Jerry Ryan is wandering aimlessly around New York, having given up his law career in Nebraska when his wife asked for a divorce. He meets up with Gittel Mosca, an impoverished dancer from ... See full summary »
Jerry Ryan is wandering aimlessly around New York, having given up his law career in Nebraska when his wife asked for a divorce. He meets up with Gittel Mosca, an impoverished dancer from Greenwich Village, and the two try to straighten out their lives together. Written by
The original Broadway production of "Two for the Seesaw" by William Gibson opened at the Booth Theater in New York on January 16, 1958, ran for 750 performances and was nominated for the 1958 Tony Award for the Best Play. See more »
During one of first phone conversations between Gittel and Jerry, albums in her record rack don't come close to matching from shot to shot. See more »
Gittel 'Mosca' Moscawitz:
Things aren't even-Steven with us, Jerry. You do all the giving. What I have to give, you don't want. And what I want, you can't give. Doesn't matter if I learn shorthand or to play a bugle standing on my head. If you don't love me, you don't love me. And time isn't gonna make one lousy bit of difference.
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The rusty mechanisms (and theatricality) of the plot is saved by the leads...
The frustrating loop-de-loops of an uncertain love relationship between a Greenwich Village kook-dancer and a Midwestern suit-and-tie lawyer on the verge of divorcing his wife of 12 years. Though highly entertaining, this light-drama obviously derives from a play, as the lines of dialogue have not been reworked for the screen. It gets awfully pedantic at times; for instance, we know the characters' names, they know their names, so why do they keep saying to each other, "Jerry?", "Yes, Gittel?" "I'm sorry, Jerry." "I know, Gittel." The performances by Shirley MacLaine and Robert Mitchum are excellent (we like them even before their self-doubting, insecure characters take shape), but this stage-vehicle hasn't been turned into a star-vehicle. The leads banter back and forth in a curiously under-populated vacuum, however their increasingly tense conversations contain the startling ring of truth. Ted McCord's black-and-white cinematography provides a terrific compensation for the film's minor weaknesses; André Previn's "Apartment"-like score is rapturous as well. *** from ****
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