The Seventh Seal, made the following year, would establish Bergman as cinema’s prime movie metaphysician; Wild Strawberries and The Virgin Spring would stamp his pure, dour philosophy on a generation of filmmakers and viewers. As much as anyone, he convinced the world that film was an art, and that handsome faces suffering in closeup could be the visual equivalent of literature. Yet it was this comedy that earned “the solemn Swede” his first international eminence. On the long night of the summer solstice, ten people from the aristocracy, the bourgeoisie and the servant class stumble through brief trysts until they find their proper mates. Indefatigable lover of women’s wisdom, remorseless anatomizer of men’s insecurities, Bergman would make sterner, possibly more profound works, but never again one so blithely understanding of the mischief humans commit on one another—the folly they know is sex and fleetingly convince themselves is love.
This one is just plain funny—deviously, dextrously, remorselesly so. Two guys (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon) dolled up as girls, and Marilyn Monroe between them. Say no more! But I will, because Some Like It Hot is also plenty smart in its twisting of gender stereotypes (Lemmon gets more romantic action in a dress than he did in pants) and the possibility that a wolf (Curtis, donning thick glasses and a Cary Grant accent) could find true love the hard way. Curtis shares three of the great screen kisses with Monroe, who is magnif, whether cascading out of her flapper gowns or lending her adorable tremolo to cutesy tunes (“I Wanna Be Loved by You”) and suicidal torch songs (“I’m Thru With Love”). And yes, it’s still funny, from first gag to the priceless last one. It’s also one of the rare comedies that is enriched rather than exhausted at the end of a breathless two hours. Nobody’s perfect, but this film is.
Sue me, but I like Betty Draper/Francis as a character. The problem is that Mad Men doesn’t. Betty’s not the worst character on the show, but she’s probably the worst-served.