Billy Wilder
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The foundation of the film is a highly successful play, The Front Page, by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, a classic of cinematic adaptations: there are at least four, including an exceptional one by Howard Hawks (His Girl Friday, 1940) where the protagonist Hildy Johnson becomes a woman, played by Rosalind Russell and accompanied by Cary Grant.

The version that is unanimously considered the best is nonetheless the one from 1974, directed by Billy Wilder and starring the ace duo Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau, where Hildy returns to being a man, without smoothing too much over the (homo)sexual tension between the two main characters that was already sensed by Hawks (and made explicit in the protagonist's gender change).

The plot is bizarre and paradoxical, revolving around the brilliant reporter Hildy who, on the eve of his wedding, is involved by the gruff newspaper editor, Walter Burns, in covering a capital execution. Burns, not wanting to lose his best journalist, orchestrates every possible intrigue to prevent Hildy from getting married, and the situation is further complicated when the condemned Earl Williams escapes and hides in the prison's press room...

A satire on journalism, power, and repressive institutions, The Front Page conceals behind its (absolutely irresistible) comedic narrative structure a deep-seated gloom that the director - always a ruthless observer of American society - accentuates with a series of strongly pessimistic notes on the relationships between media, police, and political power. The sarcastic and demystifying approach has always been the most evident, and most uncomfortable, characteristic of the Central European Wilder. Here, few characters are spared. Not the mayor, ready to exploit the capital execution for mere electoral purposes. Not the sheriff, corrupt and incompetent. Not the journalists, a prime target of Wilder's satire since the days of Ace in the Hole (1950), here depicted as cynical harpies devoid of any respect for others, well exemplified by the rapacious and misanthropic Walter Burns.

The only positive figures, though miserable and somewhat pathetic, are the naive poor Earl Williams and the prostitute Molly, in love with him and almost willing to risk suicide to save him.

A satirical and bitter film, therefore. But at the same time a game, a joke, a superior entertainment, a narrative mechanism conducted with that clean, clear, impeccable touch (or, more simply, classic) which is typical of the great filmmakers of the old Hollywood school, and which, in the innovative chaos of the seventies' New Hollywood, risked appearing outdated: after all, it had been since Irma la Douce (1963) that the great Billy's films, even the truly excellent ones, had not enjoyed the favor of the public and critics.

Here, everything works to create a result of the highest level: the careful and skillfully "invisible" direction, the functional use of the single setting deriving from its theatrical origin (the film is practically all set in one room, the prison press room), the masterfully calibrated rhythm. With at least two components bordering on perfection: the bulletproof screenplay (a barrage of often unforgettable lines written in tandem with the trusty I.A.L. Diamond), and the performance of a grandiose and flamboyant actor like Walter Matthau.