Dullsville. True, the sound track presents a typically lush, sprightly music score by Max Steiner — though it often sounds like the orchestra is jacking up on old Max and not giving the score their best shot. Anything but. A group of tired, untalented hack musicians saw away to little effect. About the only time they really come to life is when they strum out "Gaudeamus Igitur" for the Fonda-in-college scene.
Fortunately, Nothing can spoil Charles Lawton and Hans Koenekamp's lovely location photography (except, of course, lousy TV prints — but then no jokers in their right minds would watch a Panavision picture on the telly anyway, would they?) but all this wealth of beauty is wasted on an uninvolving, tedious-to-the-core script.
Cast in a central role, the studiously dull James MacArthur makes his characterization even more ho-hum. Not that Fonda is all that ingratiating either, but at least he plays with a commendable professionalism that lends his role at least some degree — however slight — of charisma.
The rest of the players fail to come up to even Fonda's mark. True Wally Cox is miscast and it's probably not Donald Crisp's fault that he is unable to surmount the dramatic problems involved when the cretinous old codger is silly enough to walk straight into the path of a falling tree. What should have been a moving scene is presented instead as an incredible piece of stupidity on the old dope's part.
Despite all these drawbacks, plus the routine, uninspired and largely disinterested direction of Delmer Daves, occasionally the sort of movie "Spencer's Mountain" was obviously meant to be, shines through. Like right at the beginning, with all the nature footage described by Fonda off-camera; and right at the end, when the cowpoke at the back of the bus turns to MacArthur and asks, "How far are you going', son?" and the lad replies, "Right far!" But in between these two high-points lies a mountain of muddled characterizations, unsure playing, and incredible incident straight out of any dime-store novel.
Fortunately, Nothing can spoil Charles Lawton and Hans Koenekamp's lovely location photography (except, of course, lousy TV prints — but then no jokers in their right minds would watch a Panavision picture on the telly anyway, would they?) but all this wealth of beauty is wasted on an uninvolving, tedious-to-the-core script.
Cast in a central role, the studiously dull James MacArthur makes his characterization even more ho-hum. Not that Fonda is all that ingratiating either, but at least he plays with a commendable professionalism that lends his role at least some degree — however slight — of charisma.
The rest of the players fail to come up to even Fonda's mark. True Wally Cox is miscast and it's probably not Donald Crisp's fault that he is unable to surmount the dramatic problems involved when the cretinous old codger is silly enough to walk straight into the path of a falling tree. What should have been a moving scene is presented instead as an incredible piece of stupidity on the old dope's part.
Despite all these drawbacks, plus the routine, uninspired and largely disinterested direction of Delmer Daves, occasionally the sort of movie "Spencer's Mountain" was obviously meant to be, shines through. Like right at the beginning, with all the nature footage described by Fonda off-camera; and right at the end, when the cowpoke at the back of the bus turns to MacArthur and asks, "How far are you going', son?" and the lad replies, "Right far!" But in between these two high-points lies a mountain of muddled characterizations, unsure playing, and incredible incident straight out of any dime-store novel.