MISTER ROBERTS (1955) * Films sprung from Broadway hits almost always have either terrible dance routines or a lot of good lines. The good news is that this doesn't have any dance routines. The bad news is that it's the aesthetic equivalent of Sad Sack (without the humour) splayed across a preposterously sentimental background of Goodbye Mr. Chips (without the class or pathos). The music doesn't really go along with it, but nothing would. There are elements of realism: having lived on a navy base for nearly three years I'll be happy to testify that commanding officers are almost invariably as stupid as James Cagney's portrayal. The problem is, of course, that thoughts or interesting behavior retard their progress through the ranks. Unfortunately Cagney's performance isn't convincing anyway, in no small part due to his utterances. He makes fun of college boys, but appears to be trying for a Boston brahmin accent. It ain't townie anyway, though it does regularly slip into things including Iowa farm hand, and Missouri mechanic without sleep. The depiction of liberty strikes me as about right. When I lived in Guantanamo Bay the USS Forrestal pulled in and left the enlisted mens' club a burnt-out, smoking, roofless, wreck. I don't think there was a person on base who wasn't impressed. It's almost incomprehensible that a film this dull could be achieved with Henry Fonda, Jack Lemmon and William Powell on camera so much. They should have just started ad libbing about what they did the previous night, or their favorite radio commercials, or effective flea and tick shampoos, or anything but this.
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