THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER

New Zealand Listener, Volume 7, Issue 175, 30 October 1942, Page 13

THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER

(Warner Bros.)

E were discussing meth- : ods of duelling the other day and somebody suggested cream puffs at ten paces or insults at 100 yards as offer-

ing interesting possibilities. In the latter type of contest I would put all my money on Monty Woolley, the star of The Man Who Came to Dinner. After two years of portraying Sheridan Whiteside in the Kaufman and Hart play on Broadway, and now in the film version, he must, one imagines, be ready at the slightest provocation to spit venom with deadly accuracy, even in private life. In the film story it is a one-sided fight: there is nobody equal to answering back. A few people do try, and the worm who is Sheridan Whiteside’s nurse does, for one valiant moment, turn upon her tormentor, but most of those who are unfortunate enough to encounter this serpent-tongued egomaniac in a bath-chair are struck dumb at the first verbal broadside and thereafter endure a sustained barrage of studied insults with the patient air of allowing genius to have its own way. And in his own way, Sheridan Whiteside, famous lecturer, author, and broadcaster, is undoubtedly a genius. According to Time, this character is the exact personification of the real life author, Alexander Woollcott, a statement which would seem to me to be grounds for libel in any country but America, for from what I have read of the amiable writings of Mr. Woollcott I should never have suspected that he would go around describing young women to their faces as "ageing debutantes", "flea-bitten Cleopatras" and "frozen custards"; warning a visiting actress not to try to pull the bedclothes over his eyes; telling his nurse that she has "the touch of a lovestarved cobra"; and likening his host’s house to a "mouldy mortuary" and a "draughty sewer". Our own Bernard Shaw, and even our Thomas Beechamthe nearest counterparts I can suggest of public men who are rude on prin-ciple-are cooing doves by comparison. And just as we most of us rather enjoy it when, at safe distance, we take a tongue-lashing from our Shaws and our Beechams, so I think most of you will enjoy it when Sheridan Whiteside opens fire in The Man Who Came to Dinner. I know I did; it was the best bit of fun I have had for ages when that bearded, venom-spitting celebrity, having injured his hip on the icy steps of a house to which he has been invited for. dinner in the course of a Middle-West lecturetour, and being condemned to spend weeks in a bath-chair, turns that dull, respectable household into a bedlam in five minutes. He drives his inoffensive hosts (Billie Burke and Grant Mitchell) to distraction and the upper floor; threatens to sue them for 150,000 dollars as damages; commandeers the servants and the principal rooms for his own purposes; tries to break up his secretary’s (Bette Davis) romance by importing a glamorous actress (Ann Sheridan) to seduce her young man; runs up a colossal telephone bill with toll calls all over the globe; persuades his hosts’

children to run away from home; ahd fills the house from basement to attic with exotic visitors, radio technicians, penguins, an octopus, and a mummy case straight from the King of Egypt. There is, of course, another side to Sheridan Whiteside’s behaviour; when it suits his mischief-making, egomaniacal nature, he can be, in the words of the infatuated, motherly cook, "a very nice gentleman". But with few exceptions, he pulls neither the wool nor the bedclothes over anybody’s eyes, and I am sure that most members of the audience will prefer his venom to his honey. Just how much the character of Sheridan Whiteside is the creation of Monty Woolley, the actor, of Kaufman and Hart, the authors, or of Alexander Woollcott, the model, it would be difficult to say; but Woolley has been playing the part so long that it is probably safe to risk libel and suggest that he plays it to the manner born. Naturally, the others in the cast don’t get much of a look-in, but when they do snatch a moment centre stage they all make the most of it. The film, as I hope you have gathered already, is no respecter of persons; Jimmy Durante’s role is a straight take-off of Jimmy Durante; Reginald Gardirfer is obviously pulling somebody’s real leg; and it is a healthy democratic sign that the dialogue doesn’t even omit a dig at such exalted personages as President Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, and particularly Mrs. Roosevelt.

There is, of course, this to be said; that one finds the same thing happening as the film goes on as is happening as the war goes on- one’s capacity to be shocked by atrocities grows steadily less. I have no doubt that ‘the jibes towards the end of The Man Who Came to Dinner are as outrageously funny as those at the beginning, but by that time one’s appetite for insult is becoming satiated, and so one’s appreciation of the fun is a trifle blunted. This slight sag in interest, and the fact that the film is still primarily a stage play, are the only points on which I can feel the least bit critical. For the rest, top marks. Choicest repartee: "If Florence Nightingale had ever nursed you, Mr. Whiteside, she would have married Jack the Ripper instead of founding the Red Cross."