I long to see the English star, Jessie Matthews, in one of the musicals she made during the thirties. The director of the movie version of A.J. Cronin's "The Green Years"--Victor Saville--had the good fortune to direct her quite a few of them. I hear they were bright and sparkling and urbane, and a joy to watch. I wish I could say the same about "The Green Years" which is unduly shadowy. It chronicles the life of a Scottish boy (the pouty-lipped, fluffy-haired Dean Stockwell) who must endure maybe the most emotionally-pinched father in the history of movies (Hume Cronyn). He survives much of the alienation of affection in his childhood with the help of his large-spirited uncle (Charles Coburn) who always has the good sense to give the boy a helping hand with anything he wanted. He turns into Tom Drake (He was "The Boy Next Door" in "Meet Me in St. Louis.") who is a good physical match to Cronyn. He dreams of a vocation in the sciences, and it's the uncle that comes to his aid again. Coburn is a blessing here, because the only moments in the movie that do not owe their life to him are a stiff musical number with Beverly Tyler at the heart of it that is like a placard proclaiming Catholic purity and righteousness, and an outdoor scene with the usual assortment of kilts, tam-o-shanters, sporrans, and burly log-tossers. It's about then that you might think about heading for the nearest exit. To make your next bag-piping lesson, I'd think.
Is the scenarist the same Robert Ardrey who wrote "The Territorial Imperative?" I'm not sure, but it might explain the father's standoffishness and the barrel-chested log-tossers.
Is the scenarist the same Robert Ardrey who wrote "The Territorial Imperative?" I'm not sure, but it might explain the father's standoffishness and the barrel-chested log-tossers.