Harrison's Reports (1962)

June 9, 1962 HARRISON'S REPORTS 87 human machinery that make these institutions perform their endless tasks concerned with the greatest dedication of them all, « the saving of life. But, there is death too. " and, that part of the story plays itself out with a cold'blooded honesty that strips away the tears and heartbreak and anguish that may be the only things left when an operation fails to come through; a series of treatments don't respond. There is one romance-smitten intern (Cliff Robertson) who ruins his career because he wants to help a pregnant girl he has fallen in love with (Suzy Parker) . It is his life-long friend (James MacArthur) who reveals Robertson's pilfering of the highly valuable pills. There is Michael Callan struggling to go places in psychosomatic medicine. He falls in love with a much older women (nurse Katherine Bard) . There are interns with their sexual affairs on the outside, most of them never thinking of marriage. There is Nick Adams (from Brooklyn) who believes in that great god, " money. To him, nothing else matters until he meets, and falls in love with an Eurasian girl. Incurably ill, she soon dies. Hoping to find his medical fortune in the big metropolis, he finds himself heading for the homeland of his dead love to help suffering mankind. These are some of the delicate, rough; tender, harsh; dream-drenched, starkly real skeins that make up the pattern of this finely woven film. It is well told. It swings from sobriety to gaiety; from the coldly felt Hippocratican, to the loosely-knit whackian; from interns in the service of their helpless charges to their teachers and over-seers who rule over them, while in training, with an iron hand. There is a re' freshing, exhilerating, almost inspiring tone to it. There is superb acting all the way down the line. and, to repeat, there is a different kind of entertain' ment residue you get out of a film like this. We found it a most satisfying piece of work. Somehow, though it be of fictional concept, it winds up having a rather strong impact on your emotions. It even trickles its way into your heart and leaves its warmish feeling. It is tender, sympathetic and gladsomely acceptable as a worthy entry on the release schedule that should beget for itself a handsome return at the box office. Photography, excellent. Produced by Robert Cohn; directed by David Swift; screenplay by Walter Newman and Swift based on the novel by Richard Frede. General patronage. "What a Carve Up!" with Donald Pleasence, Dennis Price, Shirley Eaton, Kenneth Connor, Sidney James (Embassy, June; 87 mins.) POOR. Our British brethren are rather busy, to say the least, in turning out their cinemas varying from their smoothly perfected manner of straight mystery to allegedly hilarious comedy. In this where they try to marry the one to the other (comedymys' tery) the quilting-bee plays itself like a shotgun wedding. They've divorced the proceedings from any relationship to enjoyable entertainment with the result that you can't make heads or tails out of this tired session of old crumpets and stale tea. To compound the onslaught on your patience, the banal dia' logue is delivered in that broad "A" British manner and you're really lost! The producers of this one would like us to know that what they really wanted to come out with, when it was all over and done with, was a real "what, ho!" spoof de luxe of ghosts, ghouls, gore and what have you. None of the starred people are known to us. To be sure, this may bring its meas' ure of response over there. Here, it's even more boring than cricket without mallets. Photography, fair. Kenneth Connor a proof-reader of horror stories and sex novels is told to take a trip out to the country where his uncle's will will be read. Sidney James, a bookie, accompanies his little friend. Within the portals of the mystery-shrouded house things are gc ing on, " killings, strange disappearances, the lovely nurse of the deceased willing to spend the frightful night in the same room with the shivering Connor. The wild night blanketed with mystery, murder and carnage finally comes to an end. The dead even comes back to life. The young proof 'reader wants to show his 100%'proof feelings for the blonde lady. She wants to show her boy friend, who makes a surprising appearance, proof of her love, by going off with him and thus the cinema ends with more loose ends than a barber school student after his first free haircut. Produced by Robert S. Baker and Monty Berman; directed by Pat Jackson; screenplay by Ray Cooney and Tony Hilton from Frank King's novel, "The Ghoul." Adults. "The Story of the Count of Monte Cristo" with Louis Jourdan, Yvonne Furneaux (Warner Bros., June; 132 mins.) FAIR. This Alexandre Dumas tale of vengeance, deathly hatreds and dospotism is the kind of classical story'telling that will be done over and over again, especially by the French film makers. This newest version is rigged up in costly style. Whatever its appeal in its native country, here the movie-goers are acquainted only with Louis Jourdan. He's Dumas' Dantes, of course, a weak one, lacking the fire of the image the printed word conjures up; hardly a man who has suffered his pain and wrongdoing who begets your sympathy. Even in ragged, tattered, torn and bearded make-up M. Jourdan looks so right and proper that when he's a free man again, there isn't too much of a laundering job to be done to make him the properly attired dandy doing the speckless things with such studied propriety. The acting throughout is of the costumed-picture era where the elegances of the men and the haughty aloofness of the women find it a little flat in its respectivity. It is stiff-boomed melodrama, nose-tilted class-distinctiveness and shows weakness of the strong, philosophical passages (out of the Dumas novel) delivered with little feel for their basic meanings. To repeat, - the only one who comes through somewhat impressively is Jourdan, and there too, is room for a lot of reservations. It is to be expected, what with the French-made vehicle benefiting by some of the transcendently beautiful scenery within easy reach of the cameras, the Dyaliscope process and the Technicolor tints would take full advantage of the lushness of the layout. It is 1814 with Napolean in exile. Edmond Dantes (Louis Jourdan) is home from the seas. He celebrates his engagement to Yvonne Furneaux. The joys soon (Continued on Following Page)