Movies today are obsessed with the afterlife. Whether it’s a Pixar tear-jerker or a high-concept Netflix series, we’re constantly looking at what happens after we kick the bucket. But if you want to find the DNA for almost every "body-swap" or "heavenly mistake" trope in cinema, you have to go back to 1941. Here Comes Mr. Jordan isn't just an old black-and-white flick your grandparents liked; it’s a masterclass in screenwriting that survived a chaotic production to win two Academy Awards.
Joe Pendleton is a boxer. He’s a good one, too. He’s the "Flying Messenger," a man so convinced he’s about to win the heavyweight championship that he plays the saxophone to keep his lungs in shape. Then, he crashes his plane. Or does he?
The Cosmic Screw-up That Started It All
The premise of Here Comes Mr. Jordan is deceptively simple but was radically fresh for 1941 audiences. An overeager angel—identified only as 7013—plucks Joe out of his body a split second before a plane crash because he couldn't bear to see the man suffer. The problem? Joe wasn't supposed to die for another 50 years.
By the time the celestial supervisor, Mr. Jordan (played with incredible, calm authority by Claude Rains), realizes the mistake, Joe’s earthly body has been cremated. Talk about a clerical error.
Robert Montgomery plays Joe with this frantic, lovable energy that keeps the movie from feeling too morbid. He’s a guy who just wants his life back, but he has to settle for "borrowing" the body of Bruce Farnsworth, a crooked millionaire who has just been murdered by his wife. It sounds like a dark noir, but the movie plays it as a light, fast-paced supernatural comedy.
You’ve probably seen this plot a dozen times since. If you ever watched Heaven Can Wait (1978) with Warren Beatty or even the Chris Rock version, Down to Earth (2001), you’re watching the same story. They’re all based on Harry Segall's play, Heaven Can Wait, though the 1941 film had to change the title because another movie was using it.
Why the Dialogue Still Hits Different
One of the weirdest things about watching 80-year-old movies is the "transatlantic" accent. It can feel stiff. But the script here, written by Sidney Buchman and Seton I. Miller, avoids that trap. It’s snappy. It’s cynical. It feels like real people talking, even when they’re talking about reincarnation and divine intervention.
Take the relationship between Joe and his trainer, Max "Pop" Corkle (James Gleason). Pop is the only one who starts to believe Joe’s crazy story because of the way "Farnsworth" moves and talks like a boxer. Gleason’s performance is legendary. He was actually nominated for an Oscar for this role. The scene where he tries to process that his dead friend is now living inside a wealthy tycoon is pure comedic gold.
Honestly, the chemistry between the cast is what saves the film from its own absurd logic. You don't care that the "rules" of the afterlife aren't strictly defined. You care that Joe wants to win the title and that he’s falling for Bette Logan (Evelyn Keyes), a woman who hated the "old" Farnsworth but finds herself drawn to the "new" one.
A Production Riddled with Doubt
Columbia Pictures wasn't actually sure about this movie.
At the time, "fantasy" was seen as a risky genre. If it wasn't a monster movie or a Disney cartoon, audiences weren't always down for supernatural high-jinks. Harry Cohn, the infamous head of Columbia, reportedly didn't "get" the script at first. He thought it was too confusing.
He was wrong.
The movie became a massive sleeper hit. It proved that you could blend genres—comedy, romance, sports, and the supernatural—without losing the audience. It paved the way for films like It's a Wonderful Life. Without Here Comes Mr. Jordan, the "guardian angel" trope might have looked very different in Hollywood history.
The Claude Rains Factor
We have to talk about Claude Rains.
Most people know him as the "shocked" police captain in Casablanca. In Here Comes Mr. Jordan, he plays the titular character with a sort of weary, dignified patience. He isn't a god; he’s a manager. He’s a bureaucrat of the universe.
There’s a specific stillness to his performance. While Robert Montgomery is bouncing off the walls, Rains is the anchor. He gives the movie its heart. When Mr. Jordan explains that Joe has to eventually lose his memories of his old life to truly become his new self, it’s genuinely moving. It touches on the Buddhist idea of "Anatta" or non-self, though the movie probably didn't intend to be that philosophical. It just wanted to tell a good yarn.
Technical Feats in 1941
For a movie made before CGI, the "ghost" effects are surprisingly effective. They used simple practical tricks—lighting, double exposures, and clever blocking—to show who could see Joe and who couldn't.
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- The use of the "Saxophone" as a recurring motif.
- The way Joe’s physical "boxer" movements contrast with his expensive suits.
- The transition scenes in the "farthest reaches of the mist" (which was basically just a lot of dry ice).
The fog-filled transit station where souls wait to board a plane to the "hereafter" is iconic. It’s minimalist. It’s eerie. It’s also a perfect example of how limitations breed creativity. They didn't have the budget for a golden city, so they used shadows and atmosphere. It worked.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
People often misremember the ending of Here Comes Mr. Jordan. They think Joe gets to live happily ever after as the millionaire.
That’s not it.
The movie is actually much more bittersweet. Joe eventually has to inhabit a third body—that of a boxer named Murdoch—and in doing so, he has to give up his identity as Joe Pendleton. Mr. Jordan wipes his memory. He becomes the man he was always meant to be, but he loses the "self" that we’ve been following for 90 minutes.
It’s a heavy concept for a romantic comedy. It suggests that destiny is real, but it requires a sacrifice. You get the girl, and you get the title, but you don't get to remember how hard you fought to get there.
Actionable Insights for Film Buffs and Writers
If you’re a storyteller or just a fan of classic cinema, there are a few things you should do to truly appreciate this film’s legacy.
Watch the 1978 remake afterward. Compare Warren Beatty’s Heaven Can Wait to the original. You’ll notice that while the setting changed from boxing to American football, the emotional beats are identical. It’s a testament to the strength of the original screenplay.
Look for the "Pop Corkle" archetype. Once you see the "skeptical sidekick who becomes a believer," you’ll see it everywhere. From Ghost to Field of Dreams, this character type was perfected in 1941.
Analyze the pacing. Here Comes Mr. Jordan moves at a breakneck speed. There is almost no filler. In an era where modern movies are pushing three hours, there is a lot to be learned from a 94-minute film that handles reincarnation, a murder plot, and a sports comeback without breaking a sweat.
Check out the sequel. Yes, there is a sequel called Down to Earth (1947), where Rita Hayworth plays a muse who comes down to Earth because she’s annoyed with a Broadway play. Claude Rains even returns as Mr. Jordan. It’s not as good as the original, but it’s a fascinating piece of Hollywood history.
Dig into the Criterion Collection release. If you want the best visual experience, the 2K digital restoration is the way to go. It cleans up the "mist" scenes and makes the noir-style cinematography of the Farnsworth estate look incredible.
This film isn't just a relic. It’s a blueprint. It reminds us that even when the universe messes up, there’s a way to find your path—even if you have to jump into a few different bodies to do it.