SUNDAY IN NEW YORK: Blu-ray (MGM, 1963) Warner Archive

Poor Jo Morrow, her Mona Harris spends the better half of Peter Tewksbury’s Sunday in New York (1963) being bounced around on connecting flights between Manhattan, Denver, Arizona, and, Pittsburgh, never to be reunited with her paramour, pilot, Adam Tyler (Cliff Robertson) with whom she has been promised a weekend’s romantic respite. Mercifully, Mona is not the focus of Sunday in New York; a modish and stimulating farce, slavishly devoted to sex talk, or rather, flirtatious hints of impropriety insofar as Hollywood of yore was able to take the subject matter to heart and run with the idea single adults were entitled to do what they wished with their spare time in this cosmopolitan enclave of frolics and fashion. Sunday in New York is based on Milton Krasna’s play of the same name, begun in 1960, and produced by David Merrick on Broadway in 1961, where it ran for an impressive 188 performances. Garson Kanin, who directed its stagecraft, called it Krasna’s ‘best’ work. On stage, the roles of the sexually repressed Eileen Taylor and her pick-up for the afternoon, Mike Mitchell went to Pat Stanley and Robert Redford after Jane Fonda and Peter Graves both turned the parts down. As it turns out, the play’s loss was the picture’s gain, as Fonda, then being groomed as one of the up-and-coming sex kittens of her generation, came to the attention of producers, who again offered her the opportunity to play Eileen – this time, on the screen.

Interesting to observe Fonda here, before all her self-professed political activism and feminist bent lent ballast to seek out more challenging roles. As the sexually-repressed Eileen, eager to learn what all the fuss is about regarding the male ego, initiative and, of course, sex with a proper stranger, Fonda has a good time exploring the morally lax judgement of the male animal in his natural habitat, disillusioned to learn even her own brother, Adam has been pulling the wool over her eyes for some time, suggesting he too has remained a virgin in the big city. Eileen’s sexual liberation will not go smoothly. For here is a gal who cannot even look at a slinky/kinky translucent black negligee, hanging on the back hook of her brother’s closet door, without practically throwing a conniption from faux incredulity. Nor, having brought herself to the brink of cherry-popping madness, can she indulge her unwitting ‘would-be’ lover, Mike Mitchell (the robust, Rod Taylor) in his predilection for a tryst with yet another ‘loose girl’ on the make. Fonda’s bright-eyed young Miss is a bit long-in-the-tooth here, owing to the actress’ inbred sophistication. It is always a problem when the actor is more knowing and accomplished than the character she is playing. But Fonda does an amiable job of being the inquisitive type – probing Mike and Adam for tips on how best to tackle her garden variety innocence and burgeoning lust for Russ Wilson (Robert Culp, barely tolerable as the perpetually beaming letterman/athlete of her dreams…well, sort of).  

On stage, Sunday in New York lent considerable cache to Robert Redford’s aspirations to be taken as more than just some vintage California blonde beefcake; Redford, reneging on a 3-picture deal with the Sanders brothers to do the play and incurring a lawsuit, settled out of court, to get his big break in live theater. The decision was sound. But it kept Redford off the screen until 1964. And, as interesting here, to consider Redford’s replacement in the picture – Aussie stud, Rod Taylor who, by 1963, had accrued an impressive roster of screen credits in some very high-profile movies: The Catered Affair (1956), Giant (1956), Raintree County (1957), Separate Tables (1958), The Time Machine (1960), and, the voice of Pongo in Disney’s One Hundred and One Dalmatians (1961). 1963 was a very busy year for Taylor who appeared back-to-back as the dashing attorney, Mitch Brenner in Hitchcock’s The Birds, industrialist, Les Mangrum in the all-star, The V.I.P.s (1963) and Col. Hollis Farr in A Gathering of Eagles (1963) before moving directly into the part of amiable stud du jour, Mike Mitchell in Sunday in New York. Taylor’s breezy demeanor, with an underlay of sudden danger – or, in this case, frustration – lends Mike a deliciously nuanced appeal as ‘the guy on the side’ – or rather, the man to squire and fire Eileen’s heart, if only she can just take her head out of the clouds long enough to realize what a mistake it would be to become engaged to Russ.

Sunday in New York is delightful, chiefly because the principals know their way around a good line and writer, Milton Krasna has proved them all with more than their fair share of solid fluff to make each character enticing at a glance. The premise has, of course, dated with the passage of time. No one much cares if a woman of a certain age is virtuous anymore. Indeed, the play makes much of Eileen’s inexperience in the ways of love; something, the movie only hints at, mostly via Eileen’s indignation as she splays herself across a sofa with a ‘come hither’ glance, hoping to lure Mike to partake of her feminine wiles. As he, presumably, knows the score and is no stranger to this sort of pleasant past time, Mike needs little encouragement, causing Eileen to reconsider what she wants – and doesn’t – from the experience of knowing him intimately. And thus, their sexual chemistry gets distilled into sexual friction of the sandpaper ilk for most of the picture’s run time, neither especially satisfied, yet fated to be mated before the final fade out. Eileen and Mike’s elation turned into frustration reaches hideous heights of hilarity when, having stripped down to their skivvies, and sporting only bathrobes, the couple is barged in upon by Russ, eager to announce his engagement to Eileen. All is not lost as Russ mistakes Mike for Adam – a ruse, perpetuated for some time thereafter by Eileen, Mike and Adam, the latter, also having stumbled upon this scene to suspect his sister of having given up her virtue to see how the other half spends their rainy afternoons.

Attempting to ‘open up’ the play ever so slightly, director, Tewksbury, gives us the lay of Manhattan in uber-witty dollops of its steel and concrete sophistication. We skirt off to Rockefeller Center for Eileen’s cute meet with Mike. Having entangled her stickpin in his boutonnière on a crowded city bus, resulting in Mike having to cut out his suit jacket breast pocket with a penknife, he now inveigles Eileen in a truce. The least she can do to ‘repay’ him for his kindness is to have a cup of coffee. As Eileen is in search of Adam, to give him a message from his boss, Chief Pilot Drysdale (Jim Backus), and, Adam has lied to Eileen about taking Mona to go ice-skating, when – in reality – Adam is trying to procure an empty apartment for the afternoon for…well…you know, Eileen instead finds herself in the company of precisely the sort of man she swore never again give the time of day. Mike makes his first inelegant error, telling a blue joke in her company, for which Eileen considers most men to suffer from some juvenile predilection to ‘impress’. Slinking off, after leaving a note to mark her disdain, Eileen is nominally impressed when their paths cross again and she discovers Mike similarly wrote her a pithy goodbye, given to the waiter before his similar ‘escape’ from the restaurant.  Never kid a kidder, I suppose. So, Eileen and Mike bond over their mutual amusement and disgust for the games men and women are ‘expected’ to play to get to know each other. After spending a quiet afternoon taking turns rowing on Central Park Lake, Mike and Eileen find their way back to Adam’s apartment.

At some point, Eileen decides Mike just might be the guy to whom she could sincerely lose her virginity – the one to break her in for Russ, whom she has momentarily left back in Albany, but still secretly desires to wed. And Mike, presumably a ‘man of the world’ in sexual matters, has no trouble navigating his way around Eileen’s come-on; that is, until her ‘yes’ becomes an invigorated ‘no’, having second thoughts about surrendering her virtue, and, still believing Adam too is a virgin; thus, to be gravely disappointed in her for selling out ahead of marriage – and – to a man never to be considered as ‘the groom’. Fate intervenes. Mike becomes frustrated by Eileen’s mixed messages, leading to a frank discussion about sex and the role it plays in the mating game. Meanwhile, Eileen finds a kinky black negligee and bra hanging on the back of a locked closet door in her brother’s apartment. Clearly, the attire does not belong to him. And thus, Eileen is forced to admit Adam has lied to her about his honor, arguably, to protect hers. During the course of one rainy afternoon, while Adam chronically misdirects Mona onto several flights to Denver, Pittsburgh, and Arizona – Eileen and Mike become better acquainted with one another in Adam’s apartment. Shockingly, their desires illustrate more similarities than differences, leading Eileen to reconsider her love for Russ.

At this awkward juncture, the situation becomes positively unbearable, as Russ – having made the impromptu decision to propose marriage – barges in on Eileen and Mike, still in their bathrobes, but having done nothing for which either ought to be ashamed, mistakenly assumes Mike is Eileen’s brother and offers to take them both out to dinner. With the greatest of apprehension, Mike and Eileen agree to Russ’ offer, then desperately try to concoct a plausible narrative on which they can eventually reveal Mike’s true identity; a situation further wrought with complications when Adam turns up at his own apartment, also discovering Mike still wearing his bathrobe. Making their way to a nearby Japanese restaurant, Mike, Adam, Eileen and Russ continue to engage in awkward conversation. But this ends when Eileen spills everything to her fiancée. Now, Adam takes the opportunity to sock Mike in the jaw for lying to him. Learning Mike’s true identity, Russ begins to suspect Eileen and Mike have slept together. In reply, Russ feigns forgiveness, then promptly punches Mike, whom he leaves disoriented on the pavement just outside the apartment. Cooler heads prevail, however, and, as Mike and Eileen are really in love, they realize now they are destined to wind up together.

For its time, Sunday in New York was considered an ‘unvarnished’ exposé on male/female relationships, and Krasna, applauded for his candor. Today, the picture dates – all the fuss and bother about whether two consenting adults spent the afternoon together, distilled into a comedy of errors and misdirection, for which, on this level at least, the picture still clicks as it should. It is a little tough to swallow beefy Rod Taylor getting manhandled twice; first, by the diminutive Cliff Robertson, and then, by bean-pole, Robert Culp. Clearly, Taylor could have taken them both on with one meaty fist tied behind his back. But Taylor is a gifted actor who can ‘play small’, using his broad-shouldered girth to his advantage, like the alpha male who does not have to try hard to be considered as such. Rather disappointingly, Taylor and Jane Fonda fail to gel as lovers on the screen – their best moments resolved in an intellectual and antagonistic discussion about sex. The scenes where Mike just wants to get down to business never crackle with any salaciousness, even as Eileen increasingly turns frigid from the neck down. In her goofy walk-on as Adam’s perpetually frustrated gal/pal, Mona, Jo Morrow finds moments to dazzle us with her character’s chronic disillusionment, broken down by her failure to connect – literally – with Adam for more than a moment or two. Morrow makes us genuinely care about what happens to Mona. We sincerely would like to think all this talk of marriage has at least rubbed off some on Adam who, until their penultimate moment has likely never considered putting a ring on Mona’s finger. In the last analysis, Sunday in New York is a diverting and stylishly written entertainment. Today, it lacks the punch it did in 1964. Otherwise, it shows off some of Hollywood’s most popular stars of their day, doing their utmost to sell this featherweight rom/com as high art.

Sunday in New York arrives on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive (WAC) in another sparkling 1080p transfer: cause for celebration. The image sports excellent colors, is nicely resolved and sharp, and shows a light smattering of film grain looking very indigenous to its source. WAC’s commitment to back catalog has always been commendable and with very few exceptions, they have maintained a level of enviable quality that, by now, ought to be the exemplar for all other studio asset management programs. If only…in a perfect world! Color saturation and density here are bang on perfect. Flesh tones can appear slightly pasty. And black levels are a little anemic. But on the whole, this will surely not disappoint. Sunday in New York is a solidly rendered offering. The 2.0 DTS mono audio is as good. There are NO extras, save a theatrical trailer. Bottom line: a diverting and fun ‘little’ entertainment, worth a second glance on Blu-ray.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

0