Apparently based on an original idea by Poitier himself, you have to wonder if he couldn't have come up with something a bit more challenging and true-to-life, especially in this of all years. Instead, we get this strangely balanced and oddly bland romantic comedy. Maybe I'm being harsh on him, but coming off three hit films in a row, this seems like a somewhat safe and almost cosy regression in a film which you could almost imagine condensed into a Dick Van Dyke TV show episode of the time.
Poitier, plus an entourage of drivers, croupiers and skimpily-clad cocktail waitresses, runs a permanently floating crap game for predominantly white high-rollers, wives included, from the back of a huge haulage truck, which acts as cover from the law. I'm guessing high-stakes gambling venues were thin on the ground in upstate New York at the time. One of his clients is wealthy businessman Carroll O'Connor and his nuclear family of ditzy wife, flighty daughter and stoner son, who it seems can't do anything at home for themselves, relying on their black maid Ivy to basically organise their lives for them. When Ivy unexpectedly hands in her notice, declaring her intention to leave the household, get an education and no doubt find her true self in the process, the family cracks up and cook up a hair-brained plan to marry her off to some rich, handsome black dude who no doubt will allow her to continue her life of servitude to them within an otherwise blissful married life.
It's all very slight and undemanding, requiring little effort from Poitier who basically just continues to portray the urbane educated persona he'd adopted in "To Sir With Love" and "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner". Abbey Lincoln makes a good impression as the wilful title character, but like everyone else in the film, her character is very thinly sketched.
The humour, mildly taking in tropes like the generation gap and interracial relations, manages to be both forced and lacklustre and the ending is exactly what you could have guessed from ninety minutes out. There's a bizarre scene near the end when Beau Bridges, as the hippie son, puts in his tuppenceworth to resolve the situation which only serves to further demean Ivy's already lowly status even as you appreciate that this time Carroll O'Connor isn't going to pull off a Spencer Tracy and rescue the film at the finish.
On the plus side, there's a pleasing, sultry jazz soundtrack by Quincy Jones, Poitier and Lincoln make for a handsome couple and the look of the film is polished and slick for sure, but really this is one Ivy pretty much out of its league in a film which hasn't aged well and which I know won't stay long in my memory,
