First I read through all the 43 previous reviews to see if anyone saw the same things I saw in this movie. I should say that I had the privilege of seeing the film in all its big-screen glory at the Stanford Theatre in Palo Alto, with a live audience who laughed heartily. It was a hard film to watch for someone who has spent too much time in too many courtrooms watching too much injustice, but two things shocked me, though, and the second made sense of the first. Two reviewers did mention what's on my mind, but only part of it. The first shocking thing was that I had to agree with reviewer "Joey the Brit" when he wrote about actor Rex Ingram's "disproportionate, prominent" grieving when his employer, played by Ronald Colman, shaved off his beard. Colman, a law professor, performed this act because, after he had admitted to his landlady and housekeeper Jean Arthur that he had grown the beard to hide his youth while an underage student in law school, she accused him of hiding behind it. Ingram's reaction is truly "disproportionate." The camera focuses on Ingram's face for perhaps a full minute. The black man's face fills the screen as he grieves, and finally a tear runs down his face. It was so out of place, so prolonged, this scene! Why? As soon as Ingram arrives he is full of deference with dignity. His character has been with his employer for 15 years, during all of which time the boss has had the beard. But to grieve for a beard! I forgot my dumbfounded reaction as the plot moved forward, but I watched "Tilney," Ingram's character as the professor's "man," more carefully. The second shock has to do with what reviewer "mitchmcc" wrote, that he/she "would bet that the script was written by a 'progressive,' and that 'social justice' was the real goal here." Given that one of the screenplay writers was blacklisted in the 1950s, that's probably not far from the mark. It wasn't until the last courtroom scene, when the lynch mob bashes their way into the Hall of Justice, that I suddenly understood the significance of Ingram's reaction. It wasn't trivial. I had just been reading about how, in 1936, yet another attempt had been made to pass anti-lynching legislation. It was the best hope of passage there had been since this type of legislation had first been introduced following the Civil War, but many experts blame its failure to pass on President Roosevelt's failure to support the bill. Although it isn't clear to me that Roosevelt's support at that time would have helped to pass it or could have kept it from being repealed by a hostile Supreme Court, it is clear to me that no anti-lynching legislation had been passed by 1942, when this film was released. No such legislation was ever passed. And when I saw that rope in the hands of the lynch mob I knew why Ingram had been weeping. It wasn't for any beard. It was for the one black man or more lynched every month around that time. It may be only a subtext, but Ingram's screen-filling, weeping face made it a powerful one.

Copyright 22 July 1942 by Columbia Pictures Corp. New York opening at the Radio City Music Hall: 27 August 1942. U.S. release: 20 August 1942. Australian release: 4 November 1943. 12 reels. 10,735 feet. 119 minutes.

SYNOPSIS: Law professor unknowingly shelters a fugitive in his holiday house.

NOTES: Nominated for the following Academy Awards: Best Picture (lost to Mrs Miniver); Best Original Story (lost to The Invaders); Best Screenplay (lost to Mrs Miniver); Best Black-and-White Cinematography (lost to Joseph Ruttenberg for Mrs Miniver); Best Black-and-White Art Direction (won by This Above All); Best Film Editing (won by Daniel Mandell for The Pride of the Yankees); Best Scoring of a Dramatic or Comedy Picture (won by Max Steiner for Now, Voyager).

COMMENT: Certainly an extraordinary, off-beat film. To my mind, it's also very successful in its odd combination of high-powered, lynch-town drama, romantic triangle and screwball comedy of deceit and disguise. There are one or two false moments (at least one of them deliberately contrived to entertainingly surprise the audience), but Stevens manages a delicate balancing act with both dexterity and style. He is aided by a first-rate cast.

Voluble Jean Arthur and superficially charming Ronald Colman make perfect partners and the support players - with special mention to Rex Ingram's devoted "man" and Frank Sully's chatty cop - deliver some unforgettable cameos. It would be invidious not to also single out Glenda Farrell, Charles Dingle, Emma Dunn, Leonid Kinskey, Tom Tyler and especially George Watts.

All this solid acting is backed by a tautly entertaining, suspensefully witty script. The cleverly unusual plot is adroitly underpinned by smart dialogue and sharp ripostes. True, a bit of philosophizing occasionally creeps in - but that's part of the film's overall balance.

Pacing too is exactly right. Stevens knows the precise moment to cut away from a scene. Although there is a fair amount of talk, it rarely becomes wearisome or outstays its welcome.

Photography and other credits are first-rate.

OTHER VIEWS: Missing out on a slew of Academy Awards by sheer bad luck, The Talk of the Town is in every way one of the most entertaining treats of the year. Intelligent, witty dialogue is amusingly bandied between two cleverly contrasted characters, most ingratiatingly enacted by Cary Grant and Ronald Colman - with Jean Arthur judiciously cast as a reluctant referee.

The story is cleverly plotted with lots of surprises twisted and sprung, and directed with real flair by a director who knows the paramount importance of editing and montage. Every gag works perfectly, while every gram of suspense is wrung from the pacey scenario by inspired intercutting.

Although billed third, Colman's part is by no means the lesser. In fact, he probably has more scenes than Grant - and he makes the most of them. It is one of his most memorable roles.

Lavishly produced, zestfully acted right down the line, beautifully photographed and set, The Talk of the Town is a tribute to Hollywood craftsmanship at its best.