Let’s be honest: when MGM decided to remake The Women—that legendary 1939 catfight couture-fest—as a musical with men in it, you could already hear Norma Shearer and Rosalind Russell rolling in their technicolor graves (or at least their Malibu beach chairs). The result, The Opposite Sex, is less “feminine ferocity” and more “pastel pageant with a pulse,” complete with a jazz band cameo, a few awkward musical interludes, and an unfortunate slap that allegedly sent Joan Collins to the floor faster than her contract with 20th Century Fox. It’s the kind of film that feels like a gossip column and a satin robe had a baby—and that baby was raised on martinis and mild passive aggression.
Development Hell, But With Better Lipstick
By the mid-1950s, MGM was sweating out the last of its golden age hangover. The suits, high on nostalgia and probably Vermouth, decided to take Clare Boothe Luce’s acidic 1936 play The Women and retrofit it into a musical comedy because nothing says marital betrayal like a big-band number. Out went the all-female conceit (which the studio dismissed as a “stunt”) and in came the men, because “you can’t play a love scene alone,” according to writer Fay Kanin. Never mind that The Women had done just that for over 600 Broadway performances and a film that still slaps harder than June Allyson ever could.
The Kanins tried to smooth things over with a showbiz setting, an idea as thin as a Joan Crawford eyebrow. They tossed in musical numbers, switched up some relationships, added a cowboy, and hoped the pastel CinemaScope palette would distract from the fact that they took the original’s bite and replaced it with blush. Spoiler: it didn’t.
Casting Chaos and Backstage Brawls
began (royalty beckoned), Esther Williams said no and was suspended, and Eleanor Parker was cast and recast like a game of Hollywood musical chairs. June Allyson—MGM’s perennial girl-next-door with a tremble in her voice and a contract nearing its death rattle—ended up leading as Kay Hilliard, a wronged wife who gets revenge not with poison but passive optimism and one decent ballad (dubbed by Jo Ann Greer, naturally).
Joan Collins stepped in as man-stealing showgirl Crystal Allen, on loan from 20th Century Fox and apparently on the outs with the rest of the female cast. According to Cosmopolitan, Allyson’s on-screen slap was so real it knocked Collins out cold. That’s method acting, baby. Meanwhile, Dolores Gray didn’t get to sing much (a crime), and Ann Miller didn’t dance at all (a felony). On paper, this was an all-star cast. On screen, it often feels like a stage full of musical chairs where nobody gets a solo.
Like the Original, But with Horns and Husbands
The bones of the plot remain: Kay discovers her theater producer husband is stepping out with a showgirl. Cue gossip, Reno divorce papers, an ill-advised marriage to the mistress, and a second act redemption. But while the original The Women gave us venomous wit and haute couture duels, this version serves cabaret-lite and chorines. Instead of razor-sharp wit, we get pastel sarcasm. Instead of Joan Crawford walking into a room and owning it, we get Collins soaking in a bubble bath and catching hives. Progress?
There’s a subplot with a singing cowboy (Jeff Richards) and the Countess (Agnes Moorehead), which gets rewritten here so that he ends up with Sylvia Fowler instead, presumably because studio execs were bored and needed to justify Agnes’s wig budget. And if you’re wondering how Harry James wound up blaring a trumpet in the middle of this estrogen opera, don’t. It’s 1956. Nothing needs to make sense.
When Pretty Isn’t Enough
Bosley Crowther of The New York Times called it a “venomous mixture of deadly females vs. deadlier females” and meant it as a compliment. Audiences, however, were less amused. Despite the gowns, the color, and the fighting-in-heels choreography, The Opposite Sex flopped like a sequined pancake. MGM took a $1.5 million loss, proving that even the best wardrobe can’t cover up a weak script and studio micromanagement.
Still, some critics—and modern audiences squinting through nostalgia-tinted glasses—find pleasure in its glossy absurdity. It’s campy, it’s gaudy, and there’s enough eye shadow and spite to fuel a whole season of Real Housewives of MGM. Even Crawford, never one for subtlety, allegedly dismissed it with her usual grace: “We towered compared to those pygmies in the remake.”
Sequins, Slaps, and Soap Opera Stardust
Today, The Opposite Sex stands as a glittery cautionary tale of what happens when a studio remakes a classic and underestimates the power of estrogen-only storytelling. Sure, there’s a place for men in cinema. Just not in The Women. And certainly not doing doo-wop behind Dolores Gray. This was June Allyson’s MGM swan song, and though her ballad may have been dubbed, her swan still managed a few good flaps.
It’s fun. It’s flawed. It’s fashion-forward fury without the bite. A film that wanted to be champagne and ended up as pink soda—still sweet, but with bubbles that fade too fast.
⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3/5)
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