The Holly and the Ivy (1952)

Directed by George More O’Ferrall; produced by Anatole de Grunwald

The Reverend Martin Gregory is a rural vicar who seems to exist slightly detached from the rest of the world; absent-minded and good-humoured, he appears to prefer the abstract to the practical. His children, however, have to deal with the concrete: Jenny (Celia Johnson) longs to marry her boyfriend (John Gregson), but feels she must stay and take care of her father. Margaret (Margaret Leighton) lives in London with no desire to come home. Michael (Denholm Elliott) doesn’t take anything seriously but his desire to enjoy himself. This Christmas, however, will be different than any other for this loving but distant family.

A fine drama of personalities, The Holly and the Ivy benefits from very good performances from the four actors who portray the Gregory family, in particular Richardson, as the gentle and amiable patriarch. Support is capably given by Margaret Halstan and Maureen Delaney (credited as ‘Maureen Delany’) as two contrasting aunts, and Hugh Williams as a cousin. If there is a flaw in the casting it is that Johnson is too old for her rôle. Jenny is 31, while Johnson looks very much the 44 she was at the time. Her performance, however, makes up for any visual incongruity.

The script, by the producer, from a play by Wynyard Browne, is excellent. Initially, it gives the impression of a modern young generation a little exasperated with – though caring greatly for – the old fogey who is their father. But slowly, the viewer realises that Martin Gregory is rather sharp, and not the stereotypical country parson. If he is blind to his children’s worries, they are no more perspicacious about him.

Gregory’s vocation as a priest is at the centre of the plot, really, in that his children have grown up thinking that their parent is like someone from a story-book, an otherworldly pastor made of glass, that the whiff of indiscretion or scandal in the family might shatter. How they arrived at this conclusion, having lived with him for most of their lives, may only be guessed at. It may have something to do with their late mother. One can imagine that she took on the practical elements of the household, while her husband concerned himself with the spiritual.

Yet one sees, from Martin’s words and actions – and reactions – that he is not as unworldly as people may believe. (For instance, on Christmas Eve, Michael and Margaret, bored at the vicarage, go to the cinema; their aunts are appalled but the reverend expresses surprise at there being anything interesting showing.)

It becomes clear that the children are the short-sighted ones. The aunts both know that Martin could cope on his own, if he retired, and the cousin, half-way between one generation and the next, also sees the truth. There is a key line that might be a cri de cœur uttered by clergymen of every faith: “Why do you think I became a parson in the first place? Because I saw what life is like. Not because I didn't.”

Like the casting, the script has one fault, and that is that it ends a bit too abruptly. One cares about the Gregory family and their issues, and would like to see a wider resolution. This is a small quibble, though. The movie does not suffer for it.

The Holly and the Ivy is not the usual Christmas story, nor does it have the angst-laden, loud tableau of unlikeable creatures that normally populate a tale of dysfunctional families. This is a quiet film of secrets kept not from shame but from concern for others, and of revelation that makes a Yuletide merry.

It Happened on Fifth Avenue (1947)

Directed and produced by Roy Del Ruth

While multi-millionaire Michael O’Connor (Charlie Ruggles) spends the winter in the country, homeless Aloysius T McKeever (Victor Moore) moves into his vacant New York townhouse. A conscientious squatter, careful not to damage anything and leave all as it was when he departs in the spring, McKeever feels compelled to offer evicted veteran Jim Bullock (Don DeFore) a room in ‘his’ mansion. Before long, there are two families of former soldiers and, incognito, O’Connor’s own daughter, Trudy (Gale Storm) residing there, too. And when O’Connor himself shows up, things become complicated.

It Happened on Fifth Avenue has the premise of a frantic farce, perhaps even the sort that the Marx Brothers could have concocted in their prime. Instead, it is a gentle but mediocre comedy with a few good laughs and a few more smiles. There are a number of elements that are vaguely connected and that by themselves would have made for a satisfying shorter film; together, they create a meandering story that is far too long.

One of the problems is that it has several characters on which it could have concentrated to make a more cohesive whole. Moore’s McKeever is an interesting philosopher, a den-mother of sorts to those whom he shelters under ‘his’ roof, strict on proprieties and careful of others’ property (except cigars and waistcoats). Ruggles, by 1947 a bona fide star – if a little faded and nowhere as big as some – gives a thoughtful portrayal as the millionaire, trying to sort out the relationships with his daughter and estranged wife (Ann Harding).

Character actors lend good support, including Edward Brophy as a good-natured watchman and Charles Lane in his usual killjoy rôle.

What doesn’t work is the romance between the characters of DeFore and Storm. Neither is an involving person, and though there is a legitimate attraction between them, the actual love affair is flimsier than anything you might have seen on The Love Boat. It would have been far better to have scrapped their participation, and made it a straight comedy, pairing Ruggles and Moore. Divested of the lackluster romance, It Happened on Fifth Avenue would have been a leaner, funnier film. (For some reason, Storm’s voice is obviously dubbed in the songs she sings; pointlessly, as she was a singer.)

And it would have been better made in the 1930s. The plot has the feel of a film from ’32 or ’33, when the Great Depression was at its height. The transients, the homeless soldiers, the ultra-rich; certainly they existed in 1947, but they fit less in that prosperous year. Indeed, many of the palatial mansions along New York’s Fifth Avenue were already gone by the Second World War, Gilded Age opulence giving way to a more streamlined wealth.

Streamlined is, perhaps, what the movie should have been. At almost two hours, it seems too long, the story too attenuated. O’Connor’s redemption – and you know it’s coming – suffers at least two set-backs that needlessly prolong the film.

While It Happened on Fifth Avenue is spottily amusing, with a number of good lines, it needs a better screenwriter and a ruthless though talented editor. It felt like it tries to be a jack-of-all-trades, and masters none.

The Major and the Minor (1942)

Directed by Billy Wilder; produced by Arthur Hornblow Jr

Susan Applegate (Ginger Rogers), tired of never getting higher than the bottom rung in New York, determines to go home to Iowa. But, almost broke, she can no longer afford the train fare. Seeing that a twelve year old has to pay only half-price, she decides to disguise herself as a child. She thinks she needs to maintain the disguise only for a couple of days – that is, until the train’s conductors suspect a scam and little ‘Susu’ falls under the protection of Major Philip Kirby (Ray Milland). Now, the charade must be kept up for the Major, his fiancée, their friends and an entire school of adoring boys. It doesn’t help that grown-up Susan starts to look at the Major as, well, a grown-up…

An absurd little plot stretched to farcical proportions, The Major and the Minor works – and works well – thanks to Rogers, aided and abetted by Milland, and several other performers. It’s an ironic fact that Rogers, going on thirty-one in 1942, wouldn’t fool many people in such a masquerade, yet the movie succeeds because of her. She handles situational and spoken comedy masterfully, and her ‘Susu’ provides laughs and insight as only an adult trying to live in a child’s world could.

There might have been a danger of the premise veering into distaste, with a handsome and – despite his impending marriage – eligible gentleman escorting a would-be twelve year old woman about the country. But Milland’s Kirby is just that: a gentleman, who throws himself entirely into the rôle of Susu’s protector, and perhaps taps into a latent desire to be a father, or at least an uncle. He finds delight in Susu’s childishness, and in watching over her.

Mention must be made of Diana Lynn, who plays Lucy, the younger sister of Kirby’s fiancée. She’s a precocious adolescent who tumbles to the truth about Susu – brought home as her temporary roommate – right away. Though clearly acting a little older than her age (sixteen at the time), the contrast between Lucy and Susu provides more evidence that the adults in the film should really just open their eyes.

Though the premise – and its maintenance throughout the film – appear to be farce, The Major and the Minor is a more realistic comedy than that, Rogers’s disguise being a device within the plot, rather than the driving force. The reactions of the school’s boys at having a pretty girl in their midst who is clearly – yet indefinitely – different than others their own age, are realistic; so are the motivations of the characters (eg. Kirby wants an active command due to what he feels to be the U.S.’s impending involvement in the world war.) The impetus of the comedy is silly, rather than the comedy itself.

This of course depends not just on the performances, but greatly upon the writing. The screenplay was co-written by director Wilder and Charles Brackett, who also wrote Sunset Blvd., Ninotchka and The Lost Weekend, among other movies. They manage to write adult lines that are inoffensive but funny, jokes about Hollywood for those who watch movies, and ludicrous situations that are perfectly plausible. They even give Rogers a realistic reason to dance. The screenplay reminded me of a less cynical Preston Struges script.

The direction – Wilder’s first American effort – is energetic and, despite Wilder’s relative novelty, shows expertise. He clearly had an affinity for certain actors, as he worked with several of them numerous times, and having co-written the script, knew exactly what the writers were trying to depict.

The Major and the Minor is an example of a screwball comedy that isn’t quite screwball, a farce that isn’t quite farcical, and a romance that is romantic despite having no conspicuous romance. In other words, The Major and the Minor is a success.

Escape in the Fog (1945)

Directed by Oscar Boetticher Jr; produced by Wallace MacDonald

A nightmare in which she is a witness to a murder wakes Eileen Carr (Nina Foch) at the country inn to which she has come for a rest from war-work. Also at the inn, likewise taking a well-earned break from the war, is Barry Malcolm (William Wright), the victim in her dream. The two begin a relationship which is interrupted by Malcolm’s recall to his secret service work. That recall itself is interrupted when enemy agents plot to capture the documents Malcolm is carrying, and set in motion the events that could make Eileen’s dream come true.

Escape in the Fog has much that it strives for but, unfortunately, it falls short in most respects. The best that it has is the cast. All give competent performances. Foch must have been one of the busiest actresses in B-movies at this time, appearing in fourteen films in three years - though some of her parts were small – including the entertaining My Name is Julia Ross, reviewed in this blog almost exactly three years ago.

Wright is good, though hardly charismatic. He is the leading man, but was clearly not a big draw: he is upstaged in the opening credits by supporting player Otto Kruger, a good guy this time. (Wright was as hard-working as Foch, in several films even in 1949, the year he died young of cancer.) As a bonus problem for the two leads, they have no chemistry together. Shelley Winters appears as a taxi driver in a short scene.

The direction has some commendable moments, the actionful resolution being one. The director would become better known when he took the first name of ‘Budd’ and led a number of excellent Randolph Scott westerns in the 1950s. The landscape of that genre seems to have served Boetticher better than an urban setting. He tries hard for atmosphere here but doesn’t succeed.

Nothing else stands out. The story, featuring a chase for stolen documents, is not bad, but is more at home in The Boys’ Own Paper. Barry Malcolm is an intelligence operator used for his linguistic skills; it is obvious that his brains are not otherwise the source of his employment. After losing his papers, he decides not to tell his boss – even though he thereby misses his departure time for an immensely important mission. At one point, he is given vital information – typed on a piece of paper - by a clandestine source; instead of afterward burning it – despite being a smoker with a lighter – he tears it up and gives it to Eileen to dispose of later. The sequel to that action may be guessed.

The script has no redemption. Complimenting the lack of any connection between Foch and Wright is the unbelievable relationship between their characters. Their love affair is rushed, and surely no viewer will credit their companionship as anything more than amiable.

The writing doesn’t even pay attention to itself. At one point, a character boasts that the glass in his shop window is unbreakable. Minutes later, a trash can is thrown through it, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Escape in the Fog is mediocre at best, and that, alas, is being kind.