When this opened, the NY Times critic called it "mawkish." Add "phony" and "trite," and you have all the adjectives you need to describe this MGM schmaltz-fest. To go by this movie you'd think that Jane Froman (a nice singer, but nothing special) was a combination of Maria Callas and Saint Teresa. (The Catholic angle is pushed hard, with Una Merkel playing an excruciatingly twinkly nun and a miraculous/magical cross pendant for Hayward to wear.)
Thank goodness for Thelma Ritter, here as so often the best thing in the movie. But otherwise it's all pastel-colored, chiffon-draped cliche: When Froman loses heart after many operations with no end in sight, Ritter delivers a brutal tongue-lashing on the evils of self-pity, then rushes from the room and bursts into tears. And much of it is lies. The supposedly great triumph that Froman scores on Broadway was in a show that actually lasted all of 27 performances. Froman is shown clinging to her lemon of a husband because the church says marriage is forever; in real life, she sensibly dumped him. The soldiers to whom Froman sings are all wholesome boys who burst into hearty laughter whenever she makes a very, very mild pleasantry, and who grovel before her, saying how much "us guys" appreciate her. Froman's vocalizing (and perhaps also the cross in her ample decolletage) dramatically bring forth the first signs of life shown by a shell-shocked soldier, coincidentally the handsomest one in the troop (a very young Robert Wagner).
When Froman wins the award of Most Courageous Entertainer of the Year, one can't help thinking it should really go to the producer and director of this slick movie, which so shamelessly, and dishonestly, bludgeons us into pitying and adoring its star.
Thank goodness for Thelma Ritter, here as so often the best thing in the movie. But otherwise it's all pastel-colored, chiffon-draped cliche: When Froman loses heart after many operations with no end in sight, Ritter delivers a brutal tongue-lashing on the evils of self-pity, then rushes from the room and bursts into tears. And much of it is lies. The supposedly great triumph that Froman scores on Broadway was in a show that actually lasted all of 27 performances. Froman is shown clinging to her lemon of a husband because the church says marriage is forever; in real life, she sensibly dumped him. The soldiers to whom Froman sings are all wholesome boys who burst into hearty laughter whenever she makes a very, very mild pleasantry, and who grovel before her, saying how much "us guys" appreciate her. Froman's vocalizing (and perhaps also the cross in her ample decolletage) dramatically bring forth the first signs of life shown by a shell-shocked soldier, coincidentally the handsomest one in the troop (a very young Robert Wagner).
When Froman wins the award of Most Courageous Entertainer of the Year, one can't help thinking it should really go to the producer and director of this slick movie, which so shamelessly, and dishonestly, bludgeons us into pitying and adoring its star.