I was attracted to this movie by the actors, most of whom invoke fond memories and iconic performances. Deborah Kerr and David Niven, in particular, go out on a limb and play against type. The motley collection of thespians in this film are cocooned mostly in the interior of a little seaside hotel, mostly in the drawing and dining rooms and performing an adaptation of Terence Rattigan plays. It has been said that no man - or woman - is an island, but in this movie all the characters are islands, sitting, as they do, at separate tables in the dining room. It's a safe and non-intrusive arrangement - or is it? Join someone else at their table and the bees start buzzing. (I have also just seen another movie with a similar set-up - the main story in the enjoyable British drama "Trio").
Deborah Kerr is barely recognizable as a mousy, neurotic wallflower who fades into the scenery pretty quickly and stays there. She is attracted to David Niven's bombastic ex-military type with the preened moustache who ends his conversations with "cheery-bye". He hides a secret - he's really a repressed nobody. Rita Hayworth is a shrew. She's either really nice or really awful - when she's really awful her speech becomes clipped. Burt Lancaster is her ex, an alcoholic writer who has a thing for the hotel's owner (Wendy Hiller). Rod Taylor is on hand in a sub-plot that barely registers. Gladys Cooper, as Kerr's mom, a pinched old prude, is the most fun. All of the characters elicit some sympathy and all of the acting is perfectly respectable, yet even with so much talent on hand, the movie seems rather ordinary. There are only intermittent sparks, even in the Hayworth/Lancaster rocky love story. It has little vigour and the melodrama seems subdued. When Kerr finally defies her mother the earth should have shook; instead there was a momentary blip on the dramatic scale.
"Separate Tables" suffers badly from "television-itis". It looks and feels like a well-dressed television studio production from the 1950's. Even some of the camera and dolly movements and Delbert Mann's awkward transitions between scenes reek of television (was the movie originally intended for the tube?). Had the original material been opened up and filmed on location with real exteriors maybe the fresh morning breeze would have cleared the air. As it is, the movie feels a little muffled and quaint.
Deborah Kerr is barely recognizable as a mousy, neurotic wallflower who fades into the scenery pretty quickly and stays there. She is attracted to David Niven's bombastic ex-military type with the preened moustache who ends his conversations with "cheery-bye". He hides a secret - he's really a repressed nobody. Rita Hayworth is a shrew. She's either really nice or really awful - when she's really awful her speech becomes clipped. Burt Lancaster is her ex, an alcoholic writer who has a thing for the hotel's owner (Wendy Hiller). Rod Taylor is on hand in a sub-plot that barely registers. Gladys Cooper, as Kerr's mom, a pinched old prude, is the most fun. All of the characters elicit some sympathy and all of the acting is perfectly respectable, yet even with so much talent on hand, the movie seems rather ordinary. There are only intermittent sparks, even in the Hayworth/Lancaster rocky love story. It has little vigour and the melodrama seems subdued. When Kerr finally defies her mother the earth should have shook; instead there was a momentary blip on the dramatic scale.
"Separate Tables" suffers badly from "television-itis". It looks and feels like a well-dressed television studio production from the 1950's. Even some of the camera and dolly movements and Delbert Mann's awkward transitions between scenes reek of television (was the movie originally intended for the tube?). Had the original material been opened up and filmed on location with real exteriors maybe the fresh morning breeze would have cleared the air. As it is, the movie feels a little muffled and quaint.