Nobody actually cares about the murder. Honestly, if you’re watching Nick and Nora Charles to figure out if the disgruntled secretary or the shady lawyer pulled the trigger, you’re kinda missing the point. The Thin Man series isn't really about the "whodunnit" at all. It’s about the booze, the banter, and the fact that William Powell and Myrna Loy had more chemistry in a single raised eyebrow than most modern cinematic couples have in a three-picture deal.
It started in 1934. Pre-Code Hollywood was dying out, the Hays Office was sharpening its scissors, and Dashiell Hammett—a guy who usually wrote about gritty, blood-soaked streets—published a book about a retired detective and his wealthy, socialite wife. MGM snatched it up. They thought it was a one-off. They were wrong. It turned into a six-film juggernaut that defined the "screwball mystery" and made every person in America want to own a Wire Fox Terrier named Asta.
People always get the name wrong. You've probably heard it too. They think Nick Charles is the "Thin Man." He isn't. The Thin Man was actually the murder victim in the very first movie, Clyde Wynant. But the title stuck, the studio got lazy (or brilliant), and every sequel had "Thin Man" slapped on the front even though the original guy was long dead and buried.
Why the Thin Man Series Broke All the Rules
Before Nick and Nora, movie detectives were usually two things: grim or eccentric. Think Sherlock Holmes or those gritty noir guys who lived on cigarettes and bitterness. Then came Nick Charles. He’s an ex-cop who married into a massive fortune and decided that working was a sucker’s game.
He didn't want to solve crimes. He wanted to mix the perfect martini.
There’s this legendary scene early in the first film where Nick is instructing a line of bartenders on the proper rhythm for shaking drinks. "A Manhattan you shake to a fox-trot, a Bronx to a two-step, but a dry martini you should always shake to a jitterbug." That basically sums up the entire Thin Man series. It’s sophisticated, slightly tipsy, and utterly uninterested in being "gritty."
Myrna Loy’s Nora Charles was even more revolutionary. In the 1930s, wives in movies were often nags or damsels. Nora was neither. She was Nick’s equal. She had her own money, she could out-drink him (usually), and she was the one pushing him to take the cases because she thought watching him work was "exciting." They liked each other. Like, they really liked each other. It was a depiction of a happy, sexy, functional marriage that felt incredibly modern then and, frankly, still feels modern now.
The Hammett Connection and the "Real" Nick and Nora
Dashiell Hammett didn't just pull these characters out of thin air. He based them on his own relationship with playwright Lillian Hellman. If you read the original 1934 novel, it’s actually much darker than the movies. The book has a hard-boiled edge where the drinking feels a bit more like a problem and the dialogue is sharper, meaner.
🔗 Read more: Did Mac Miller Like Donald Trump? What Really Happened Between the Rapper and the President
MGM softened the edges. They hired director W.S. Van Dyke—known as "One-Take Woody" because he moved so fast—and let Powell and Loy ad-lib. That’s where the magic happened. The studio actually didn't want Myrna Loy at first. They thought she was too "exotic" because she’d spent years playing vamps and "oriental" roles. Van Dyke pushed for her, reportedly pushing her into a swimming pool at a party to prove she had a sense of humor.
It worked.
The chemistry was so believable that fans actually thought Powell and Loy were married in real life. They weren't. They were just very good friends who knew exactly how to play off each other’s timing. Between 1934 and 1947, they made six films together in this franchise:
- The Thin Man (1934)
- After the Thin Man (1936)
- Another Thin Man (1939)
- Shadow of the Thin Man (1941)
- The Thin Man Goes Home (1944)
- Song of the Thin Man (1947)
The Evolution of the "Cocktail Mystery"
As the series progressed, things changed. The first two are indisputable masterpieces. After the Thin Man features a very young, very intense James Stewart in a role that’ll catch you off guard if you only know him from It's a Wonderful Life.
By the time they got to Another Thin Man, the couple had a baby (Nick Jr.). Most critics argue this is where the "edge" started to dull. Suddenly, the cocktails were swapped for bottles, and the plots became a bit more formulaic. The late-stage entries like The Thin Man Goes Home were made during World War II. Because of wartime restrictions, the booze was toned down. Nick actually drinks apple juice for a large chunk of that movie. It’s... weird.
But even a "bad" Thin Man series entry is better than 90% of what was coming out of the studio system at the time. The dialogue stayed snappy.
"Is he working on a case?"
"Yes, a case of scotch. Help him with it."💡 You might also like: Despicable Me 2 Edith: Why the Middle Child is Secretly the Best Part of the Movie
That kind of writing kept audiences coming back. It was escapism at its finest. During the Great Depression, people didn't want to see more poverty. They wanted to see Nora Charles in a floor-length fur coat walking a dog in a high-end hotel while Nick made a joke about his hangover.
What People Get Wrong About Asta
We have to talk about the dog. Asta was a Wire Fox Terrier, and he was a superstar. In the books, Asta was actually a female Schnauzer. The movies changed the breed and the gender, and the dog (whose real name was Skippy) became so famous he was earning $250 a week—a fortune in the 30s.
Skippy was so popular he actually has his own "filmography," appearing in The Awful Truth and Bringing Up Baby. But he’ll always be linked to Nick and Nora. The trick with Asta was that he wasn't just a pet; he was a character. He hid under beds during fights. He "found" evidence. He was the chaotic element that kept the scenes from getting too stiff.
The Technical Brilliance of "One-Take Woody"
The reason these films feel so alive is the way they were shot. W.S. Van Dyke hated over-rehearsing. He wanted the actors to be slightly off-balance. For the original film, he shot the whole thing in about two weeks.
That speed translated to the screen. The Thin Man series has a frantic, breathless energy. Characters talk over each other. They move quickly. It doesn’t feel like a stage play caught on film; it feels like you’ve walked into a party that’s already in full swing and you’re trying to catch up.
Technically, the cinematography by James Wong Howe (on the first film) helped create that "high-key" look. It was bright, expensive-looking, and crisp. Even when they were in a dark alley looking for a killer, the lighting made sure Myrna Loy’s jewelry sparkled.
How to Watch the Series Today (The Right Way)
If you're diving into these for the first time, don't binge them all at once. The formula can get repetitive if you watch three in a row. The rhythm of a Nick Charles mystery is predictable:
📖 Related: Death Wish II: Why This Sleazy Sequel Still Triggers People Today
- Nick and Nora arrive somewhere they shouldn't be.
- A murder happens.
- Nick tries to ignore it.
- Nora gets excited and drags him into it.
- There is a "dinner party" finale where Nick gathers all the suspects in one room and explains the crime.
It's the classic "Whodunnit" structure that Agatha Christie perfected, but with much better hats.
The first film is essential. It’s perfect. After the Thin Man is arguably just as good, if not better, because the mystery is actually quite solid and the San Francisco setting is gorgeous. After those two, you can skip around. Song of the Thin Man is interesting because it leans into the jazz culture of the late 40s, which gives it a different vibe than the Art Deco elegance of the earlier ones.
Why It Still Matters in 2026
We’re currently seeing a massive resurgence in the "cozy mystery" and the "gentle detective" genre. Think Knives Out or Poker Face. Rian Johnson has explicitly cited the Thin Man series as a primary influence.
The world is stressful. Sometimes you don't want a detective who is tormented by his past or a serial killer who leaves cryptic clues carved into pumpkins. Sometimes you just want to see two people who love each other solve a crime while wearing tuxedoes.
The "Charles" model proved that you could have stakes without losing your sense of humor. It showed that mystery and comedy aren't opposites—they’re partners.
Actionable Steps for the Aspiring Cinephile
If you want to truly appreciate what made this series work, don't just watch the movies. Look at the craft.
- Study the blocking: Watch how Powell and Loy move around each other in the kitchen scene of the first movie. They are constantly in motion, yet they never bump into each other. It’s a dance.
- Listen for the subtext: The Hays Code was in full effect for most of these films. Notice how they talk about sex and drinking without ever being "vulgar." The double entendres are a masterclass in writing around censorship.
- Compare the Book: Read Hammett’s novel. It’s a short read. Comparing the cynical, gritty book to the bubbly, sparkling movie is a lesson in how Hollywood "adaptation" really works.
The Thin Man series didn't just create a franchise; it created a vibe. It’s a vibe of effortless cool that survived the Depression, a World War, and the collapse of the studio system.
Grab a bottle of gin, find a comfortable chair, and put on the 1934 original. Skip the remake rumors—they’ve been trying to remake this for decades and they always fail because you can't manufacture the kind of lightning-in-a-bottle chemistry that Powell and Loy had. Some things are better left in black and white.
To get started, check out the Warner Archive Blu-ray releases. They’ve done a stellar job cleaning up the grain and making the audio crisp, which is vital when the dialogue is this fast. Start with the first two, then take a break. You’ll find yourself coming back to them every time it rains and you want to feel a little more sophisticated than you actually are.