Wooden soap opera from producer Ross Hunter, originally shown in two parts, starring Donna Reed as a Los Angeles housewife who decides to get on with her life after "that tomcatting husband of hers" has died of a heart attack (while picking up his dry cleaning!). The opening 45 minutes of this adaptation of Helen Van Slyke's book clumsily sets the stage for the requisite melodrama and knuckle-biting to follow. Hunter and co-producer Jacques Mapes have boxed themselves into a corner: in trying to be tasteful and 'classy', they have arrived at a glossy scenario passed its prime, one scrubbed clean of all reality (poor Donna can't even date an eligible doctor without announcing to her needling mother that she hasn't been to confession yet--but plans to go very soon!). Although ridiculous from start to finish, the picture does give Donna Reed a third-act opportunity in her career to laugh and cry and be romanced; however, the younger players (including Stefanie Zimbalist and Timothy Hutton as two of Reed's children) are left looking like amateurs due to the hokey dialogue (which extends to everybody in the cast). As Donna's man-chasing gal-pal, Betty White cannot read a line straight; she has been so groomed by television that every inflection of hers is punched up for a laugh. As for Reed's paramours, Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. And John Phillip Law take turns being patient with Donna and her troubled brood (they would have to be saints to want to get in good with this family). Hunter has graciously given work here to many old friends (and their offspring), so one is initially inclined to give "The Best Place to Be" a break. Alas, it's but another weepy nosegay designed for blue-hairs and easy-criers.
Review of The Best Place to Be
