Americanization of Emily, The (1964)

reviewed by
Ralph Benner


                       THE AMERICANIZATION OF EMILY
               A film review by Ralph Benner
                Copyright 1996 Ralph Benner

Based on William Bradford Huie's novel, THE AMERICANIZATION OF EMILY has got to be one of the most pleasant surprises of the 60s -- a low-scale, sassy anti-war love story. Adapted by the late Paddy Chayefsky, it's a precursor of sorts to his irreverent, anti-establishment screenplays THE HOSPITAL and NETWORK. Fronting as a Navy Commander-aide de camp to Admiral Melvyn Douglas, James Garner is really one of the infamous "dog-robbers" of WW II, those notorious personal assistants as foxy purchasing agents who made sure that every imaginable need, want and vice were provided for their bosses. (The robbers continue today.) Garner's not supposed to be quite so attractive, what with his shit-eating grin, his practicing cowardice, his ever-ready boxes of Hershey's and -- to the amazement of all who see it -- his small warehouse of contraband like a miniature Harrods. But in that those he encounters -- especially Julie Andrews as Emily and her mother -- have all suffered from the mounting death from war, his recreant's honesty is acid-laced yet magnetic: "God save us from all the people who do the right thing." Sizing up Andrews' reserved smugness, he cracks, "You're something of a prig." Irritated by her bemoaning his party mood in the middle of war, he says, "Lay off, Mrs. Miniver." Garner's Charlie is Huie's creation, but it's Paddy who put Charlie on the soap box: his word heaps have the unmistakable pitch of Paddy's rantings on hypocrisy; viewers not having seen EMILY but who have seen NETWORK will be reminded of Peter Finch's Howard Beale. Never better, Andrews' Englishwoman's shell has cracks in it, some secrets oozing out -- confirmed by Andrews to Mike Wallace on a recent 60 Minutes, on which she admits that she had a "wonderful time" doing loves scenes with Garner. (When those shots were finished, she said, "My knees buckled.") In Look magazine back in 1966, famed photographer of women Douglas Kirkland confirmed her polished dishiness with a color blow-up showing tantalizing cleavage; as Alfie might say, she's one sexy bird. (Mind you, that's thirty years ago, but I recall that picture well because I had it hanging inside my Army barracks locker in Wurzburg.) EMILY as full introduction to Andrews gave me a goodie-goodie immunization and for this I'm still thankful, because I was lucky enough not to have first suffered shattered ear drums from her piercing-like singing or feel oppressed by the sugar-weighted baggage of Maria. Her Emily is prig, is bitch, and if her novice movie acting shows, it's fitting: English Emily is a closet case, outwardly the stoic martyress, inside as much of a sensualist as extrovert Charlie. And Garner's waggish, effortless sleaze is irony of the most charming kind: his Charlie's rapid-fire ravings reverb as wisdom even while admitting, despite prangs of conscience, he's "not equipped to deal with the truth," most particularly in light of the hero worship he'll receive as the first victim on Omaha Beach to come back from the dead. If there are too many harangues -- like an addiction, Paddy often didn't know when to stop -- Garner makes them worth listening to; you sense that he knows as an actor that he might never get dialogue this meaty again. (So far he hasn't.) Directing Paddy's THE HOSPITAL too, and inexplicably nominated for a best director Oscar for LOVE STORY, it's pretty much unchallenged that EMILY remains Arthur Hiller's best movie. His confining, pedestrian style showcases Paddy's zesty pontifications and the cast's equally joyful verve in reciting them. Douglas, who won the Oscar for HUD the year before, proves once more there's gold to be mined in character parts. His Admiral's crazed visions of military glory via subterfuge have uncomplimentary echoes. Try to avoid the colorized version: it has all the hues of a latrine.


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