Nancy Drew… Reporter: A Quick Sip from my Movie Mug

Right, so, Nancy Drew… Reporter (1939). Try saying THAT quickly after your morning kaffe and three kanelbullar. Bonita Granville’s Nancy Drew, running around in her hat and those shoes you’d only see at a Stockholm loppis these days, finds herself tangled in a murder-mystery. Bonita is really something, you know; she’s got this proper snappy energy. Sidestepping the usual “damsel” shtick, she all but drags Frankie Thomas (he’s Ted, the herre with the world’s most nervous eyebrows) into her wild chase. Director William Clemens pulls it all together. Not too extravagant though. It feels half like an extended SVT children’s matiné and half—well, a slightly chaotic grillkväll in Värmland when everyone’s talking at once.

Warner Bros usually rolled out the red carpet for mystery-adventure, but here it’s more like someone forgot to vacuum before the guests arrived. The pacing’s odd – like, was the editor in a rush to catch a tunnelbana after lunch or what? Still, there’s this stylish old-school charm, from waxy black-and-white shots to those nosy neighbours (gud, the neighbours, always listening behind curtains, reminds me of Mormor in Helsingborg whispering about stolen bicycles one summer ’84).

Memories then: I swear I once organised a detective club at Vallaskolan, after watching Nancy run around. We solved… absolutely nothing. But we had notepads! Nancy makes you want to snoop, to question the obvious, like why fika breaks are never long enough. There’s a lesson there too: curiosity, even if it’s awkward or gets you bizarre looks.

I wouldn’t call it a masterwork, but it’s breezy, cheeky, and reminds you that being clever isn’t always tidy. Bit of a charmer for a grey Söndag. Skip if you want gravitas, stay for the sass and the hats.

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