Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967) 138m.
Easygoing spoof of early romantic musical comedies isn't nearly as good as Ken Russell's wild version of THE BOY FRIEND but does mark the only pairing of archetypal girls-next-door Julie Andrews and Mary Tyler Moore (both played the role of nuns within a few years of this film's release!). There's also a surprising turn by James Fox as an aimable playboy. Millie (Andrews), determined to keep up with the trendsetters in the Roaring 20s, meets would-be ingenue Dorothy (Moore) in a New York hotel for young ladies. They quickly become friends, unaware that evil schemes are afoot below their rooms. Film has an old-fashioned look about it, even for 1967, and lacks the photographic verve of other productions by director George Roy Hill. Main joke, I suppose, is that what passed for progress in 1922 now comes across as faddish - but as this is a criticism that can be applied to any generation, screenwriter Richard Morris sensibly avoids condescension (although I can't see many viewers endorsing Millie's resolution "I don't want to be your equal any more - I want to be a woman"). That leaves us with a sampler of twenties confectionary: Vaudeville shows, roadsters, Gatsby-style parties, daredevil stunts (right out of Harold Lloyd), candy-striped biplanes, flapper fashions, and a subplot involving white slavery that could have come from any old Saturday serial.
Film wants to be a comedy, a romance, a musical, and even an action pic in places, but as a result it's too long. The irrelevant wedding sequence can be thrown out for a start; and the story really starts sagging in the middle when Carol Channing's character shows up - supposedly she's an embodiment of the Jazz Age, but I just found her annoying. Deliberately naive story and approach may work better for children than adults - there's something too fake about the nostalgia to make it work on any sophisticated level. Still, as with any sampler, you've got to take the marzipan with the creme. Funniest moment is when Andrews vamps it up in her boss's office. Most incomprehensible line: "Machines, like love, should be either black or white". Produced by the king of gloss, Ross Hunter, who didn't see eye to eye with Hill. Sammy Cahn and James van Heusen wrote the catchy title tune.
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