The Cowboy and the Lady:
Samuel Goldwyn,
November 17, 1938
New York Times, November 25, 1938
The Cowboy and the Lady,' with
Gary Cooper, at the Music Hall At the Rialto At the
St. Marks Theatre
By FRANK S. NUGENT
With Walt Disney's "Ferdinand the Bull" and
Samuel Goldwyn's "The Cowboy and the Lady" on its
Thanksgiving Day menu, the Music Hall this week
seems to have corralled the town's choicest
specimens of whimsical livestock. On the whole,
"Ferdinand," with Robert Lawson's drawings animated
by the pixyish Disney staff and with the
indispensable portions of the Munro Leaf text
retained as a vocal commentary, is the more amusing
production of the two.
We realize that it is hardly a major one, compared
with Mr. Goldwyn's generous contribution, but
Thanksgiving or not, it's a little too late in the
day to expect a film critic not to look a gratuitous
horse opera in the mouth, especially when, as in the
present case, it is rather self-consciously a horse
opera of a different color.
It has been freely admitted by his own press agents
that Mr. Goldwyn, Hollywood's most passionate
revisionist, was up to his knees in authors and
abandoned scripts before "The Cowboy and the Lady"
was completed. But this time the legend is hard to
believe, as the picture still seems to be in need of
a final revision to bring it either more nearly into
conformity or more ludicrously into non-conformity,
with life as it is lived outside of movie studios.
Of course, there is always Gary Cooper's
personality, but even Mr. Cooper, the picture's
greatest asset, has his moments of diminishing
returns when he seems to be quoting himself, or
when, utterly forsaken by the authors and the
director, he looks about helplessly, like a ghost
who wonders if he isn't haunting the wrong house.
But the essential weakness of "The Cowboy and the
Lady" is the fact that, in spite of four authors,
each presumably with a highly developed sense of
humor, it just isn't funny enough to justify the
very queer picture of American politics and society
it presents. Merle Oberon as the bored daughter of a
candidate for the presidential nomination, who
accompanies the housemaids on a date with some rodeo
cowboys (that was in Palm Beach), meets Mr. Cooper,
and elopes with him on a surprisingly de luxe cattle
boat to Galveston, is an example of hopelessly
confused characterization.
And Mr. Cooper, whether in Montana, sentimentally
readying a house for Merle (whom he believes to be a
housemaid, like the democratic Patsy Kelly), or back
in Palm Beach, where at last he retrieves her from
the curse of riches and causes her father to see the
vanity of running for President, belongs in
quotation marks.
His love-making, with its shy cuteness, yet
invincibly respectable determination, you have
smiled at in "Desire" and "The Plainsman," to go no
further back. And his climactic speech, in which he
eloquently tells off the assembled stuffed shirts at
the Palm Beach political dinner, is straight out of
"Mr. Deeds." The trouble in this case is that the
shirts are too obviously stuffed; it is bad form, in
shirt-stuffing, to allow the straw to protrude from
the sleeves.
The Cowboy and the Lady:
Samuel Goldwyn,
November 17, 1938 |