The King and I

With the exception of the opening scene, The King and I takes place in a CinemaScopic dream--the fantastic palace of the King of Siam. Faced with such an opportunity for gaudy sets and elaborate musical numbers, Hollywood could well have done as it has in the past and made a Spectacle of the film and itself. That The King and I is a pleasant and charming movie is due as much to the direction of Walter Lang as to the original Rogers and Hammerstein libretto.

This is not to say that the potentialities of the wide-screen process have not been realized. Each scene is carefully planned so that the lavish palace interiors provide a proper frame for the action, neither intruding with too brilliant colors nor detracting by money-saving shabbiness.

But the lesson to be learned from The King and I lies in the fact that two most effective scenes are the two simplest. No line of Goldwyn girls endlessly kicking as they fade toward infinity nor any impeccably starched and waltzing Corps Diplomatique nor all the magnolia-scented balls that Darryl Zanuck ever threw had half the grace of Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr romping alone to "Shall We Dance?"

The adaptation of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," produced by the palace harem to display its western culture, loses none of its ingenuousness on the screen, and is infinitely more convincing in its impressionistic sets than any troupe of true Siamese could effect.

Yul Brynner's king is a properly engaging mixture of arrogance and naivete, while a flock of correctly slant-eyed wives and children lends charm and authenticity. Miss Kerr presides over the whole menage with all the grace and, unfortunately, all the passion of an English noblewoman showing off her prize roses.