This was adapted from a French stage farce, which in turn was "borrowed" (I'm being generous here) from a Spanish stage play. Somewhere along that lineage it seems to have lost any wit or charm it may ever have had, and we wind up with a truly icky Hollywood movie starring British actors Stewart Granger and David Niven as best friends vying for the attention and affection of Ava Gardner. To admit my bias here: I think Ava Gardner was the best looking human being ever to grace Hollywood celluloid, and as usual, she's luminous here. So there's no problem believing both men are utterly obsessed with her (along with a third male character who shows up toward the end, but whom I won't spoil for you). To ensure that this love triangle comes to a point, they're all stranded on a desert island, Gilligan style. Well, of course they are. In fact, Granger reminds me of the Professor a little bit, but w/o a radio made of coconuts. The real problem with this movie's suspension of disbelief is: what does Gardner see in either man? Is the condition of merely having an English accent supposed to afford somebody magnetism, sophistication, an endearing sense of humor, and sex appeal? 'Cause these guys prove the fallacy of all that. To see why either was a star, go back 5 years to see Granger in Scaramouche & forward 5 years to see Niven in the Guns of Navarone. But ignore this rom-com.
Review of The Little Hut
