This production had its origins in a successful stage play in which, if memory serves, Cyril Ritchard played the role of "Pogo" Poole on Broadway. I saw this on Hollywood Blvd. at the then Paramount Theater, across the street from the world-famed Grauman's Chinese. I'd looked forward to its release, which had been delayed by a several-week shutdown during shooting, due to a Hollywood union dispute (I think it involved the Writers Guild, though I may be wrong.), because I was then, and always will be, a devoted fan of Miss Lilli Palmer, Germany's gift to the cinema.
The finished product betrayed its stage origins but was luxuriously produced and nicely enacted by a thoroughly professional cast. I'll always remember that scene when devoted daughter, Jessica, played by Debbie Reynolds, tearfully confesses that she's willing to postpone her planned and very lavish wedding in order to accompany her long-lost and suddenly returned father, "Pogo," on one last globetrotting trip before his imminent demise of "old age." Fred Astaire's horrified reaction to this declaration of daughterly affection was something to behold.
The Technicolor cinematography by the gifted Robert Burks (one of Hitchcock's favorites) is one of this film's best assets. (Too bad Paramount was getting too cheap to use its 70mm VistaVision process on this one, since San Francisco provided some lovely backgrounds.) And, as always, Alfred Newman underscored the proceedings quite elegantly. The title song, a nice one, was sung by Vic Damone over the opening credits, if I'm not mistaken, which were static shots of San Francisco and environs. I remember wishing that moving images of the same vistas had been used instead.
The finished product betrayed its stage origins but was luxuriously produced and nicely enacted by a thoroughly professional cast. I'll always remember that scene when devoted daughter, Jessica, played by Debbie Reynolds, tearfully confesses that she's willing to postpone her planned and very lavish wedding in order to accompany her long-lost and suddenly returned father, "Pogo," on one last globetrotting trip before his imminent demise of "old age." Fred Astaire's horrified reaction to this declaration of daughterly affection was something to behold.
The Technicolor cinematography by the gifted Robert Burks (one of Hitchcock's favorites) is one of this film's best assets. (Too bad Paramount was getting too cheap to use its 70mm VistaVision process on this one, since San Francisco provided some lovely backgrounds.) And, as always, Alfred Newman underscored the proceedings quite elegantly. The title song, a nice one, was sung by Vic Damone over the opening credits, if I'm not mistaken, which were static shots of San Francisco and environs. I remember wishing that moving images of the same vistas had been used instead.