Frank Morgan didn't get to play many lead roles during his long tenure at MGM, so this gentle, sub-Wodehousian English trifle ought to be a cause for celebration. Alas. He plays a "charming," penniless old rogue who sponges off his relatives, spends what little he has on drink, makes tactless talk with stiff authority figures, and romances a fetching musical hall lady (Cicely Courtneidge, who was the real thing, and is delightful). The trouble, aside from Tim Whelan's utterly anonymous direction, is that "the Major," as written, is nearly as tiresome and confounding as all the "bad," "small-minded" townspeople claim him to be. So you can't really blame an overacting Una O'Connor as his huffy sister for scolding him, or handsome Robert Waring as his conventional son for turning him out. You can't even understand why Heather Angel, as his prospective daughter-in-law, would keep defending him. You can't imagine why his bumbling rendition of "Pack Up Your Troubles" in a music hall would save Courtneidge's hitherto-reviled act. And when a humbled Morgan finally wins her hand, you're mostly sorry for her rather than overjoyed for them both. The sentiment here feels calculated, the pacing's off, and virtually nothing is credible. Frank Morgan is perfection, but even he can't turn this dithering blowhard into a likable guy.
Review of The Perfect Gentleman
