Polly Bergen is elected president of the United States (in 1964!) and ex-businessman husband Fred MacMurray must assume the role of "first lady." It sounds stupid and, okay, you may call it a one-premise movie, but not a one-joke movie because there are plenty of relatively unsophisticated laughs.
And the laughs build, so to speak, from slight discomfort to slapstick. An example of early self consciousness: MacMurray is assigned to the first lady's bedroom, all fluffy and flouncy, with a dressing table and chintz.
Along the way, while his wife is busy with state affairs, MacMurry receives a job offer from a former girl friend who now owns a toilet-accessory business. MacMurray eagerly accepts, wanting to begin a men's line of after-shave colognes with names like "Green Cedar" and "Testosteral" and "Bloodthirsty" and "Ballsy." Well, not those last. I just made them up. The lady in charge, however, Arlene Dahl is interested in the man, not his manly deodorants.
There is an embarrassing contretemps too with a visiting Latin American dictator, Eli Wallach, who wants an influx of American dollars. MacMurray manages to offend Wallach, who threatens to sue the United States or go to another foreign country for financial aid.
A legislative committee is later formed to investigate the stupidity and incompetence of MacMurray, led by that always reliable pompous blowhard, Edward Andrews. MacMurry exposes Andrews as corrupt, because it develops that Andrews was formerly a partner in the law firm Wallach intends to use in his suit.
This sounds shockingly corrupt, doesn't it? Yet, as of this year, a state governor who was previously involved in an extremely expensive health-care scandal signed into law a bill mandating sonograms for women seeking to terminate their pregnancies and one of the chief providers of sonograms in that state is largely owned by the governor's wife. Not a peep. We're not in 1964 anymore, Toto.
The least demanding -- and the funniest -- episode comes near the end of the movie. MacMurray is to conduct a guided tour of the White House, a la Jackie Kennedy, but he's a nervous wreck. Two friends have already given him tranquilizers but he's still a neural shambles. The White House physician gives him pep pills that will wake him up and turn him into a shark. Somebody else slips him a double whiskey to calm him down. At this point MacMurray freezes in place behind his desk, assuming an alarming port de bras, holds the pose for a full minute, then leaps to his feet, shouting, "Let's get going!", and throws his jacket on backwards. The results are expectable. He winds up stumbling around before the cameras with one foot in a spitoon. Right out of Laurel and Hardy.
Oh, one more gag I feel compelled to throw in. MacMurray, as first lady, has two secretaries but he has trouble with their names. The first one corrects him when he addresses her incorrectly. Then he remarks to the other, "Well, I don't think I'll forget your name, Miss Ives." She replies: "Miss Currier." I laughed out loud and decided to try it in the next meeting of my sociology class. I addressed one of the young students as "Miss Martin." She shook her head slowly, and said "Miss Aston." Nobody laughed. I had to explain the joke -- "Aston-Martin" -- before I roused a couple of polite smiles. No wonder the student evaluations were so low.
I know it's silly but I enjoy it on those rare occasions when it's on cable. It's undemanding stuff and everyone needs a laugh now and then. And MacMurray, as he'd already demonstrated numerous times, is an accomplished light comedian.
And the laughs build, so to speak, from slight discomfort to slapstick. An example of early self consciousness: MacMurray is assigned to the first lady's bedroom, all fluffy and flouncy, with a dressing table and chintz.
Along the way, while his wife is busy with state affairs, MacMurry receives a job offer from a former girl friend who now owns a toilet-accessory business. MacMurray eagerly accepts, wanting to begin a men's line of after-shave colognes with names like "Green Cedar" and "Testosteral" and "Bloodthirsty" and "Ballsy." Well, not those last. I just made them up. The lady in charge, however, Arlene Dahl is interested in the man, not his manly deodorants.
There is an embarrassing contretemps too with a visiting Latin American dictator, Eli Wallach, who wants an influx of American dollars. MacMurray manages to offend Wallach, who threatens to sue the United States or go to another foreign country for financial aid.
A legislative committee is later formed to investigate the stupidity and incompetence of MacMurray, led by that always reliable pompous blowhard, Edward Andrews. MacMurry exposes Andrews as corrupt, because it develops that Andrews was formerly a partner in the law firm Wallach intends to use in his suit.
This sounds shockingly corrupt, doesn't it? Yet, as of this year, a state governor who was previously involved in an extremely expensive health-care scandal signed into law a bill mandating sonograms for women seeking to terminate their pregnancies and one of the chief providers of sonograms in that state is largely owned by the governor's wife. Not a peep. We're not in 1964 anymore, Toto.
The least demanding -- and the funniest -- episode comes near the end of the movie. MacMurray is to conduct a guided tour of the White House, a la Jackie Kennedy, but he's a nervous wreck. Two friends have already given him tranquilizers but he's still a neural shambles. The White House physician gives him pep pills that will wake him up and turn him into a shark. Somebody else slips him a double whiskey to calm him down. At this point MacMurray freezes in place behind his desk, assuming an alarming port de bras, holds the pose for a full minute, then leaps to his feet, shouting, "Let's get going!", and throws his jacket on backwards. The results are expectable. He winds up stumbling around before the cameras with one foot in a spitoon. Right out of Laurel and Hardy.
Oh, one more gag I feel compelled to throw in. MacMurray, as first lady, has two secretaries but he has trouble with their names. The first one corrects him when he addresses her incorrectly. Then he remarks to the other, "Well, I don't think I'll forget your name, Miss Ives." She replies: "Miss Currier." I laughed out loud and decided to try it in the next meeting of my sociology class. I addressed one of the young students as "Miss Martin." She shook her head slowly, and said "Miss Aston." Nobody laughed. I had to explain the joke -- "Aston-Martin" -- before I roused a couple of polite smiles. No wonder the student evaluations were so low.
I know it's silly but I enjoy it on those rare occasions when it's on cable. It's undemanding stuff and everyone needs a laugh now and then. And MacMurray, as he'd already demonstrated numerous times, is an accomplished light comedian.