Le débrouillard

Faintly ridiculous piece of nostalgic film-flam concerning newlywed couple in early 1900s Tucson; he's the vice-president of the bank and she's the jovial sort of housewife who prides herself on knowing her husband better than he knows himself. Due to the husband's investments and charity, the twosome are forced to take in boarders immediately following their wedding and, as the years progress, their household turns into the neighborhood room-and-board, complete with children of their own. Nothing more than a contract picture for Fox, cheaply-made and cheaply-felt. Valentine Davies and director George Seaton based their script on both Rosemary Taylor's book and the later play by Julius J. and Philip Epstein, which some critics have since compared to the 1970s television series "The Waltons". But even "The Waltons" had a bit of vinegar underneath its homespun scenario; here, beaming wife Celeste Holm plays mommy to her ne'er-do-well hubby, her children, her boarders...she even plays matchmaker for her high-strung daughter and the bashful kid upstairs who can't dance. Natalie Wood appears briefly as one of the tykes, and William Frawley adds some zip as a potential investor in a copper mine, but otherwise this rosy-hued hokum fails to stay the course. *1/2 from ****

When the film begins, Emily (Celeste Holm) is visiting with a lawyer, as she wants a divorce from her husband of 20 years. What follows is a long account of their marriage...and why Emily is fed up and finally has had enough. It seems that although Jim (Dan Daily) has a good job as the vice president of the bank, he's always throwing away their money on various get rich quick schemes. None of them ever work out and to make ends meet, Emily turns their home into a boarding house. This makes up the first 10-15 minutes of the story...the rests are about a variety of things, but mostly Jim's schemes. The final one is the last straw, as at this point, they are about to lose pretty much everything because of Jim's stupidity.

On one hand, it's an enjoyable film because the various side stories about the boarders are fun and interesting. On the other, it's not fun watching a louse like Jim...and frustrating. He is a horrible man and it's hard to enjoy the rest of the film because of this. I really think, in hindsight, it would have been better had they softened Jim a bit. As it is, it's a very mixed bag...and the film's message that women should put up with all this...well it's a lousy message. I sure hope folks who watched the film didn't fall for this!

Chicken Every Sunday plays like a combination of It's A Wonderful Life and Papa's Delicate Condition. Based on the memoirs of Rosemary Taylor growing up in Tucson, Arizona at the turn of the last century, it tells the story of her parents played by Dan Dailey and Celeste Holm and how this loving family nearly came apart.

The narrative is in flashback as Celeste Holm is relating to an attorney why she wants after so many years of marriage to Dan Dailey with three children to show for it, a divorce. Celeste has put up with quite a lot and in fact is the one who is really keeping the family together.

Dailey is a product of his time, a firm believer in the idea with the right scheme promoting the right product, he can get himself a permanent address on easy street. He resents the fact that Celeste Holm has decided to go into a little business of her own, a boardinghouse. But that boardinghouse and the income from it has kept the family from being on the street.

It looked to me like Chicken Every Sunday might have been thought of as a musical when first on the drawing boards at 20th Century Fox. It certainly was a waste not have musical performers like Dailey and Holm do at least one number together for posterity. Watching the film you can practically drop in the where the numbers should be.

20th Century Fox gave Holm and Dailey a good supporting cast with such pleasure to watch professionals like William Frawley, Alan Young, Porter Hall, Katherine Emery and Whit Bissell as some of the various people in their lives. The best two without a doubt are Veda Ann Borg who is Frawley's estranged wife and Connie Gilchrist as her mother. Gilchrist's drunk act is the hit of the film.

Chicken Every Sunday is a pleasant piece of diversion from some musical performers in non-musical roles.

It's interesting to see the very mixed reception this 20th Century Fox Americana receives among reviewers. It's very typical of the studio's output around that time--nostalgic, suffused with old, cheap songs, sentimental, and you're never in much doubt as to whether Celeste Holm and Dan Dailey will end up together. They're a loving married couple in turn-of-the-century Tucson, and his frequent get-rich-quick schemes usually end in ruin, but he's popular with the townsfolk. And why wouldn't he be, with Dailey using every ounce of his underrated charm, reveling in private jokes and convincingly playing an errant but very loving husband. Holm rather overdoes her character's quirk of lapsing into Southern accent when asked to charm somebody (she's from an old Dixie family of means), but she completes Dailey as a couple in a way few screen couples do. Unlike some other reviewers, I found this marriage very persuasive and even touching, and though it's not a sterling supporting cast, there are a couple of standouts--Connie Gilchrist, always good for a laugh, is a hoot as a drunken mother-in-law to William Frawley. George Seaton and Valentine Davies intended this as a sort of follow-up to "Miracle on 34th Street," a love story for John Payne and Maureen O'Hara, but both were busy (Natalie Wood wasn't, and has a couple of scenes of cute). It wraps up quickly and not altogether credibly, but emotionally, it's very satisfying.

Celeste Holm is superb as the center of this film, which is truly sky-high praise for her skills, because the character she plays deserves a sound kick in the pants. She is the wife of an ambitious and relentlessly self-indulgent blow-hard (perfectly cast Dan Dailey) who would be homeless if it were not for her frugality, industry-- and vanity.

Oh, she may not seem vain on the surface, but what other reason could there be for her to stand by, year after year, as her husband fails at get-rich-quick schemes, forcing her to take in boarders to pay the mortgage and support the family. Every time he schemes, she points out the practical problems, only to succumb when he gives her a compliment. Yes, singular. One. One compliment is enough to make her cave every time.

Marriages aren't like that. Flattery does not overcome a daily struggle to make ends meet-certainly not among Western settlers, which these characters purport to be. Which is another problem with this minimally filmed stage play. It tries to be tough-minded but can't raise itself above the sentimental.

Author Rosemary Taylor admits her memoir was mostly fiction. Which, of course, it has to be. What moron would accept this story as fact? Oh, right - Robert Osborne, the round old gent who, before resting in peace, introduced TCM movies. It's not the first time I thought Osborne was Hollywood's original fanboy, with trivia-level knowledge but no original thoughts or insight, let alone an iota of objective critical authority.