Nothing of earth-shattering significance here, but Tony Curtis is an ace in his role as McCluskey (do you buy him as a chip off the old Blarney Stone? Not I), a workaholic, alimony-dodging, anal-retentive manager of a casino who seems to be frenetically sleepwalking through his life -- until the blase munchkin of a destitute gambler is left to his care. The beautiful Pleshette, who plays convincingly (albeit not as a singer) as a slumming singer and the casino owner's niece, slides conveniently into place as the mother figure of this atypical family unit.
The little girl is mildly funny and already a little world-weary in a manner only a screenwriter might make a child, thanks to her old man saddled by gambling debts and a life bouncing from one casino hotel room to the next. She seems to handle herself a little too expertly no matter what life throws her, but has a tender side that tenderizes Curtis' heart and sets up a few too many close-ups of Curtis smiling sweetly at the wee bairn. Still, she doesn't wisecrack too hard and manages a few good and funny moments on camera.
When the trio lights off to Disneyland - and to California, the epicenter of earthquakes and his mounting legal troubles - this sets up a fun series of scrambles around Uncle Walt's dreamscape to avoid arrest from a bumbling cop who strangely seems to be at the beck-and-call of McCluskey's vindictive ex-wife and her attorney.
The ending is no surprise, but, then again, that's what we all tend to like in light-hearted movies of this type and era. A nice, fun movie to rent and spend a lazy afternoon watching.
