Let's Make Love

I don’t know what happened with Let’s Make Love. From a production standpoint this should have been a surefire hit. And out-and-out tasty little musical truffle filled with nice production numbers, some romance and a dash of screwball comedy. You have George Cukor directing, who did such a solid job on A Star Is Born and My Fair Lady, and Marilyn Monroe doing musical-comedy, something which was as natural for her as a fish swimming. So where did all of it go so absolutely wrong?

Yves Montand stars as a French billionaire who falls hard for Monroe’s showgirl after discovering that the musical revue she’s staring in features a not-so-nice comedic jab at him. He’s mistaken for an actor auditioning for the part, and he plays along in order to woo Monroe. This is an Idiot Plot in full bloom. Unlike other movies which feature Idiot Plots but are more charming, like Top Hat, Let’s Make Love is uncomfortably sad. A lot of the blame could go to Montand who as a musical comedy star is not a decent comedic actor, a passable dancer or a singer of any kind. His charisma is practically in the negative percentile, and he generates no chemistry with Monroe. Why she chose him as her co-star is anyone’s best guess.

But not even Monroe is free from the blame. Her she looks frequently out-of-it. The downers taking their toll, especially in close-ups where she looks anesthetized. She’s appealing, she could never be anything less even when playing bad (Niagara), but she’s lacking much of her spark. If Fox hadn’t routinely forced her into doing films that she didn’t want to do to fulfill a contract, as was the case here, her story might have played a little different. She’s got two good musical numbers that showoff some of her gifts, but in a movie that plays out like its three times longer than it really is that’s not really enough. Luckily, the songs are “My Heart Belongs to Daddy” and “Let’s Make Love.” She performs one kittenish and innocently naughty, and the other in full-blown orgasmic yearning. It’s a shame that Cukor obviously hated her because these two sequences show some life in her performance and in the film.

Ah, Cukor. He directed brilliant comedies like The Philadelphia Story, Adam’s Rib, The Women and Born Yesterday. He knew how to move things along at a brisk pace and keep the comedy going. He also knew how to get great performances out of his actors. He was especially talented at getting classic performances from actress. Who could forget Judy Holliday in Born Yesterday? Or Katharine Hepburn in any of the numerous films he directed her in? He must have decided to leave these talents at home and do a workman-like job. There is no joy, no pacing, no sense of comedy in any of this film. It slowly and boringly plods along to its predictable conclusion with no warmth or humor. Monroe is frequently filmed in frumpy and dowdy clothing, in bad hair and makeup and in unflattering close-ups of her stoned face. Are these truly the best takes? Not even calling in favors from Bing Crosby, Milton Berle or Gene Kelly can save the film. So what went wrong? Everything. My only response to the film’s suggestive come-on title is this: Let’s not and just forget the whole thing.