To get the bad stuff out of the way, the film is as talky as a staged play, it's formulaic, dated, the characters have about one-and-a-half dimensions, and there's little real doubt about who's going to win the race to become Tredway's (or it it Treadmill's) next president.
But I kind of like it. Talky, yes, but the dialog is pretty good in the sense that it aids exposition and is efficient, with hardly a word thrown in for padding or individuality. This may be a cheap line of mass-produced work but its craftsmanship shows through.
The acting is good too. The studios still had a line-up of competent professionals that they could depend on from one production to the next. Although I must say that June Allyson's incorporation, whatever her personal charm, has eluded me over the years. Despite her musical roles she's not much of a singer or a dancer, she's not staggeringly beautiful, and not a strong actress. I suppose she's good at being the supportive wife, as she is here, since I can think of three films offhand in which she played almost identical roles. She's a little like the Frank Sinatra of his later years.
You can tell this is meant to be a drama because everybody is very intense about everything. Well, maybe except for Bill Holden who kisses his wife and banters about baseball with his kid. (He's the only guy in contention for the presidency who has a family.) And I guess Louis Calhern is pretty debonair as a heartless playboy, though his role lacks the je ne sais quoi of the corrupt Emmerich in "The Asphalt Jungle." Robert Wise's direction moves the bodies around efficiently. There is some first-person camera work at the beginning, in which we see things from the boss's point of view. This kind of literalism has always been a little dicey because it's distracting when a hand reaches up out of the bottom of the frame with a dollar bill in it and we realize it's supposed to be our own hand. It's even more dizzying after the character drops dead of a heart attack and we're *still* seeing the scene through his eyes.
The role of women in this movie is reflective of its times. With the exception of Barbara Stanywck as a dried-up unfulfilled heiress, they are wives and secretaries and mistresses. The executive suite is filled with men, each of whom could be thoroughly described by about two adjectives.
Holden, the only guy with a family, is also the youngest of them by far and he gives a rip-roaring pep talk at the climax, tearing furniture apart, practically eating a table leg, and manages unconvincingly to convert all the dolts and drones seated around the table. The best performance, in my humble opinion, is by Frederic March as a by-the-book number cruncher. All the performers are pretty good but he's the most subtle of them all without seeming to have put much effort into his subtlety.
A decent job, really, by just about everyone involved.
But I kind of like it. Talky, yes, but the dialog is pretty good in the sense that it aids exposition and is efficient, with hardly a word thrown in for padding or individuality. This may be a cheap line of mass-produced work but its craftsmanship shows through.
The acting is good too. The studios still had a line-up of competent professionals that they could depend on from one production to the next. Although I must say that June Allyson's incorporation, whatever her personal charm, has eluded me over the years. Despite her musical roles she's not much of a singer or a dancer, she's not staggeringly beautiful, and not a strong actress. I suppose she's good at being the supportive wife, as she is here, since I can think of three films offhand in which she played almost identical roles. She's a little like the Frank Sinatra of his later years.
You can tell this is meant to be a drama because everybody is very intense about everything. Well, maybe except for Bill Holden who kisses his wife and banters about baseball with his kid. (He's the only guy in contention for the presidency who has a family.) And I guess Louis Calhern is pretty debonair as a heartless playboy, though his role lacks the je ne sais quoi of the corrupt Emmerich in "The Asphalt Jungle." Robert Wise's direction moves the bodies around efficiently. There is some first-person camera work at the beginning, in which we see things from the boss's point of view. This kind of literalism has always been a little dicey because it's distracting when a hand reaches up out of the bottom of the frame with a dollar bill in it and we realize it's supposed to be our own hand. It's even more dizzying after the character drops dead of a heart attack and we're *still* seeing the scene through his eyes.
The role of women in this movie is reflective of its times. With the exception of Barbara Stanywck as a dried-up unfulfilled heiress, they are wives and secretaries and mistresses. The executive suite is filled with men, each of whom could be thoroughly described by about two adjectives.
Holden, the only guy with a family, is also the youngest of them by far and he gives a rip-roaring pep talk at the climax, tearing furniture apart, practically eating a table leg, and manages unconvincingly to convert all the dolts and drones seated around the table. The best performance, in my humble opinion, is by Frederic March as a by-the-book number cruncher. All the performers are pretty good but he's the most subtle of them all without seeming to have put much effort into his subtlety.
A decent job, really, by just about everyone involved.