As Long as They're Happy

A far cry from the films that its director would make in the years immediately after this entry, it is however still okay stuff to watch, with some really amusing scenes in the mix. There are some sweeping bits of photography too, the type typical of J. Lee Thompson's later films, but generally the technical side here is ordinary, and the musical numbers come off as rather flat. The story is overly silly, with little in the way of humour and charm, and the plot does not stretch very well to the one and a half hour length. It is really not too irritating to view though - it is just quite ordinary of its type - and fans of Carry On may be interested to give it a go, with supporting roles for Charles Hawtrey, Joan Sims and Hattie Jacques. Hawtrey's "I dig him!" is particularly amusing to watch.

With this film, the British have forfeited the right to EVER criticize American culture. Where to begin,Where to begin...the plot is indecipherable. One suspects that the script was dropped before binding and a windstorm scattered the unnumbered pages. The result is a surreal series of vignettes that float detachedly with no connection to each other.

The Johnny Ray send-ups are amusing, particularly Buchanan's version of "Cry". Having seen several Buchanan early films, including a takeoff of Twain's "Connecticut Yankee...", I know that he was capable of much better, but the film is/was impossible.

Another aspect deserving of mention is the set design. Could English homes and interiors have really been so ugly and banal? The wallpaper! The furnishings! Oh, the humanity! There is the payoff of "Miss Marple" (Hickson) as a barmaid, and Diana Dors breasts deserve an Oscar for best supporting something or other.Sometimes a film can be so bad that one must watch it to the end, as one would slow down for a car crash. If there's an award for FilmKitsch, we have a winner.

Having always loved his knockout performance as the egoticstical producer in "The Band Wagon" and being familiar with his recordings I watched this latterday Jack Buchanan movie with great expectation. A parody of the Johnny Ray type celebrity it's based on a long running stage show that also starred Buchanan. The idea itself isn't bad and with the right handling it could've been a British equivelent of "The Girl Can't Help it" (it even features Britain's own blond bombshell - Diana Dors, in a cameo) But the satire is limp, and J Lee Thompson is far more at home in gritty thrillers than froth like this. What we end up with is a silly (in the annoying sense) witless piece typical of the mediocre stuff Rank was churning out in the 50's.

The film is dominated by constant mugging and bad performances (the teeth grindingly unfunny psychiatrist rates special mention) clumsy slapstick (Joan Sims repeatedly swooning whenever she sees the singer, Buchanan falling into a fish pool, or falling onto a trampoline, or repeatedly getting his hat pressed down over his eyes etc.) This might sound mildly amusing and maybe it was back in the 50's but now the whole thing is so predictable and laboured, with most gags being repeated ad nauseum that the only reaction is to groan. Furthermore it's a musical of sorts and our (minimal) enjoyment is dampened by some tedious songs. Of these only "Cry" hit's the mark being exactly the type of song Johnny Ray would've sung and this provides the sole amusing scene in the film when a slightly drunk Buchanan decides to have a crack. Apparently this was a real show stopper on stage. Here it's a brief chance for Buchanan to shine and he milks it for all it's worth.

By the last 5 minutes I was longing to fast forward this particular turkey when out of the blue the film gave us a few minutes of vintage Jack, in a brief song and dance number after all the plot points were been resolved.

If the whole movie had been like this few minutes of good humoured hoofing from a guy who knew how, then it would've been a very pleasant experience indeed. Unfortunately it isn't and although everyone tries hard (too hard) it's a laboured piece and unworthy of it's star.

This film is about an American singer named Bobby Denver, who is known as the "Crying Crooner" (a la Johnnie Ray), who stays with a stockbroker's family by mistake when he comes to England. The stockbroker, played by Jack Buchanan, has three very pretty daughters with the youngest Gwen (played by Janette Scott) madly in love with him so much she wants to marry him. Eventually, the stodgy stockbroker deals with his wife and daughter as well as his maid Linda (played by Joan Sims, who keeps fainting every time Bobby sings) being so infatuated. This is a comedy with music, and it also has the sexy Diana Dors in it, as well as a cameo by Norman Wisdom. Yes, its not brilliant or even laugh out loud funny, but all these years later it does have some charm. Recommended for lovers of British comedy at the time, it has enough fun moments to recommend, if not greatly praise.

Really, almost a warmup to the Strouse-Adams stage musical of five years later, in that it's about a teen-idol singer (a crooner here, rock and roll being just on the horizon) who invades an upper-middle-class suburban home, antagonizes the paterfamilias, enthralls his impressionable teenage daughter, and generally charms the women of the neighborhood. As the dad, Jack Buchanan mainly purses his lips and inserts nasal insults into the proceedings; he's nowhere near as broad as Paul Lynde, nor as funny. (But then, his lines are unusually feeble.) And he only gets one brief dance, near the end, and a smattering of vocals. David Hurst, as a cartoonish German shrink studying the effects of a teen heartthrob on the bourgeoisie, is just unforgivably bad. It's not all his fault: J. Lee Thompson, as he did years later with "What a Way to Go!", overemphasizes everything and hammers the comedy into the ground. Jerry Wayne, as the Conrad Birdie of the piece, sings some Johnnie Ray-type ballads with the right sobbing style. And Jeannie Carson, as another of Buchanan's girls, is the best thing in the picture, pretty and spirited and talented, even in an overproduced musical sequence that hasn't much to do with anything. There's also Diana Dors, the camera lingering lovingly on her cleavage, as a good-time party girl. None of it makes sense, the subplots are unrelated to each other, and there's no payoff, but as a chronicle of how the British tried to adopt American pop-culture customs even as they were satirizing them, it's kind of fascinating.