The In-Laws is definitely not a movie for anyone keen on particulars. Like most of Arthur Hiller's work, it is, at best, a cheerful muddle, and it gets off to a mucky start. A Federal security truck is robbed, with the theft engineered by Peter Falk. But hold on a sec. The truck is resplendent with money, and the thieves don't even want it. They're after something else. This is the first of a few new creases.
It's dinnertime, and Falk and Arkin are meet for the first time. Arkin's daughter is to be married just a day or two later to the mastermind's son, though much will transpire between now and then. Falk is somewhat vague about his work. But he talks about Guatemala, tells some stories about giant tse-tse flies. The next day, he's more frank: he mentions he's with the CIA. That probably accounts for the autographed picture of JFK in his office, a picture that involves something he did in Cuba.
Very soon, Falk has Arkin mixed up in a Federal crime and aboard a small plane with a two-man Chinese crew. Soon they're in a Carribbean hotel, with a lobby beset with live chickens. Then they're visiting a friend of Falk's, a crazy General, whose art collection Arkin is softly warned to appreciate. Further script elements incorporate stolen US treasury mint, gangland thugs, and a South American dictatorship and its unhinged leader who channels Mr. Garrison qualities and is played by the too hilarious Richard Libertini.
Andrew Bergman has written a comedy script that accelerates gradually and crisply, and endows its leads with great clear-cut farce, so that even if the material falters, the manic on-screen presence of able comic actors will be all we could ask of it. For instance, Arkin is one of the funniest men in the movies, and most of his most side-splitting moments come from the pure spontaneity of his reactions to what happens to him, which is not something a script could provide. Only an actor. Under Hiller's simplistic and satisfactory direction, everything keeps going swiftly enough to stump audience misgivings about plotting, aggravatingly inconsistent character development and a briskly condensed time frame.
It's dinnertime, and Falk and Arkin are meet for the first time. Arkin's daughter is to be married just a day or two later to the mastermind's son, though much will transpire between now and then. Falk is somewhat vague about his work. But he talks about Guatemala, tells some stories about giant tse-tse flies. The next day, he's more frank: he mentions he's with the CIA. That probably accounts for the autographed picture of JFK in his office, a picture that involves something he did in Cuba.
Very soon, Falk has Arkin mixed up in a Federal crime and aboard a small plane with a two-man Chinese crew. Soon they're in a Carribbean hotel, with a lobby beset with live chickens. Then they're visiting a friend of Falk's, a crazy General, whose art collection Arkin is softly warned to appreciate. Further script elements incorporate stolen US treasury mint, gangland thugs, and a South American dictatorship and its unhinged leader who channels Mr. Garrison qualities and is played by the too hilarious Richard Libertini.
Andrew Bergman has written a comedy script that accelerates gradually and crisply, and endows its leads with great clear-cut farce, so that even if the material falters, the manic on-screen presence of able comic actors will be all we could ask of it. For instance, Arkin is one of the funniest men in the movies, and most of his most side-splitting moments come from the pure spontaneity of his reactions to what happens to him, which is not something a script could provide. Only an actor. Under Hiller's simplistic and satisfactory direction, everything keeps going swiftly enough to stump audience misgivings about plotting, aggravatingly inconsistent character development and a briskly condensed time frame.