This bickering-couple premise worked in "Pat and Mike" because Spencer Tracy was believable as a sportswriter and Katherine Hepburn was believable as a Lets Be In athlete who plays it straight for laughs. Not sure why anybody felt a remake was necessary only five years later but nobody ever accused Hollywood executives of having an original thought.
This time around Inanimate Carbon Rod Gregory Peck is the sportswriter, except Peck doesn't look like he knows the difference between a baseball and a football. Bacall is better suited to her role as a fashion something. If nothing else she looks super-attractive in brightly hued clothing.
Problem is that neither can do comedy. Which is a problem for a comedy. And both leads end up looking uncomfortable throughout. Maybe being forced to wring laughs out of a pro boxer suffering from early-onset dementia had something to do with it. Or maybe it was the friend of hers dancing around like he was auditioning for the senior-citizen version of West Side Story.
And then there's the set design. Bacall's apartment appears to be a 3500 square foot p3nthouse suite, floor-to-ceiling-windows, every grand room decorated and furnished like she was a millionaire. Then she walks through the swinging door to the kitchen and there's a tiny window over the sink covered with cheap suburban drapes and ghastly yellow, cheap cupboards. What does that window overlook, exactly? The laundry chute? The elevator shaft?
Doesn't help matters that Peck's ex-girlfriend is hideous. When even your own IMDB profile points out your ''somewhat equine features" you know your career will not be on the widescreen. And that punch-drunk boxer. His face looks like a sackful of potatoes.
At least the men looked good in those sharp suits. So the movie isn't a total loss.
This time around Inanimate Carbon Rod Gregory Peck is the sportswriter, except Peck doesn't look like he knows the difference between a baseball and a football. Bacall is better suited to her role as a fashion something. If nothing else she looks super-attractive in brightly hued clothing.
Problem is that neither can do comedy. Which is a problem for a comedy. And both leads end up looking uncomfortable throughout. Maybe being forced to wring laughs out of a pro boxer suffering from early-onset dementia had something to do with it. Or maybe it was the friend of hers dancing around like he was auditioning for the senior-citizen version of West Side Story.
And then there's the set design. Bacall's apartment appears to be a 3500 square foot p3nthouse suite, floor-to-ceiling-windows, every grand room decorated and furnished like she was a millionaire. Then she walks through the swinging door to the kitchen and there's a tiny window over the sink covered with cheap suburban drapes and ghastly yellow, cheap cupboards. What does that window overlook, exactly? The laundry chute? The elevator shaft?
Doesn't help matters that Peck's ex-girlfriend is hideous. When even your own IMDB profile points out your ''somewhat equine features" you know your career will not be on the widescreen. And that punch-drunk boxer. His face looks like a sackful of potatoes.
At least the men looked good in those sharp suits. So the movie isn't a total loss.