Let’s be honest. There’s something weirdly hypnotic about watching America’s Sweetheart of the ’50s, Debbie Reynolds, toddle through a Technicolor farce about a baby that isn’t hers while actually carrying the future Princess Leia in her womb. It’s like cinematic Inception, only with more bonnets and less plot. Bundle of Joy is a remake of a remake of a German film, and by the time it got to 1956, it had all the spontaneity of a mandatory baby shower. It’s sweet, sure. But it’s the kind of sweet that makes your teeth hurt. And not in the good, “aww” way. More like a “who let this happen?” kind of way.
The film was conceived, rather cynically, as a way to cash in on the then-white-hot marriage of Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher, America’s favorite newlyweds, or so we were told between verses of Fisher’s syrupy crooning. RKO Pictures—freshly zombified after Howard Hughes sold it off like last season’s mink stoles—greenlit this pastel-colored spectacle as part of a last-gasp production slate. Fisher, a crooner with the emotional range of a rotary phone, owned 65% of the movie. Hughes clutched the other 35% from his Vegas lair like Gollum hoarding studio rights. The result? A musicalized remake of Bachelor Mother that manages to strip the original of its wit and replace it with a lullaby and a tax deduction.
Even the development was touched by Hollywood’s signature cocktail of ambition and denial. The original Little Mother was a tender and risqué 1935 Austrian comedy. Its American reimagining in 1939, Bachelor Mother, had the wisecracks of Ginger Rogers and the British aloofness of David Niven. But when the 1950s decided to dust it off and toss in musical numbers, everything turned saccharine and slow. This wasn’t about reinvention—it was about repackaging sentimentality in Cinemascope and praying Fisher didn’t blink too much on camera.
Speaking of Fisher: the man could sing like a lark but acted like a deer in headlights. Casting him as a romantic lead was like handing a bouquet to a vacuum cleaner. It didn’t help that Reynolds, who could act circles around him even while eight months pregnant, was often strategically hidden behind potted plants, hats, or display racks. Why? Because little Carrie Fisher was busy gestating behind all that millinery. Reynolds dances, sings, and emotes like a professional, even when her director—Norman Taurog—was allegedly slipping into early-onset Alzheimer’s and giving instructions like a broken record. The man forgot the plot. Which, to be fair, so did the audience.
The story, thin as a ribbon on a baby bonnet, centers on Polly Parish, a hat girl who finds an abandoned baby and ends up tangled in a farce of mistaken paternity. The boss’s son (Fisher, robotic) becomes entangled. There’s dancing, confusion, and a climax involving more fake baby daddies than a Maury marathon. The real emotional core is Reynolds, doing her damnedest to humanize the chaos while everyone else treats the baby like a prop in a Vegas lounge act.
Critically, the film was met with shrugs and a few stiff drinks. Fisher himself called it “a bomb” and lamented that “Debbie’s was the only career that survived.” He wasn’t wrong. The songs, composed by Josef Myrow and Mack Gordon, vaporized instantly. No standards, no revivals—just the cinematic equivalent of musical sawdust. The premiere, oddly noble, doubled as a fundraiser for Hungarian refugees, attended by the likes of Archduke Leopold of Habsburg, who probably thought he was watching propaganda. Spoiler: he wasn’t. He was just as confused as everyone else.
The legacy of Bundle of Joy isn’t cinematic excellence—it’s the trivia. Debbie was pregnant with Carrie. Fisher’s agent torpedoed a real acting opportunity (What Makes Sammy Run?) in favor of this squeaky-clean, diaper-wrapped detour. It’s a time capsule of 1950s studio desperation: musical fluff inflated with Technicolor and real-life headlines. Fisher tried to be an actor. Reynolds tried to stay married. RKO tried to stay alive. Only Debbie succeeded—and even then, not for long.
So, should you watch Bundle of Joy? Sure—if you like mid-century pastels, accidental pregnancies, or the soothing voice of a man who’d rather be singing about heartbreak than pretending to change a diaper. Otherwise, go watch Bachelor Mother. At least Ginger Rogers doesn’t have to hide behind hat racks to deliver a punchline.
⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3/5)
#BundleOfJoy #DebbieReynolds #EddieFisher #1950sCinema #TechnicolorTrials #BabyNotIncluded #HollywoodRemakes #CarrieFisherBackstory #OldHollywoodGossip
No comments:
Post a Comment