Well, kiddies, here is a load of old-fashioned sentiment prepared for you by that master of the saccharine, Uncle Leo McCarey. No, I take that back - syrupy the film is, but masterful it is not. It's hard to believe that McCarey was once a director of skill (Duck Soup) and talent (The Awful Truth) to judge by this poor offering.
Every scene is handled with old-fashioned fade-outs and fade-ins and concentrates almost exclusively on close-ups of the most banal reaction shots of Bing Crosby and Henry Travers. McCarey doesn't even take care to see that Crosby is registering the same expression in the two-shot as the close-up with which it is intercut. This occurs too often to be excused on any other grounds than sheer ineptitude. It's a black mark too against the film editing of Harry Marker, who should have trimmed some of the excesses of facial mugging anyway. In fact, the whole film could be cut by a considerable amount.
The story is slight and only marginally captures audience interest - the sub-plot involving Martha Sleeper (Mrs Gallagher) and Joan Carroll (Patricia) is a bore.
Crosby's priest is one of the most incredible we have come across - even in a Holly¬wood film. No priest would indulge in the sort of flip dialogue (particularly in his first scene with Martha Sleeper) that this one does nor would he be a party to such a tawdry plot device as hiding from Sister Benedict the true reason for her transfer. There is absolutely nothing of true spirituality or depth in this picture.
McCarey has his usual array of cute kids in store for us including a re-enactment of the Christmas story by six and seven-year-olds, and a boy whom Sister Benedict secretly teaches to box for a return engagement with the school bully. It is all superficial and bla¬tantly corny, with equal parts of propaganda (the children pledging allegiance to the American flag), bad taste, and crude slap¬stick (the cat in Crosby's boater).
Ingrid Bergman in nun's habit is hardly likely to entrance her fans - warm, radiant and sympathetic though she looks in the hands of cinematographer George Barnes. Oddly enough, Barnes has lit and photo¬graphed Crosby from some very unflattering angles. Another funny thing is that though Bing has four or five songs, he doesn't get to sing a single one of them right through, but is either cut off in the middle or sings a truncated version.
As mentioned earlier, Henry Travers plays Horace P. Bogardus with his usual unbridled mugging. The rest of the cast does not get much of a look-in. After a lengthy introduc¬tory scene, Una O'Connor virtually disap¬pears; Ruth Donnelly has nothing of consequence to do or say as a side-kick of Miss Bergman; Gargan has but a small role, appearing in only two scenes. The others are no more than adequate.
Some money has been spent on sets, (though some we suspect are contrived mainly through special effects), and some of the lighting effects obtained by Barnes are quite pleasing. Why a top designer like Edith Head was engaged to design the costumes when these are mainly confined to habits is a typical example of Hollywood largess. Those costumes Miss Head has come up with - like Miss Sleeper's, for example - are nothing to marvel at, and could have been selected from the racks of any dime-and-ten.
We like the title song, but the others are quite pedestrian. Bing Crosby's voice often seems to be out of its range, but this could be the effect of poor sound recording.
Every scene is handled with old-fashioned fade-outs and fade-ins and concentrates almost exclusively on close-ups of the most banal reaction shots of Bing Crosby and Henry Travers. McCarey doesn't even take care to see that Crosby is registering the same expression in the two-shot as the close-up with which it is intercut. This occurs too often to be excused on any other grounds than sheer ineptitude. It's a black mark too against the film editing of Harry Marker, who should have trimmed some of the excesses of facial mugging anyway. In fact, the whole film could be cut by a considerable amount.
The story is slight and only marginally captures audience interest - the sub-plot involving Martha Sleeper (Mrs Gallagher) and Joan Carroll (Patricia) is a bore.
Crosby's priest is one of the most incredible we have come across - even in a Holly¬wood film. No priest would indulge in the sort of flip dialogue (particularly in his first scene with Martha Sleeper) that this one does nor would he be a party to such a tawdry plot device as hiding from Sister Benedict the true reason for her transfer. There is absolutely nothing of true spirituality or depth in this picture.
McCarey has his usual array of cute kids in store for us including a re-enactment of the Christmas story by six and seven-year-olds, and a boy whom Sister Benedict secretly teaches to box for a return engagement with the school bully. It is all superficial and bla¬tantly corny, with equal parts of propaganda (the children pledging allegiance to the American flag), bad taste, and crude slap¬stick (the cat in Crosby's boater).
Ingrid Bergman in nun's habit is hardly likely to entrance her fans - warm, radiant and sympathetic though she looks in the hands of cinematographer George Barnes. Oddly enough, Barnes has lit and photo¬graphed Crosby from some very unflattering angles. Another funny thing is that though Bing has four or five songs, he doesn't get to sing a single one of them right through, but is either cut off in the middle or sings a truncated version.
As mentioned earlier, Henry Travers plays Horace P. Bogardus with his usual unbridled mugging. The rest of the cast does not get much of a look-in. After a lengthy introduc¬tory scene, Una O'Connor virtually disap¬pears; Ruth Donnelly has nothing of consequence to do or say as a side-kick of Miss Bergman; Gargan has but a small role, appearing in only two scenes. The others are no more than adequate.
Some money has been spent on sets, (though some we suspect are contrived mainly through special effects), and some of the lighting effects obtained by Barnes are quite pleasing. Why a top designer like Edith Head was engaged to design the costumes when these are mainly confined to habits is a typical example of Hollywood largess. Those costumes Miss Head has come up with - like Miss Sleeper's, for example - are nothing to marvel at, and could have been selected from the racks of any dime-and-ten.
We like the title song, but the others are quite pedestrian. Bing Crosby's voice often seems to be out of its range, but this could be the effect of poor sound recording.