First, to deal with the reputed greatness of Shirley Booth's performance. While acknowledging that this is a fine performance, subtle and expressive, Ms. Booth registering an incredible array of nuances, it should also be pointed out that she portrays the wife as a very annoying character, somewhat difficult for the audience to fully sympathize with. Of course, it is the scriptwriter who has her apologizing in every direction, ceaselessly trying to placate her husband, but Ms. Booth employs a whiny voice that diminishes the character and alienates the audience. It reminded me very much of the Shelley Winters whine, which sounds to me like fingernails scratching of a blackboard.
Burt Lancaster is badly miscast as her husband. Almost the first time he walks in front of the camera, striding across the living room, his athleticism looks completely out of place. A vigorous, handsome, young-looking man like him, married to such a frumpy wife? This stretches credibility to the breaking point. The mismatch is especially highlighted in the closing scene, where it is not possible to believe that he cannot live without her, in fact, that he can't find a better mate than her (he never wanted to marry her in the first place).
The script is very good but crashes and burns in the closing scenes, which seem so easy, so Hollywood. He goes on a terrible binge and comes close to murdering his wife, telling her terrible, cruel truths, but after a little time to dry out, he's good as new, says that he never meant what he said, and begs her never to leave him. It has all the marks of a Hollywood happy ending. Why are we to believe he won't go on another binge, perhaps killing her the next time? Why are we to believe that his resentments against his wife aren't still smouldering in his heart, waiting for another occasion to erupt? In fact, we can't believe any of this, and the ending seems easy and implausible.
It's a very good movie, well worth watching, but I wish we could reserve our highest praise, our unconditional praise for movies that are better than this.
Burt Lancaster is badly miscast as her husband. Almost the first time he walks in front of the camera, striding across the living room, his athleticism looks completely out of place. A vigorous, handsome, young-looking man like him, married to such a frumpy wife? This stretches credibility to the breaking point. The mismatch is especially highlighted in the closing scene, where it is not possible to believe that he cannot live without her, in fact, that he can't find a better mate than her (he never wanted to marry her in the first place).
The script is very good but crashes and burns in the closing scenes, which seem so easy, so Hollywood. He goes on a terrible binge and comes close to murdering his wife, telling her terrible, cruel truths, but after a little time to dry out, he's good as new, says that he never meant what he said, and begs her never to leave him. It has all the marks of a Hollywood happy ending. Why are we to believe he won't go on another binge, perhaps killing her the next time? Why are we to believe that his resentments against his wife aren't still smouldering in his heart, waiting for another occasion to erupt? In fact, we can't believe any of this, and the ending seems easy and implausible.
It's a very good movie, well worth watching, but I wish we could reserve our highest praise, our unconditional praise for movies that are better than this.