It's not bad. It's kind of relaxed and soothing, a mnemonic massage. It occurred to me, watching this Red Skelton movie set around the turn of the century, that there must have been people in the 1951 audience for whom this story of the appearance of the horseless carriage evoked childhood memories.
It was filmed in the hills of sunny California where it never gets cold and the air is filled with the scent of lemon verbena. Altogether pleasant.
Not exactly exciting though. There are a few comic action scenes. Skelton finally gets his gas-o-mobile running and it chugs around empty in circles while he chases it and falls down. In a later scene he's behind the wheel but he can't stop it and it sputters into a small pond. His character is its usual clumsy, somewhat opaque self, and there is little spirit in the dialog, although Skelton does his best with the tepid story. I think I prefer his more robust comedies. Not the silly ones but the ones into which some thought has gone. "A Southern Yankee" and its sequence in the dentist's chair, which may have e been staged by Buster Keaton.
Monica Lewis is a pretentious competitor for Skelton. She once spent two weeks in France. "C'est formidable" becomes "set forMIDable." She's a fine singer and gets two tunes. None of the songs are memorable but the most pleasant, "Spring Has Sprung Tonight" is given to Skelton. Sally Forrest must have had some dance training because she does some unchallenging but well-executed turns in a kind of dream ballet. The supporting dancers gets to show their stuff, choreographed by Hermes Pan. Her features are a little pinched but in a way that makes them beguiling.
You know, I haven't exactly bestowed a royal title on this movie. I've pretty much played it down. But when I compare it to eighty-five point one percent of the crap that's being ground out these days -- vampires, ghouls, slashers, constant fusillades, bombs, the palette a ghoulish green, the editor on crack, the director seemingly drunk on an excess of narcissism -- I imagine you'd live longer watching a modest, colorful, deliberately paced musical comedy from 1951.
And on top of that, I've watched the size of an ordinary can of tuna fish shrink from seven ounces, through six and a half, to six ounces. The only thing that sustains persons of my age is the memory of that seven ounce can.
It was filmed in the hills of sunny California where it never gets cold and the air is filled with the scent of lemon verbena. Altogether pleasant.
Not exactly exciting though. There are a few comic action scenes. Skelton finally gets his gas-o-mobile running and it chugs around empty in circles while he chases it and falls down. In a later scene he's behind the wheel but he can't stop it and it sputters into a small pond. His character is its usual clumsy, somewhat opaque self, and there is little spirit in the dialog, although Skelton does his best with the tepid story. I think I prefer his more robust comedies. Not the silly ones but the ones into which some thought has gone. "A Southern Yankee" and its sequence in the dentist's chair, which may have e been staged by Buster Keaton.
Monica Lewis is a pretentious competitor for Skelton. She once spent two weeks in France. "C'est formidable" becomes "set forMIDable." She's a fine singer and gets two tunes. None of the songs are memorable but the most pleasant, "Spring Has Sprung Tonight" is given to Skelton. Sally Forrest must have had some dance training because she does some unchallenging but well-executed turns in a kind of dream ballet. The supporting dancers gets to show their stuff, choreographed by Hermes Pan. Her features are a little pinched but in a way that makes them beguiling.
You know, I haven't exactly bestowed a royal title on this movie. I've pretty much played it down. But when I compare it to eighty-five point one percent of the crap that's being ground out these days -- vampires, ghouls, slashers, constant fusillades, bombs, the palette a ghoulish green, the editor on crack, the director seemingly drunk on an excess of narcissism -- I imagine you'd live longer watching a modest, colorful, deliberately paced musical comedy from 1951.
And on top of that, I've watched the size of an ordinary can of tuna fish shrink from seven ounces, through six and a half, to six ounces. The only thing that sustains persons of my age is the memory of that seven ounce can.