It’s exciting to see Shyamalan on such confident footing once more, all these years later.
The sun is shining as I write this, and the birds are singing, and the cops haven't busted any hippie benefits in at least 24 hours. It is a time for mercy. My task is to review "Half a Sixpence," and there are a dozen clever ways to make fun of it, starting with Tommy Steele's teeth and radiating outward even to the ends of the earth.
But why bother? "Half a Sixpence" was apparently designed from the first as a simpleminded, square, old-fashioned musical. It is. Perhaps there should be old-fashioned musicals occasionally. Nothing is more fun than going to the Clark when "Singin' in the Rain" is revived.
The trouble with "Half a Sixpence," however, is that it's a good deal more old-fashioned than "Singin' in the Rain." It is already a revival, and when it is brought back 10 years from now it may by then look older than Busby Berkeley's early work.
The songs are ferociously standard, and judging from the foggy mist they are photographed through, I would judge at least three assistant cameramen were employed at all times to smear Vaseline on the camera lens. As beautifully smiling faces waver gently in and out of focus, the sound track drips honey and molasses and horehound drops. Oh love, oh life, ah happy fate, that we, who have split this sixpence in twain as mere youths, should meet again, etc.
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