It takes a lot of talented people to come up with a comedy so misguided as this. Their intentions must have been honorable, and everyone fights frantically to keep the goods from sinking, but it's a loss, one of those drawing-room disasters which might have looked good on the page but not stretched across the widescreen. David Niven plays a psychoanalyst bored with his patients and confused over his fiancée's involvement with two of his clients. The actors drink and slur their words...why? Is it funnier to hear drunken wisecracks? Tony Randall as a neurotic and Barbara Rush as the prospective bride get the worst of it: his badgering ninnyisms and her high-pitched hysteria are not funny for any era. Based on a play, and obviously so, with tatty furnishings and dull, flat sets. A scene early on, with Rush in a taxi, is the high-point...we actually get outdoors and away from the whining.
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