I think I’ve reached fuddy duddy stage. I know I’ve gotten to fuddy duddy age yet I don’t feel I’ve overly dudded any fuddies. I believe I qualify for the standard because I know I look spectacular in a tuxedo yet have nowhere to wear one.
It became clear to me and confirmed for me that what is wrong with modern America (besides aging former reality stars insisting we’re part of the Me Generation), while watching Mr. Lucky (the fabulous movie, not the over-acted TV offering although it has a pretty nifty theme song) is we don’t dress for dinner anymore. Of course, the 1940s film industry wasn’t known for putting out documentaries of real-life America, but even the humble middle-class family was having more fun and doing it better dressed than most of us.
Consider this. In nearly every 1940s vintage film offering from romance to comedy to drama to noir, someone is going out to dinner where there will be dancing, at least one torch song singer singing at least one torch song, someone falls in love, the bad guy always pays and the good guys always end up with the lady. And all those people dancing at dinner? Formal attire required. Casino hopping? Tuxedos and gowns. Murder in the penthouse? The corpse is wearing no less than a smoking jacket and if the responding detective happened to be at dinner when the call came in – yep, even he shows up in a tux. Once I remember even white tie and tails.
Perhaps those at is not the norm but it’s not a stretch to say that the average 1940s family sat to dinner with jacket and tie, and dress and pearls. Possibly paste knock offs but something was hanging around mom’s and eldest daughter’s necks. After dinner together they repaired to the drawing room where apparently they drew stuff.
But back to Mr. Lucky with Cary Grant and Laraine Day. He wants to swindle her war relief group. She gives blood. He gives blood. They get together for a late night drive. They fall in love. He transforms his gambling boat into a medical supplies transport. It sinks. Neither is ever out of at least semi-formal attire until the last scene when he shows up in sailing garb. They live happily ever after. I cried.
How could you not get emotional when Cary Grant as Joe Adams as Joe Bascopolous (it’s complicated) tells Laraine Day as Dorothy Bryant, “I don’t know what to make of a dame like you,” and Dorothy answers, “Neither do I,” as they both look out into the countryside with the fire crackling in the fireplace after they drive all the way from New York to Maryland (apparently without stopping since she changed and tied his tie while they were on the road) to prove to her father she would marry him if she had to? (Yes, that was a question. Go back and read it slower.) I get choked up just thinking about it – and thinking how they both look still impeccably put together after a 5 or 6 hour drive in an open convertible. It’s uncanny.
Every movie from the 1940s that I’ve seen, which is close to every movie (worth seeing) from the 1940s, has that formula. Dinner, dancing, singing, at least one murder, accidental death or sufficient injury slash illness to render one character hors de combat, fall in love, question decision to fall in love, bad guy gets what he deserves, fall in love again, live happily ever after, all in formal attire.
I want to go to a casino in my tux and not be given the side-eye, or pop into Olive Garden in a white dinner jacket and bow tie (it is before 6!), or go dancing and end up with the snooty dame who nobody likes (whom nobody likes?) but is really a misunderstood sweetheart who only needs to see me in my formal wear to realize that yes happiness is right around the corner and I’ll be there waiting for her!
Ah sweet dream. Does that sound fuddy duddy to you? Of course it doesn’t!
I wonder where my cuff links are.
Not me but darn close!
It is said, “It is not the destination, it is the journey.” With our apologies to Emerson, it is neither. The experience of any journey, the joy of any destination, is found in the people it is shared with. We explain our thinking in the latest Uplift post, The Road Most Travelled.
The Real Reality Show Blog 
I love this. All of it. So much! The fuddy, the duddy, the drawing room…where nary a thing was drawn. Reminds me of my mom-in-law’s upbringing. Proper, well-attired for dinner. Using china and tea service for every meal. Thank you for a super-smile-inducing post! 🥰
I like the well-attired dinner. I even get a little rush of excitement when I choose the right fork to use with the presented course. But then I like the pizza right out of the box on the couch staring at the TV just as much. I guess I have to face it. I’m a conundrum. Or maybe just a part-time fuddy duddy.
I see the connections…your terrific tips and recommendations about movies I’ve missed with refinement and reminders about the classy way life was lived by many…once upon a time. I think there’s plenty to admire and that’s coming from a girl who still doesn’t know which fork to use EVER. Pizza out of the box? My speed! 🤣
You get me. I’ll get the pizza 🍕
Yay! 🥰
Your fuddies and duddies aren’t confused–you belong to a different time and era, when elegance was understated and dressing properly was expected. There was no “Dress for Success” because people dressed appropriately for everything. I miss that genteel atmosphere as much as you do. I never had pearls, but we had to be in clean clothes that looked appropriate when we came to the dinner table. The fact that I now wear hand-me-down soccer shorts and shirts from my kids for many of my meals and excursions is a statement of the lack of genteelness that I live in. Wouldn’t it be awesome to be in a ’40s movie where the plot line was clear, there was a good guy and a bad guy, and dancing happened somewhere in the script? And forks? Spoons? Holy monkeys–so many things we’ve lost in our hurry and scurry. Love your insights. I agree with Vic–too many movies you know of that I’ve missed out on.
You have hand me ups from the kids! Honestly I think I would do well in an age where people dressed for the occasions and dinner came with dancing. But at the same time, I’m sure I’d miss the 95% of the time when I’m wearing ratty jeans and a t-shirt that extols the virtues of being like a mushroom. (Be down to earth, grow from the bottom up, always be a fun guy even if you are mostly in the dark.)
My dear friend, your capacity for humor and puns knows no ends. Up or down. You’re the kind of mushroom that makes people happy!
😊
Oh, this is so good, “I want to go to a casino in my tux and not be given the side-eye,”
Yes, and I’ll just pull a knife from my corset if things get rough.
So fun!
Fabulous!! Every gangster, err gambler needs a beautiful backup.