There is a character in this movie who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt. He repeatedly screams "Charge!" and then runs up some stairs and slams himself in his bedroom. Everytime he did this my two-year old daughter awakened crying and my cat clawed my knee where he rested. If the scene had been amsuing I would have endured, but it was annoying.
I love Capra and Grant films, but this is the glaring exception.
There are some mild spoilers here, but I wouldn't think they'd damage your pleasure before you watched it. Proceed at your own risk.
The story is a little absurd, but that's where the comedy comes from. A newlywed dramatic critic (Cary Grant) in the big city lives with his two aunts (Josephine Hull and Jean Adair) and an uncle (John Alexander). Uncle Teddy is cookoo and thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt. The aunts think he's the only one that's screwed up in the head, but, in fact, they are as well. For they have been murdering lonely elderly gentlemen in their own home and burying them in the cellar. When the nephew finds out, he goes a little weird himself in his attempt to figure out what to do about it.
Everything gets worse when the long, lost, delinquent brother (Raymond Massey) returns home after a prison escape and is looking for a place to live and to bury his most recent victim.
It's a plot that Hitchcock himself would have enjoyed, but there just wasn't clear direction of the acting and therefore no cohesiveness. Frankly, I think the movie is tremendously overrated. Not bad for a saturday night though.