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A different way of telling a story

If the ambition is to provide two hours of instantly forgettable, popcorn-munching escapism, it succeeds.

This film is so real. It treats its characters with so much care and sensitivity.

Exactly the movie you think it is, but not the movie you want it to be.

In this film, we have 70 minutes to reconcile ourselves to the fact that the lead character (Lauren Bacall) is going to die. If we've already seen the original version of this Fox melodrama, we know just how much of an eternity that hour and ten minutes may seem. For most of this time, however, our interest is sustained by Lauren Bacall's credible performance as a terminal woman who wants to adopt a little girl (Evelyn Rudie) and leave it behind to keep her husband (Robert Stack) company. The Freudian implications of such thoughtful generosity are not fully disclosed, but we are expected to accept this contrivance just the same. Beginning with the 71st minute of this motion picture, we are subjected to a series of painful scenes where Stack deals with death and the unlikelihood of raising Rudie without Bacall. There are countless moments where the characters mention talking to Bacall's spirit, presumably out of camera-range. This begs the question: why not just have Bacall hover over them, superimposed, to suggest some sort of present supernatural form? But the real reason the last thirty minutes without Miss Bacall are terribly difficult to watch is because the narrative at this point must rely strictly on Mr. Stack and Miss Rudie, who are just not able to hold our attention. Quite frankly, the young actress is not good enough to handle such a huge part; some of Rudie's line deliveries are so monotone and emotionless that all the hard work Bacall had done earlier in the picture is compromised. And when it becomes apparent that Rudie lacks the ability to bring some depth to the role, we feel sorry for Stack having to go through the paces with her, and we envy Bacall who took the last exit and got off at Heaven.

From the very beginning, where Vic Damone sings the BEAUTIFUL Title Song, to the end where I sit teary-eyed, again, I LOVE this film. I also loved the original, "Sentimental Journey" just as much. Both may be a bit unrealistic in today's no-room-for-sentiment world, but they are heartwarming and wonderful movies that most women of my generation appreciate and WANT to see-----------often! This movie is NOT shown often enough. Lauren Bacall is as beautiful as beautiful gets and Robert Stack gives a fine performance. I did notice that the lovely background music played throughout both films, is basically the same song, but played to a somewhat different beat. In both films, even the music pulls at your heartstrings. One of my favorites!

I was quite young (around 14) when I saw this movie on TV. While I could not remember the cast very much at that time, the story and the way the actors/actresses had carried the story through made a lasting impression on me - what it means when any child can be your child - it takes only to show love and how it can fill the gaps in our lives. This story of this film helped me to help many of my friends who did not have their own children and that they can enjoy the gift if they open their minds and hearts to them - as the leading lady impresses upon the husband. The beginning of romance between the two and the moments they draw together and next when we see them as a couple are all well portrayed.

This story was so unbelievably corny, this is one of the worse pieces of crap I have seen from the fifties. The dialogue was brightly phony, Lauren Bacall and Robert Stack must cringe at the thought of their appearances in this movie. And the opening title song, Vic Damone crooning as they show various scenes of Lauren Bacall massaging Robert Stack's shoulders and neck! What was that all about??? The film was beautifully done in color (for 1958) but the storyline so bad- what was she doing, trying to train the adopted girl to become her husband's concubine after her inevitable death? I could not stop watching, it was like being at the scene of a disaster. This is definite high camp from the fifties.