Harrison's Reports (1962)

38 HARRISON'S REPORTS March 17, 1962 "State Fair" with Pat Boone, Bobby Darin, Pamela Tiffin, Ann-Margret, Tom Ewell, Alice Faye (20th Century-Fox, April; 118 mins.) VERY GOOD. It's a long, long time between films like this one. How good it is to see and feel, once again, the beauty, the simplicity and warmth that can be woven into something that gladdens the heart, skyrockets the spirits and gives you such a big, big lift to the heights of joyously relaxing movie entertainment. It's all as fresh and clean as the lyrics that lead to the arrival of the Spring of which one of the eleven songs deal. As the scenic grandeur of the locales spread themselves on the screen in the rich tapestry of DeLuxe's color, the tunes lend their melodic beauty that blend story, scenery and song together with a wistfully beautiful smoothness seldom found in films these days. You get this bountiful package in this wondrous adventure. Yes, there are the cynics who may call all this "schmaltz" or corn. But, no matter how you call it, it spells box office on a big scale. It's hometown stuff, humble houses clinging to their mother earth; the brooding, quiet roads that stretch away from it; the generation after generation that follows; the sameness but never the boredom. Nobody wants to go anyplace else. The young ones are as gay as crickets; the older ones, with each new day, as happy as a kid on his first trip down to the fishing pond. The tune "This Isn't Heaven" should have been given the positive verb. There's only one event that means almost life itself to these fine Texas farmers,--the yearly State Fair. That is the big, big red-letter day on the family calendar. Dad (Tom Ewell) has his entry to worry about,--a mammoth pig, Blue Boy. Ma (Alice Faye) is not without her sleepless nights what with her mincemeat as a contestant. Son (Pat Boone) is going in for the car racing event. The only one left without any competitive urge is daughter (Pamela Tiffin) . You almost became part of their sublimely-felt, inward content from the outer glow of their happiness. The beauty of the way the simple story is told acts almost like an alchemy with the way you're drawn into the proceedings. At last, the hour of the Fair is nearly at hand, and die family rolls out to meet up with its excitement, challenges and the kind of fairliving that makes us big-city yokels feel as if it were invented by Texans for Texans only. As a matter of fact, this fair, as depicted in the film, will do more for Texas than its famous ten-gallon hat did for Stetson. -and so, as the song rings out, we're at "Our State Fair." Mama wins the mincemeat prize (with the help of some strong spiking). Papa almost loses the blue ribbon when Blue Boy gets romantically frisky. Boone doesn't mind his loss on the track, by this time he feels he has won the greatest prize of them all, lovely Ann-Margret. He loses her later to his hometown girl. Miss Tiffin has won her man of the world, Bobby Darin, who hasn't journeyed further than the close remotes of his Tv station. There's your story. Simple. Clean. Homespun. Also, there's your salute to the players and a mighty big one for all because of what they did with their roles in the film to make it a winner. No one steals anything from anyone else. In their order of billing, Boone gives a likable, ingratiating performance. He delivers a tune with soothing, smooth harmony. Darin, while he doesn't sing too much, comes through convincingly as the fast-talking Tv announcer. Miss Tiffin, truly as pretty as a picture, continues to grow in professional stature with each succeeding assignment. Ann-Margret is a stunner, if ever there were one. Ewell, -well a seasoned pro will always remain one. It was good to see Alice Faye back in front of the cameras, once again. Wally Cox in the brief scene he was in helped himself to more than a mess of tasty, tangy mincemeat. Filmed in CinemaScope, colored by DeLuxe this should roll up some mighty big grosses. Produced by Charles Brackett; directed by Jose Ferrer; screenplay by Richard Brecn; from a novel by Philip Stong; music by Richard Rodgers; lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. General patronage. "Last Year at Marienbad," with Delphine Seyrig, Giorgio Albertazzi, Sacha Pitoeff (Astor, Current; 93 mins.) FAIR. We can't conceive a Hollywood producer walking in to the bossman of his studio, handing him a film treatment of this "what's-it-all-about" confusion and saying, - "Let's make a picture out of it." Depending on how much respect the big man may have for the producer, he'd undoubtedly proceed to throw him out of the office or send for the little man with the white coat. Only in Europe can something like this become a reality. It's of the dream stuff, that can give way to a downright nightmare if you want to go along with the exposition of this plot-structure, if you can call it that. It's a "think" theme that takes you 'way, 'way out there if you're of a mind that's willing to go along. To be sure, this will have its followers. It may even develop a new type of movie-viewer,--become completely confused, wander aimlessly with the strange characters through their plot-structural labyrinths of so-called artistic abstractions and wind up singing its praises. Such goings-on, of course, must be reserved for the art theatre. To say that something is different,-which this sure is,-is not to say that it is of the stuff that brings its element of movie entertainment. We don't aim to be facetious in going off on this tack of criticism. We're just confused. The dialogue (narration) is in French. There are English subtitles. There is a brooding poetic-like beauty to the black-and-white photography. There is the woman (Delphine Seyrig) who is pursued by a stranger (Giorgio Albertazzi). He insists that they met before, a year ago. There is this woman's husband (Sacha Pitoeff). The stranger's mission is to take this very desirable woman away. He unfolds fantastic stories of what was between them, in the past, and slowly she begins to believe him. She becomes frightened of it all and comes to her husband for help. But, he's occupied in the gambling casino. This is a victory for the stranger whose persuasive powers has her mezmerized, almost. He will now possess her. The husband doesn't seem to mind, he is doing well at the card-tables. To be sure, the plot is not as simple as all that. Interwoven are philosophical meandering, dream-drenched flashbacks, hypnotic illusions, symbolism and other deep-thought