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The Bishop’s Wife is a perfectly fine excuse to spend 105 minutes with Cary Grant and Loretta Young, but there’s a general sense of heavy sentiment that makes the whole thing so sweet that it threatens to drill holes in your teeth the longer it goes on. It’s kind of gentle, old-fashioned movie-making that makes modern viewers frequently roll their eyes, and I can’t blame them. It’s so wholesome as to be anemic.
A religious fantasy about an angel (Cary Grant, who else?) coming down to help a bishop (David Niven) and his wife (Loretta Young) in their marital and financial difficulties. For such a simple story, the production is the kind of nightmare that would lead one to believe The Bishop’s Wife would be a bloated mess, but it’s not. Despite the numerous setbacks, none of the stitches show, and none of the sutures bleed.
Going under the direction of William A. Seiter for two weeks, with Teresa Wright as the wife and Grant and Niven in the reverse roles, producer Samuel Goldwyn, one of the great independents of the era, was not happy with the results. He scrapped it all, replaced a now pregnant Wright with Loretta Young, whose yearning eyes and lady-like carriage are a perfect match for the part, brought in Henry Koster to direct, uncredited rewrites from Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett, and had his leading men swap roles. The Bishop’s Wife emerged from these troubled production woes as a light, fleet-footed, very charming, if slight, piece of romantic holiday entertainment.
It’s hard to picture Grant as the troubled bishop, seething with jealousy over the relationship between his wife and the angel. Niven would have been fine in the angelic part, but he’s much better suited to the bishop. The only problem is the lack of chemistry between Niven and Young, whereas she shimmers and glows in her scenes with Grant. The central romance is somehow unbelievable between the two, and it’s easy to believe in Niven’s jealousy of her spending time with Grant, as their chemistry is evident.
Where The Bishop’s Wife excels is in Grant’s central performance, which displays hidden sadness beneath his handsome, confident surface. It isn’t until the final act that we learn that this angel yearns for a mortal existence and the love of a good woman, and would happily throw it all away for Young’s character. This complication hints at a darker, better, more interesting movie lurking underneath the glossy structures. Grant, never an actor to slum it no matter the film or the part, does wonders in selling us on this faintly ridiculous premise and character. If The Bishop’s Wife is not top-shelf among his iconic screen roles, then it’s certainly among his wider range of second-tier likable creations.
The problem is that Grant’s character and performance are more interesting than much of the rest of the film. There’s no hint that he won’t bring back light and joy into the couple’s lives, that everything will work out in the end. There’s no dramatic stakes here, and it’s hard to invest in it. The script also makes Niven look frequently petty, verging on unlikable, for long stretches of time, so the romantic triangle, the closest this film gets to heavy dramatics, doesn’t entirely work.
Yet for much of the time, The Bishop’s Wife is delightful in its minor key. Young does incredibly fine work. She was one of the few actresses who could make a goody-two-shoes lady into a meal of a dramatic part. Her large eyes, ever changing like a flowing current, can bring depth to lines and material that are otherwise bereft of them. And the special effects work is lovely in its lo-fi way. Scenes of Grant magically decorating Christmas trees, or helping organize a cluttered room sing with the old school magic of Hollywood’s primitive days.
If it’s not a classic to me, and it’s not given how it plays as an overlong syrupy sitcom, a precursor to the holiday-themed episodes of TGIF sitcoms, then it’s at least a charming diversion around Christmas time. There are worse ways to spend the holidays then watching Young and Grant ice skate or shop for hats.
