Bachelor Mother (1939), dir. Garson Kanin. Streaming at home, Tuesday, November 29.

There’s an old chestnut I just can’t stand, usually found on bumper stickers applied to automobiles owned by left-leaning drivers, that reads, “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.” First of all, “dancing backwards” is actually called “following”, and, here’s news for you, Astaire created every dance in every one of his films, and could lead and follow. True, perhaps he couldn’t have done it in high heels. However, he taught Ginger Rogers all those dances. And, very likely, in part, by “dancing backwards.”

But that’s about Fred Astaire. What galls me about that joke is that it pretends to be feminist while actually ignoring the woman it’s invoking, which is far from feminist (the quote was written by a man, the man who drew the comic strip Frank and Ernest, Bob Thaves). I get that it’s supposed to be a statement about how hard women work without being acknowledged, and often times that work is absurdly difficult. However, it’s equally bad to ignore real accomplishments just to make a point.

Watch any Fred Astaire movie, and you’ll witness incredible artistry on the dance floor. Too bad his movies aren’t all dancing, because once the music stops you need great actors to carry the story along. That heavy lifting is not done by Fred Astaire, but by Ginger Rogers. Rogers was a great actress and an astounding comedian and I think she’s vastly superior to Astaire as a tap dancer. Fred Astaire movies without Ginger Rogers are simply not as good as the ones they made together (though I concede Funny Face is up there). She totally carries those films when they’re not dancing, better than he is, by far, when it’s time to act and be funny. And when they’re dancing? In that elevated realm she is also his equal, absolutely his equal, which you cannot say for him in any other regard. No one wants to watch an Astaire movie without dancing, but you could make a good series out of Rogers’ movies on her own, without a single spin around the room. Case in point: Bachelor Mother.

Bachelor Mother should be on everyone’s holiday list. It’s warm and wonderful and captures the madness and joy of Christmas like the best movies about this holiday. It’s hilarious, Rogers is witty and sexy and fun, and it’s one of those movies that works wonders because of its tight cast–everyone seems to live in this world, is a part of this larger experience. And, I have to say, it’s a sly commentary on what dumb assholes men can be.

The story is, frankly, exasperating: Polly Parrish (Rogers) is a salesgirl during the holiday season at the John B. Merlin and Son department store. She’s just been given official notice that once Christmas passes, she will no longer be employed by the company. On her way home from work, she sees a woman deposit a baby on the steps of the foundling home. The woman flees, so Polly grabs the baby before it tumbles down the steps, and, at that moment, the door opens and the staff assumes she’s the mother.

Here’s where the movie becomes exasperating (in a good way): no man, and few women, believe Rogers is not the mother. All mothers leaving their babies deny parentage, they say. Poor Polly! She’s now going to run a gauntlet of annoying dudes (and one or two ladies) who all know best how she should run her life, care for her baby (which is not her baby), how she should spend her free time, now nonexistent because she should watch the baby, which of course they don’t want to help her raise, since they’re men. Basically, they hector her throughout this picture.

Enter David Merlin (David Niven), the playboy son of John B. Merlin (Charles Coburn). When Polly rejects the baby at first–understandably, since she’s not the mother!–the director of the home approaches young Merlin to urge him to give Polly her job back. They reason that she gave up the baby because she doesn’t have work. But Polly doesn’t want a baby, she wants to live her life.

Well, Polly and David fall in love, of course, and the movie takes some pretty wicked twists and turns, including a great moment where it’s determined that David Merlin is the dad and now no one believes him. You breathe a sigh of relief from this because, it’s true, I was gritting my teeth at all these dopes trying to tell Polly–trying to tell Ginger Rogers!–what to do, so it’s great to see this spoiled adult brat get his comeuppance.

Bachelor Mother is but one of many great Ginger Rogers movies–as a sometimes programmer at movie theaters, I’m often thinking of challenging and enjoyable groups of films to bring to town, and I have to say that a Fred Astaire series would, for me, be nothing other than three Astaire and Rogers pictures and Funny Face. But Ginger! Gold Diggers of 1933, Bachelor Mother, Roxie Hart (fantastic, the best version of Chicago by far), Kitty Foyle, The Major and the Minor, Monkey Business, and a couple of her films with Astaire. Man, that’s a series, and it certainly shows that she was more talented than someone who just danced backwards, high heels or not.

Dig Rogers’ amazing tap dance in Roxie Hart. Yeah, I know it’s not Bachelor Mother, I’m just proving a point. High heels, great acting, funny and sexy as all get out. Take that, Astaire.