RKO Radio, 1933. Director: William A. Seiter. Screenplay: Maurine Watkins. Camera: Edward Cronjager and (uncredited) Robert De Grasse and George Diskant. Film editor: James B. Morley. Cast: Ginger Rogers, Norman Foster, ZaSu Pitts, Frank McHugh, Allen Jenkins, Gregory Ratoff, Franklin Pangborn, Lucien Littlefield, Edgar Kennedy.
Some time back I wrote an essay on the RKO Radio feature Rafter Romance. Originally released in 1933, the film had been one of the RKO “Lost and Found” titles, a group of six films that had been bound up in legal entanglements and effectively hidden from view for more than half a century. Their restoration and rerelease in 2007 was cause for celebration in the film community, and one of the most appealing rediscoveries was Rafter Romance, a prototype screwball comedy directed by William Seiter and starring Ginger Rogers and Norman Foster. This film was a natural subject for an essay; even apart from its unusual “Lost and Found” backstory, it merited special attention simply for its sheer delightful entertainment value.
Researching a film like this always produces happy surprises, and for me, one of the best surprises in this story was another film—not another “Lost and Found” property, a film which had always been legally available, but one that I hadn’t noticed before. As it turned out, Rafter Romance was not the first film to unite the talents of Seiter, Rogers, and Foster. That distinction belongs to Professional Sweetheart, produced just a couple of months earlier in 1933. The two films are nothing alike; the viewer who screens them back to back will find them utterly dissimilar in plot and overall tone. But Professional Sweetheart is likewise recommended for rediscovery, a comedy possessed of an offbeat charm all its own.
Fans of Ginger Rogers will find this film of particular interest because it catches Ginger at a key moment in her career, poised for the transition to top stardom that will follow in a matter of months. In Professional Sweetheart she’s top-billed as a radio singer, dubbed “The Purity Girl,” who broadcasts songs of sweetness and innocence on behalf of her sponsor, the Ipsy-Wipsy Washcloth Company. She’s attended by a phalanx of handlers and assistants who micromanage her every move and utterance, monitoring her image to be sure nothing impinges on her spotless reputation as the Purity Girl. (Released in June 1933, Professional Sweetheart predated the establishment of the Production Code Administration by roughly a year, but the filmmakers are unmistakably lampooning the guardians of forced morality who would soon assert their control over the film industry.)
One little problem with this arrangement: the Purity Girl is thoroughly fed up with her squeaky-clean image. Still a recent arrival in New York, she wants nothing more than to kick up her heels and indulge in a riotous lifestyle, a notion that sends her attendants into nervous fits. Rogers plays this character as a bratty youngster, forever throwing tantrums and threatening to walk out on the broadcast if her demands are not met. To appease their temperamental charge, the custodians of her career eventually concede that it might be appropriate to let Ginger have a sweetheart—provided he fits the profile of a clean, wholesome all-American youth. Accordingly, they scan her stacks of fan mail to select a partner for her, choosing a suitor who presents an unblemished, innocuous appearance. The chosen candidate, Norman Foster, is plucked from his home in the mountains of Kentucky and whisked to New York, where Ginger’s protectors are prepared to stage-manage the Purity Girl’s romance.
The story proceeds from there, affording Rogers a showcase for her ability to carry a leading role. This film is not a musical, but thanks to the radio setting, it does include some brief singing scenes. And, curiously enough, Ginger Rogers—whose singing voice had already been heard in earlier films, and who would soon be teamed with Fred Astaire and would become one of the legendary figures in American musical film, introducing the songs of Gershwin, Irving Berlin, and Jerome Kern—is dubbed in her singing scenes here. 
Norman Foster, still in the early decades of what would be an extremely long and busy film career, demonstrates his versatility as the unsophisticated backwoodsman who is anything but stupid.
And that’s only the beginning of the cast list. Readers of this column may be aware that I like to celebrate appearances by the legion of beloved Hollywood character players. Professional Sweetheart boasts a gallery of such players: Gregory Ratoff as the obsessive Ipsy-Wipsy sponsor, Frank McHugh as his constantly scheming agent, ZaSu Pitts as a fawning gossip columnist, Franklin Pangborn as a fussy, high-strung designer, Edgar Kennedy as a rival sponsor who would love to steal Ginger for his own radio program, Allen Jenkins as his sharp-eyed agent, and more. The lovely African-American actress Theresa Harris, who made frequent appearances in American films during this period but was seldom given her due, has a brief but effective turn here, though she is denied screen credit.
The result of all this talent is a quietly charming comedy that is more than worthy of rediscovery. Small wonder that the director and stars were quickly reunited for the followup vehicle that would become Rafter Romance. If Professional Sweetheart has been overshadowed by that and the wealth of other cinematic gems of 1933, the viewer who seeks it out may well return for multiple screenings.
