Hot on the heels of "The Music Man" Robert Preston plays another con man, this time in a scam peddling off-the-shelf Greek antiquities as the real deal, and an attempt to turn a small Greek-related island into a new Monte Carlo. Very racy for the time.
But he's caught between mobsters whom he scammed in a too-long opening sequence (where the only funny thing is an ice-cream cone) and the local Greek authorities who want to slam him in jail (and they should). At one point the authorities forbid him to leave while the mobster is on his way. What is he to do?
Unfortunately Preston, who is very good, is stuck with Tony Randall giving a listless performance, and the always-overacting Michael Constantine, apparently trying to compensate for Randall's not being there. When I was younger I coined a phrase for Tony's non-performances as being Tony Ran-doll. I suppose he was so good as Felix Unger because better actors had done the role first, showing him how.
And there's Walter Matthau who, for reasons known only to God, has adopted a lisp. It doesn't help his delivery.
Rather than a comedy in the modern, post-AIRPLANE sense, it's really more of a light idyll that once had lovely scenery, but the colors have faded on the unrestored prints available. It has some good notions but it's too timid to fully exploit them. After all, they want Preston as a loveable con man. He's good but he's not even as close to the edge as Harold Hill. He doesn't want to collect his bonus and skip town; no, he wants to marry the girl. But she has doubts.
Overall, a pleasant diversion that must be seen in wide screen, but nothing to build an evening around. You can watch it while ironing or cooking or doing the dishes. Just don't expect any laughs. It's mostly harmless but it's not funny-ha, ha.
But he's caught between mobsters whom he scammed in a too-long opening sequence (where the only funny thing is an ice-cream cone) and the local Greek authorities who want to slam him in jail (and they should). At one point the authorities forbid him to leave while the mobster is on his way. What is he to do?
Unfortunately Preston, who is very good, is stuck with Tony Randall giving a listless performance, and the always-overacting Michael Constantine, apparently trying to compensate for Randall's not being there. When I was younger I coined a phrase for Tony's non-performances as being Tony Ran-doll. I suppose he was so good as Felix Unger because better actors had done the role first, showing him how.
And there's Walter Matthau who, for reasons known only to God, has adopted a lisp. It doesn't help his delivery.
Rather than a comedy in the modern, post-AIRPLANE sense, it's really more of a light idyll that once had lovely scenery, but the colors have faded on the unrestored prints available. It has some good notions but it's too timid to fully exploit them. After all, they want Preston as a loveable con man. He's good but he's not even as close to the edge as Harold Hill. He doesn't want to collect his bonus and skip town; no, he wants to marry the girl. But she has doubts.
Overall, a pleasant diversion that must be seen in wide screen, but nothing to build an evening around. You can watch it while ironing or cooking or doing the dishes. Just don't expect any laughs. It's mostly harmless but it's not funny-ha, ha.