Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Sidney Gilliat
Starring: Peter Sellers, Mai Zetterling, Virginia Maskell, Kenneth Griffith, Richard Attenborough
Some gentlemen prefer blondes and some favour brunettes, but as far as
much of Western cinema is concerned, only the former exist. Movies are
filled with men chasing blondes despite having brunette goddesses at home.
For those of us more inclined towards brunettes it can be difficult to
swallow when Michael Douglas pursues Glenn Close or Sharon Stone when he
could be getting cosy with Anne Archer or Jeanne Tripplehorn. But I guess
it's that very cosiness, that sense of certainty, that such men are trying
to escape. Ever since Garbo, blondes have been used by filmmakers to
represent danger, adventure and aspiration, sirens tempting men from their
lives of staid conformity.
One such man is Peter Sellers' John Lewis in Only Two Can Play, director Sidney Gilliat's 1962 adaptation of Kingsley Amis' novel 'That Uncertain Feeling'. Lewis has a brunette goddess at home in
his wife Jean (Virginia Maskell), but that doesn't stop him from
chasing Liz (Mai Zetterling), the seductive Norwegian who arrives
right in the middle of his seven year itch.
Lewis is a librarian who fancies himself a lothario, but where this film
differs from most comedies about married men being tempted in such a
manner is that Lewis actually is the ladies man he believes himself to be.
His pursuit of Liz is mutual, and it seems every woman in his small Welsh
town is after him, from the girl who gives him bedroom eyes every morning
on the bus to the pretty young thing that lives in a room in the cramped
boarding house he shares with Jean and their two young kids.
But like so many of the protagonists of British comedy, Lewis is a snob
with social-climbing pretensions. He could seemingly have any woman in
town, but Lewis looks down his nose at them. Liz represents just what he's
after, a dalliance with high society. But at the same time, Lewis fancies
himself something of a bohemian. His childhood friend Probert (a
hilarious Richard Attenborough) has become a poet and
playwright, fully embracing the beatnik lifestyle with his goatee and
beret, while Lewis has settled for writing drama criticism for his town's
local newspaper. Jean wants Lewis to land a promotion to the role of
sub-librarian, which would provide the family with some much-needed extra
cash, but Lewis feels he's above such a role. He's the sort of man who
believes something better awaits him around the next corner, who
constantly bemoans the hand he's been dealt while making no effort to
improve himself. He's a pathetic figure, unlikeable even, but as played by
Sellers he's a fascinating character study.
Liz just happens to be married to the head of the library committee and
promises to ensure Lewis gets the sub-librarian role. Knowing the strings
Liz can pull, Jean is initially content to turn a blind eye to her obvious
interest in her husband. Jean seems to have accepted that this is
something Lewis needs to get out of his system. Unlike her husband, she is
comfortable enough in their marriage to believe that he'll ultimately
realise what he has and come running back to her arms, monthly
housekeeping cheque in hand. She's right of course, because once Liz
becomes possessive towards Lewis he realises that she simply represents
another form of conformity, one where as a working class man he will be
nothing more than her lap dog.
For a 1962 comedy, Only Two Can Play is remarkably mature and sophisticated in its brutally honest
representation of what binds people together. The scenes of simple
domesticity between Lewis and Jean are genuinely romantic, two people who
are so comfortable with each other that they can say and do the sort of
hurtful things that would spell the death of any less secure relationship.
Their final scenes of reconciliation are quite moving.
Sellers was known for feeling threatened by any actors he feared were
good enough to steal his spotlight, so it says a lot about how great
Maskell is here that her egomaniacal co-star tried his best to have her
fired from the production. The entire supporting cast is excellent,
with Kenneth Griffith a standout as Jenkins, Lewis's
nervy rival for the sub-librarian role. But any movie featuring Peter
Sellers automatically becomes a Peter Sellers movie, and this is one of
his finest. Sellers plays Lewis with enough smugness to breed our
contempt, but he ultimately knows just how tragic a figure Lewis really
is, and he's able to mine much comedy from his misplaced social
aspirations. Bryan Forbes' script provides Sellers with enough
witty zingers to convince us that Lewis is the smart sophisticate he
considers himself to be. But there's a difference between being well-read
and possessing intelligence. Lewis is the smartest person in town (and as
such, the most condescending), but in failing to recognise just how lucky
he is to have a woman like Jean, he's the village idiot.
