When I suddenly find myself screaming as I scan the news, I know it’s time to back off.
Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid (1948), a fantasy about a middle-aged Bostonian who falls in love with a mermaid, is an effective dose of sanity, funny, whimsical, and witty: they really don’t make movies like this anymore. For Patty and me it’s long been a favorite. It stars William Powell as Mr. Peabody, Irene Hervey as his baffled wife, and Ann Blyth as the mermaid–and if this movie doesn’t relax, delight, and captivate you, I don’t know what will.
Poor Peabody blunders into one mortifyingly embarrassing situation into another until the whole island (they’re on vacation in the Caribbean) thinks he’s totally popped his cork. These scenes, relying on acutely clever dialogue and marvelous performances, are screamingly funny. I mean, you will just plotz when Peabody goes into the Wee Shop of Intimate Things to buy “half a bathing suit.”
This comedy is gentle, sweet, and in its own quiet and inimitable way, off the wall.
If you’re over 50, like Peabody, and have never thought you’ve heard a mermaid singing in the distance…. you ought to listen harder.