Spencer Tracy and Joan Bennett reprise their roles from "Father of the Bride" as an upper-middle-class couple whose daughter, Elizabeth Taylor, marries Don Taylor, son of a family of equal social station. In "Father of the Bride," Tracy guided us through his view of the marriage and it was hilarious. Here, in the sequel, Taylor has a baby and although it's not so consistently funny, it's amusing and cute, with much of the humor conveyed by Tracy's wry commentary. (The newly born child "looks as old as Methuselah.") It's the kind of story that might later have been made into a two-part situation comedy special on television. Everything is neat and clean, including the dialog. The child inspires many "awwwww" moments.
"Father of the Bride," the model, is the sort of movie that is the result of some writers sitting down and brainstorming a funny event, starting from scratch. Every incident flowed smoothly along, each new situation adumbrating later incidents. Familiar scenes are reenacted and given a comic frame. For instance, after the couple are engaged to be married, there must be a fierce argument over nothing, that brings Liz Taylor back home crying that the wedding is off.
And "Father of the Bride" had the advantage of being built around a series of sometimes extraordinarily funny ceremonial acts -- the choice of swain, the first meeting of the in-laws, the bridal shower, the practice for the wedding itself, the arrangements for the reception afterward -- one horrifying ritual relentlessly following another.
"Father's Little Dividend" doesn't have that strict structure. The birth of a child is preceded by few rituals so there's less comic potential in the story. There's the announcement of the pregnancy, the birth itself, and taking the baby for strolls later. The things don't hang together well, so the plot has a cobbled-together feel. (There is some kind of ante-birth party but it's thrown away.) It's as if the writers had been given an assignment rather than a gift from Thalia.
If "Father's Little Dividend" isn't as funny as "Father of the Bride", it's not the fault of the performers or the director, all of whom are carried over from the original. By this point in his career, Spencer Tracy had the role of reluctant marginal participant in a rite of passage down pat. He could have done it in his sleep -- and done it superbly. (Cary Grant was equally good as the tormented central figure rather than the observer.) Elizabeth Taylor's beauty would stun a rhinoceros. My God, she's slender, pale, has fluffy hair and striking eyebrows the color of anthracite.
I don't want to come down too hard on this film but compared to the original it just doesn't clear the bar. It seems manipulative and stagy. In the original, Liz Taylor storms out of a family discussion and the bewildered Tracy asks, "Well, what's the matter with her?" The naive teenager brother, Russ Tamblyn, remarks, "She's nervous. All women are nervous." That line, a res gestae that's funny as hell, just pops out of Tamblyn, a pimply kid who neither knows nor cares very much about what's going on. There's nothing so spontaneous here.
Every ounce of the effort that went into writing this seems to show. The baby occasions too many "cute" moments. And the nonsensical argument, repeated from the original, is lingered over for far too long, clumsily done and not at all funny.
Or -- I don't know. I guess that IS a pretty harsh statement. Maybe it's just that I don't like babies. They're not only wrinkled and red faced, they're uncanny. I think they know a lot more than they're letting on. Some kind of witchy quality about them. Perhaps a medical model is apt. Everybody is born with a disease, childhoodosis, causing them to appear small, wizened, stupid, and organized around reflexes. As they mature, the disease spontaneously remits and they grow into sensible, treacherous adults.
"Father of the Bride," the model, is the sort of movie that is the result of some writers sitting down and brainstorming a funny event, starting from scratch. Every incident flowed smoothly along, each new situation adumbrating later incidents. Familiar scenes are reenacted and given a comic frame. For instance, after the couple are engaged to be married, there must be a fierce argument over nothing, that brings Liz Taylor back home crying that the wedding is off.
And "Father of the Bride" had the advantage of being built around a series of sometimes extraordinarily funny ceremonial acts -- the choice of swain, the first meeting of the in-laws, the bridal shower, the practice for the wedding itself, the arrangements for the reception afterward -- one horrifying ritual relentlessly following another.
"Father's Little Dividend" doesn't have that strict structure. The birth of a child is preceded by few rituals so there's less comic potential in the story. There's the announcement of the pregnancy, the birth itself, and taking the baby for strolls later. The things don't hang together well, so the plot has a cobbled-together feel. (There is some kind of ante-birth party but it's thrown away.) It's as if the writers had been given an assignment rather than a gift from Thalia.
If "Father's Little Dividend" isn't as funny as "Father of the Bride", it's not the fault of the performers or the director, all of whom are carried over from the original. By this point in his career, Spencer Tracy had the role of reluctant marginal participant in a rite of passage down pat. He could have done it in his sleep -- and done it superbly. (Cary Grant was equally good as the tormented central figure rather than the observer.) Elizabeth Taylor's beauty would stun a rhinoceros. My God, she's slender, pale, has fluffy hair and striking eyebrows the color of anthracite.
I don't want to come down too hard on this film but compared to the original it just doesn't clear the bar. It seems manipulative and stagy. In the original, Liz Taylor storms out of a family discussion and the bewildered Tracy asks, "Well, what's the matter with her?" The naive teenager brother, Russ Tamblyn, remarks, "She's nervous. All women are nervous." That line, a res gestae that's funny as hell, just pops out of Tamblyn, a pimply kid who neither knows nor cares very much about what's going on. There's nothing so spontaneous here.
Every ounce of the effort that went into writing this seems to show. The baby occasions too many "cute" moments. And the nonsensical argument, repeated from the original, is lingered over for far too long, clumsily done and not at all funny.
Or -- I don't know. I guess that IS a pretty harsh statement. Maybe it's just that I don't like babies. They're not only wrinkled and red faced, they're uncanny. I think they know a lot more than they're letting on. Some kind of witchy quality about them. Perhaps a medical model is apt. Everybody is born with a disease, childhoodosis, causing them to appear small, wizened, stupid, and organized around reflexes. As they mature, the disease spontaneously remits and they grow into sensible, treacherous adults.