male and female characters. If you enjoy films like Queen Christina (1933), Victor Victoria (1982), and Orlando (1992), Sylvia Scarlett is essential viewing, and for Hepburn fans it offers a uniquely provocative vision of the iconic star.
Hepburn plays the title character, originally named Sylvia Snow but in disguise through much of the movie as Sylvester Scarlett thanks to the criminal shenanigans of father Henry (Edmund Gwenn). Henry’s crimes in France cause the pair to flee to his native England while Sylvia is still mourning the death of her French mother; she adopts the masculine persona to throw off the authorities and then retains it as Henry continues to get them into various kinds of trouble. In London the two form a partnership with con artist and crook Jimmy Monkley (Cary Grant) and his associate Maudie (Dennie Moore), but when they fail as thieves they pivot to being traveling entertainers. Henry falls for the faithless Maudie, who also has an eye for “Sylvester,” and Sylvia begins to regret her disguise when she meets the handsome, narcissistic artist Michael Fane (Brian Aherne).
Literary types will quickly recognize the beats of Shakespeare’s As You Like It and Twelfth Night in the narrative, which was adapted from a 1918 novel by Compton Mackenzie, who also wrote Whisky Galore and The Monarch of the Glen. Sylvia/Sylvester navigates many of the standard complications of the “breeches part” while savoring the social and physical freedoms that come with masculine identity. She inspires other women’s sexual interest in her male guise but pines for the attention of a man who thinks her a boy. The plot charts comic highs and tragic lows for the characters, a choice that keeps to Elizabethan models but might have frustrated viewers expecting lighter romantic comedy. It also jumps from moment to moment fairly abruptly, causing some scholars to describe it as a picaresque narrative, which depicts a likable rogue’s adventures on the road as opposed to a clearly structured, coherent plot (think of Don Quixote, Tom Jones, and Barry Lyndon as literary examples that also have significant cinematic adaptations). As Sylvester, Sylvia plays a charming scamp of the picaresque variety, but Grant’s Jimmy Monkley fully embodies the type. Sylvia’s father Henry is a foolish Falstaff, little more than inebriated id and ineptitude.
The bones of the story might be very old school, but Sylvia Scarlett strikes out into daring, modern territory with the way Hepburn plays the gender-bending protagonist. It’s best to ignore the opening scene, in which we see Hepburn dressed in very silly braids and pining melodramatically for pauvre maman; it’s a bad, tacked on start that doesn’t add anything to the picture. The fun begins with the passage to England, as Henry and “Sylvester” try to keep a low profile and avoid official scrutiny. Hepburn sports a very short haircut and the strikingly modern look of a boy band heartthrob, which gives her license to behave very differently from the mournful Sylvia. Throughout the film we see her male guise liberate both Hepburn and her character; she jumps through windows, hops over fences, and scampers about unfettered by skirts or social convention. Hepburn’s easy athleticism shines in these moments, which makes it frustrating when feminine attire sinks Sylvia back into girlish tears. Sylvester is feisty, self-assured, and quite good at talking his way into and out of trouble; some of the dialogue presages Hepburn’s gangster persona in the jail scenes of Bringing Up Baby (1938). Most of Sylvester’s trouble, however, is romantic in nature, as Maudie tries to seduce him and Michael seems fascinated by the “queer feeling” Sylvester gives him until Sylvia is revealed. Jimmy causes a fright by proposing that he and Sylvester share a bed to keep warm, with the expectation that Sylvester is a “proper little hot water bottle.” These scenes prompt panic for the protagonist that is meant to be funny, but I prefer the jauntier moments of Sylvester’s adventures, when he’s conning a crowd of gullible Londoners or challenging the hecklers during a performance. Confidence and pants both look very good on Hepburn, even though audiences found the idea of a cross-gendered Kate too uncomfortable to appreciate. Perhaps they tolerated it and even enjoyed it in foreign stars like Garbo and Dietrich, but for the American Hepburn it was a bridge too far.
While Sylvia Scarlett damaged Hepburn, it helped Grant’s rising star considerably, but both would enjoy success with their final onscreen pairing in The Philadelphia Story (1940). Hepburn ended her long career with a whopping dozen Oscar nominations and four wins, cementing her legacy as one of Hollywood’s greatest stars, but it’s fascinating to revisit the less familiar films of her early years. For further exploration of her “box office poison” phase, track down Mary of Scotland (1936), A Woman Rebels (1936), and Quality Street (1937). Bringing Up Baby also flopped on its original release, which just goes to show that you should never judge a movie by its box office!
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— Jennifer Garlen for Classic Movie Hub
Jennifer Garlen pens our monthly Silver Screen Standards column. You can read all of Jennifer’s Silver Screen Standards articles here.
Jennifer is a former college professor with a PhD in English Literature and a lifelong obsession with film. She writes about classic movies at her blog, Virtual Virago, and presents classic film programs for lifetime learning groups and retirement communities. She’s the author of Beyond Casablanca: 100 Classic Movies Worth Watching and its sequel, Beyond Casablanca II: 101 Classic Movies Worth Watching, and she is also the co-editor of two books about the works of Jim Henson.
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