Screwball comedies were a Hollywood staple in the 30s, but they were running on fumes in the 40s. I always thought of Arsenic and Old Lace as the obnoxious, ham-filled death rattle in 1944.
By the time Hollywood got around to filming Dear Ruth a few years later, screwball comedy was deader than HIrohito. Worse, William Holden was the lead and he just can't pull it off. This being pre-Sunset Boulevard, Holden is still Callow Bill or, as Holden himself liked to say about these roles, "Smilin' Jim."
Oh, he's handsome and pleasant, but Holden lacks the rubber physicality of screwball masters. He has no hope of keeping up with the antics and reaction shots full of facial tics that Edward Arnold and Mary Philips delivered by the barrel.
Worse yet, his character is severely under-written. We are to believe - based on the scene in the bedroom where Joan Caulfield and her parents are reading his letters - that he's a sensitive, literate soldier. Yet we see none of that in real life. He's little more than a h9rny G. I. on a two-day leave. His hands are busier than Glenn Gould performing The Goldberg Variations. Frankly, his grabbiness started to offend me and I found it beyond belief that Caulfield's character would fall for it.
Therefore, the result is partly a stale screwball comedy with the wrong lead, partly a 50s romantic comedy that lacks the conviction in its writing, and partly a 70s sitcom that teeters for 90 minutes on the premise of a 30-minute Three's Company episode.
By the time Holden's sister show up, played by Virginia Welles - vavoom! - the film has lost its way. Kevin O'Morrison's entrance is evidence they were making up the whole thing as they shot it.
On the plus side, Holden fared much better in the final reel, where the big mistake is revealed. He successfully conveys his disappointment and humiliation. Right there you can see he was destined for bigger things as an actor.
''He's certainly in favor of large families" And that, right there, is sharp writing.
By the time Hollywood got around to filming Dear Ruth a few years later, screwball comedy was deader than HIrohito. Worse, William Holden was the lead and he just can't pull it off. This being pre-Sunset Boulevard, Holden is still Callow Bill or, as Holden himself liked to say about these roles, "Smilin' Jim."
Oh, he's handsome and pleasant, but Holden lacks the rubber physicality of screwball masters. He has no hope of keeping up with the antics and reaction shots full of facial tics that Edward Arnold and Mary Philips delivered by the barrel.
Worse yet, his character is severely under-written. We are to believe - based on the scene in the bedroom where Joan Caulfield and her parents are reading his letters - that he's a sensitive, literate soldier. Yet we see none of that in real life. He's little more than a h9rny G. I. on a two-day leave. His hands are busier than Glenn Gould performing The Goldberg Variations. Frankly, his grabbiness started to offend me and I found it beyond belief that Caulfield's character would fall for it.
Therefore, the result is partly a stale screwball comedy with the wrong lead, partly a 50s romantic comedy that lacks the conviction in its writing, and partly a 70s sitcom that teeters for 90 minutes on the premise of a 30-minute Three's Company episode.
By the time Holden's sister show up, played by Virginia Welles - vavoom! - the film has lost its way. Kevin O'Morrison's entrance is evidence they were making up the whole thing as they shot it.
On the plus side, Holden fared much better in the final reel, where the big mistake is revealed. He successfully conveys his disappointment and humiliation. Right there you can see he was destined for bigger things as an actor.
''He's certainly in favor of large families" And that, right there, is sharp writing.