Harrison's Reports (1962)

6 HARRISON'S REPORTS January 20, 1962 "Tender Is the Night" with Jennifer Jones, Jason Robards, Jr., Joan Fontaine, Tom Ewell, Jill St. John, Paul Lukas (20th Century'Fox, January; 146 mins.) GOOD. This is one of the early releases to get the "inter-corporate world-wide celebration in honor of Spyros P. Skouras" under way. To the Fitzgerald followers (F. Scott) 'Tender " " can well be regarded as one of the best from the hand of the flamboyant writer. If the author culls from the Ode to a Nightingale that "tender is the night," then with the morning comes the cool, calm ebb of reflective contemplation. Set in the nostalgic twenties and planted on the glitter-thatched French Riviera, the producer-director fell in love with the shimmering settings and the pretty people. They stretched the rather short work of Fitzgerald into a film story running for 146 minutes, making it an unnecessarily overlong one. And, therein lies one of the failings of what should have been a powerfully strong story of a woman emerging, slowly out of those impenetrable depths of mental imbalance into a tower of moral, physical and mental strength while her one-time stalwart of supremacy, either way you gauge it, slowly, surely crumbles in the ashes of deterioration, unmoral behavior while held in alcoholic captivity. That's the husband of the woman. Whatever remaining goodness is left of what should have been an outstanding film, is due to the powerful performance turned in by Jennifer Jones. We can't remember when she ever failed to come through in superb style in any yarn given her. With the passing of the years her histrionic talents rise in their grandeur, meaning, emotional impact. Jason Robards, Jr., stood strong in his delineation in the early scenes. In the latter part of the film, he failed to rise to the requirements of the rather difficult role. The scenic beauty of this is a big plus. Since the French Riviera was what Fitzgerald meant in his original, that's where the camera-crews went. Also, breathtaking Switzerland figures in the locales. It's all done with DeLuxe color and CinemaScope. It is the twenties and the protagonists, - Jennifer Jones, Jason Robards, Jr., Tom Ewell and others are sunning themselves on an exclusive beach on the French Riviera. Nearby, alone, lies lovely Jill St. John. Robards invites everybody to his home to celebrate the Fourth of July. It's quite a glittering wingding, but winds up with Miss Jones lapsing into one of her mental imbalances. The next morning, Robards, in a moodily reflective state reviews some of his past, via flashback: The time it was revealed that Miss Jones was violated by her own father; it helped bring on her state of mental collapse; coming to the hospital for treatment; finding in Robards not only a good and understanding doctor, but someone with whom she could fall in love; the complete cure, the courtship, the marriage, the arrival of children. We return from the flashback. Robards is back at the clinic to find his great friend, brilliant professor Paul Lukas dying. "Old age," Lukas assures Robards. There is more traveling of the Robards brood. He returns to the Zurich hospital, hopes to run it, but it's no go. Robards continues to drink heavily. Disillusioned, disappointed he's now sliding slowly down the abyss of failure. All this time Miss Jones has taken on new, stoic-like strength. She is pursued by the heel-clicking, hand-kissing gentry of the fortunehunting circles in which she moves. Robards knows the marital race has been run. He walks out on his wife, his children, his dreams of a better life that might have been. Produced by Henry T. Weinstein; directed by Henry King; screenplay by Ivan Moffat taken from the novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald. General patronage. "Only Two Can Play" with Peter Sellers, Mai Zetterling, Virginia Maskell, Richard Attenborough (Kmgsley-Int'l, March; 106 mins.) GOOD. That man is with us again, Peter Sellers. This time he sells us on his coyish brilliancy and a captivatingly humorous approach to a tongue-in-thecheek offstandishness to the temptations of sex on the loose. Even for a man like Sellers, « a librarian's runner, " there is much to be had in the realm of extra-curricular love-making. No one will deny that in these recent times we've had a lot of Sellers. But, the man is a most capable artisan. He toys around with a situation that could have tripped other comedyactors. To him, making it into a superb piece of work is almost like second nature. He is not a scenestealer. He doesn't want to be. In fact, his is the almost submissive talent of helping the others, who play along with him in a scene, get the most out of it. Only those abundantly endowed with natural-like talents can afford such indulgences. Yet, let it not be said that he is without ample acting support. His wife in the film (Virginia Maskell) is a lovely person. Hers is a finely chiseled beauty remindful of Norma Shearer at her magnificent zenith. Mai Zetterling, the blonde, blue-eyed temptress wraps her role up with the bright ribbons of brilliant talent. The rest of the support is all dependably professional. The telling of such a story could have been a dusty, unexcitingly bookish thing, " considering the librarian motif. But, it emerges as a warming, propheticlike exercise of a nice man trapped by circumstances, enmeshed by a male's wandering desires, but finally resolving itself to the good and decent way of life on a meagre salary, in a small town and with limited boundaries for any great rewards. The photography is good all the way through. The cinematic gymnastic is pegged on an Emersonian reminder, that " it is not observed that librarians are wiser men than others." and. so, Peter Sellers is a librarian's runner in a small town in Wales. He is a delightful, if frustrated family man. He doesn't mind eyeing up the girls on the bus, especially if they're of the buxom variety. Likewise, back in his dusty library, he doesn't mind "studying" the other extremities (the lower) of the ladies in search of books he is eager to help find even if he has to bend down on the floor to do so. One of these alluring ladies (Mai Zetterling) takes to him and invites him (and his wife) to one of those literary parties where instead of best -sellers, people hold cocktail glasses in their hands, as Frau Zetterling holds Peter Sellers in her arms. It isn't long before