41. The Thin Man (1934)

Directed by W.S. Van Dyke
Written by Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich
Starring William Powell, Myrna Loy, and Maureen O’Sullivan

Nick spends Christmas shooting balloons with a toy gun while Nora nurses a hangover. We’ve all been there. One Christmas Eve way back when, I spent the night chatting up my sister and making gin and tonics. It was all very festive until I found myself outside, throwing up behind a bush, lit cigarette in hand. For high society ladies, there’s nothing impolitic about ordering six martinis at once. When I was still in college, my friend M and I met for happy hour in Adams Morgan. The conversation was good, segueing from books to queerness to family drama. Normal stuff. We hung out and downed red wine until the cafe closed. I walked her home, both of us stumbling up Connecticut Avenue after five hours of drinking. On her rooftop, we slurred our words while describing what was a legit majestic view of D.C. Was that the night I biked into a tree? I guess that happened a few times. Nick, wanting to keep his investigation secret, shoves his wife into a cab while his cop buddy laughs. O hilarous patriarchy. That whole break-in scene hinges on Nick punching Nora in the face. But it’s to save her, you see. Think of Asta as a proto-Eddie. Pre-code comedies often remind me of Frasier, but more for the banter than the dogs. And I guess Mr. Teenage Freud over there. Clothes make no difference: skeletons never lie. Maybe Nick does his best mystery-solving at the dining room table. X and I don’t actually have one, ersatz grownups that we are. It’s no big deal if you sit on the couch and eat all your meals from a bowl. The trade off is you can never be a real detective.