What's Up, Doc?
What's Up, Doc? is, I guess, just a perfect film.
I can remember exactly one other movie of its ilk that I watched with sheer glee — amazed by how contemporaneously funny it was, by how awful it was, and by how obviously, in retrospect, it influenced so much of the genre: the-thin-man. But even more so than that film, What's Up, Doc? is all gas, no brakes. The commitment to screwball never wavers, not even for a single second, ramping up and up and up in abject silliness until — as Babs says in a memorable closing line — you simply surrender to its tidal wave.
Here's a confession I'll offer in lieu of anything interesting to say about this terrific, hilarious film that I recommend wholeheartedly: I don't think I've actually ever seen anything with Barbra Streisand in it before. In one of those self-reflexive memes, I know her more for the Streisand effect — literally the name — than any specific work of art. Until now.
And she is so completely winning in this, in a way that I don't think I've actually seen from any other lead actress. It is rare for Hollywood to let a lead actress be funny, horny, and charming all at once. The industry, if it deigns to let women be sexual and possessed of a sense of humor, usually consigns them to the realm of the character role, or tries to diffuse things with some other means — i.e. fat jokes. But Babs here, who is in many ways the original manic pixie dream girl (albeit perhaps more of a nightmare), is an absolute tornado. I'm not sure I would find her as charming as her male retinue does, diegetically, but she commands every scene she's in and demands your attention, never letting pesky things like pathos or logic get in the way of her Looney Tunes sensibilities.
Just an absolute delight.