Retrospective: Some Like it Hot

In our ongoing series of "Retrospectives" we turn the critical spotlight on a series of classic films and ask: what exactly is it that makes these films so great? Here, Amazon.co.uk contributor Piers Ford assesses and re-evaluates the iconic status of Some Like it Hot, charts its origins and looks at its enduring influence.

It's hard to believe, given the consummate wholeness of Some Like it Hot , but this film--which regularly features close to the top of any list outlining the greatest pictures ever made--could easily have turned out to be very different. United Artists initially wanted Danny Kaye and Bob Hope for the cross-dressing lead roles, with Mitzi Gaynor as Sugar Kane, the decorative singer and ukulele strummer on the periphery of the main action. Then Frank Sinatra was mooted for the part of bass player Jerry. Fortunately, producer and director Billy Wilder had other ideas.

With his co-screen writer I A L Diamond, Wilder based the plot on a Bavarian film about a couple of out-of-work male musicians who join an all-girl band to earn some money. They reworked the story as a satirical take on the cannibalistic, gangster-ridden Chicago of the Prohibition era and added heat to the central characters' dilemma by making their female disguise a matter of mortal importance. As witnesses to the St Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929, they must escape or die.

The casting of Marilyn Monroe changed everything. Wilder had already directed her in The Seven Year Itch (1955) and by 1958 she had become one of Hollywood's most bankable stars. She took some persuading that Sugar Kane was a credible role for her persona, but once on board, her name above the title relieved Wilder of much of the commercial burden of the production. The part of Jerry went to the rapidly rising comic actor Jack Lemmon, while Tony Curtis was signed up to play saxophonist love-rat Joe.

Shot in black and white, both as a homage to the era of the film's setting and because the make-up designed for "Josephine" (Joe) and "Daphne" (Jerry) was far less effective during colour tests, Some Like it Hot wrapped in November 1958.

"Some directors are autocrats," Lemmon would say later. "Wilder, on the other hand, allowed you tremendous freedom. He encouraged creative contributions--and not just from the actors." Thus came about Monroe's legendary first appearance in the film, blasted in the rear by a jet of stream from the train as she sachets down the platform; and Curtis's brilliant Cary Grant impersonation when he adopts a second alter ego to lure Monroe out to a millionaire's yacht for a tryst.

Some Like it Hot was an instant critical and popular success. Its production budget of US $3.5 million was quickly recouped as the film went on to gross some US $25 million from its home market alone. It was also Marilyn Monroe's most financially rewarding production; to this day, her estate continues to benefit from residual revenues.

Although Ben Hur dominated the Oscars in 1959, Hot received a slew of nominations, including one for Lemmon, and deservedly won the best costume award for Monroe's extraordinary, gravity-defying gowns which managed to create an illusion of near-nudity at a time when she was at her most alluring on screen.

Today, the performances of Curtis and Lemmon are recognised as unqualified comedy classics. Both revealed formidable talents that helped them overcome the credibility gap in the cross-dressing scenes where they brilliantly eschewed camp for demure, straight, spinsterish attitudes. In 1959, though, it was Monroe who captured the imagination of the critics. The New York Times hailed her as "the epitome of the dumb blonde and a talented comedienne."

Variety called Hot a "wacky, clever, farcical comedy that sparks off like a firecracker." In later years, both Curtis and Lemmon readily acknowledged the film's importance to their careers. "I consider it to be one of the best written and best directed farces that I have ever been fortunate enough to be in or to see," said Lemmon.

If Some Like it Hot has acquired the patina of perfection over the years--and truly there isn't a weak element, from the tawdry, gin-swilling atmosphere of the raided Chicago speakeasy to the brutality of the massacre and the authentic all-girls-together banter of the band--it has also added immeasurably to Marilyn Monroe's reputation as the most difficult of stars.

Tony Curtis reported that his steamy seduction scene with her was more like "kissing Hitler." Director Wilder grew increasingly frustrated by her pathological inability to remember the simplest of lines; she often needed 30 or 40 takes, finally hitting her stride when Curtis and Lemmon were jaded and exhausted. That none of this tension showed in the finished piece is a credit to everyone involved in the production. Whatever they really felt about her, they made her look magnificent.

Years after Marilyn's death, Wilder was able to pay tribute to her incandescent star quality and could hardly bring himself to utter her name: "I've discussed this with my doctor and my psychiatrist and they tell me I'm too old and too rich to go through this again."

Curtis and Lemmon also had more practical problems. With the makeup and costume teams, they strove to make Josephine and Daphne as believable as possible, treating them as characters in their own right. Curtis later described Josephine as "aloof, arrogant, well-educated and frightened of men," all of which rings true in his performance. Rather than disarrange his costume, he fixed up a device, which allowed him to visit the bathroom without removing any clothes.

Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon were by no means the first men to drag-up in the interests of comedy. Cary Grant, for example, had done it in I Was a Male War Bride (1948). But they brought a rare lack of archness and an honesty to their cross-dressing sequences which often required them to switch character in mid-scene.

This commitment is central to the film's success. We know, and they know, that unless they can carry it off, a hail of machine gun bullets awaits them. It has to work. Only bandleader Sweet Sue is suspicious, but even she can't put her finger on why. Sugar Kane has to believe that Daphne and Josephine are real women. The complications which arise--confused boundaries which at times suggest bisexuality and even a momentary lesbian frisson when "Josephine" kisses Sugar full on the lips and the penny takes a split second to drop--never get in the way of the plot, but add immeasurably to the film's satirical edge.

Only Tootsie (1982) matches Some Like it Hot on the same level. Here, Dustin Hoffman's washed-up actor is driven by an equally strong imperative; to survive in his profession, he has to become a "woman" to win a part in a popular soap opera. Released more than 20 years after Some Like it Hot , Tootsie was able to take on and further explore some of the issues raised by a film, which was obviously a key influence.

Some Like it Hot is a comedy of genuinely wide-ranging appeal. By shooting in black and white, Billy Wilder generated an authentic period atmosphere which brilliantly satirised the Prohibition era; the real winners were the mob leaders like Colombo--always identified by a shot which shows his trademark spats approaching--and even they were involved in a constant battle which would inevitably result in disaster for one side or the other.

It also has tremendous subtlety. The circumstances require Curtis and Lemmon to explore their characters to the very limits and rely on their ingenuity to pick their way through uncharted territory. Marilyn Monroe on the other hand is effortlessly luminous and womanly, as never before. Just on the most photogenic side of plumpness, she undulates across the screen with a total lack of self-consciousness. She was not by any means a great singer, but the film gave her two numbers ("I Want to be Loved by You" and "I'm Through With Love"), which have become part and parcel of her iconic status.

Occasionally, the odd curmudgeon puts his or her head above the parapet and dismisses Some Like it Hot because it is unconvincing: nobody could possibly be taken in by two broad-shouldered males to that extent, so the whole premise for the comedy is shot to pieces.

In fact, the film succeeds because it allows the audience to suspend disbelief so readily. This is largely due to the performances and the script. The whole package is so inventive that even on the umpteenth viewing it throws up a hitherto unappreciated nuance. Not many comedies retain that degree of freshness over four decades.

The supreme moment of cleverness comes at the end. Perhaps nobody has really been taken in at all. "Daphne" is desperately trying to let "her" suitor Osgood Fielding III (Joe E Brown) down gently. When he won't take "no" for an answer, "she" finally takes off her wig. "I'm a man," wails Jerry. "Nobody's perfect," shrugs Osgood. It's one of the classic closing lines of all time.