40-ish divorcée and mother from New York City meets a 22-year-old American man while vacationing with her mother in Greece; they spar a bit at first, but he manages to charm her. Back at home, their paths cross again, where he asks her to marry him. Hit Broadway plays are almost always good material for sparkling screen comedies. It often doesn't matter how familiar the plots may seem at the time--if the story is funny or charming and the characters are appealing, audiences will usually be very forgiving (a good love song helps as well). "40 Carats" doesn't really work, for a variety of reasons. The play--originally written by Pierre Barillet and Jean-Pierre Grédy, which was adapted for the American stage by Jay Presson Allen, whose work was then given an overhaul for the screen by Leonard Gershe--has no substance, and yet it's overwritten. Everyone works hard to keep the soufflé from falling, what with 'witty' asides and one-liners, but the casting isn't right. Norwegian actress Liv Ullmann, in only her second American film, looks unsure of herself, like a deer in the headlights. She's much too insecure for a puff-piece like "40 Carats", and she gets no help from director Milton Katselas. Ullmann's scenes with Edward Albert have no lift, and he comes on like an overripe gigolo. After an arduous introduction, the scenes back in New York City have some bounce, mostly due to the other players. Second-billed Gene Kelly is hammy, as usual, but he's comfortable in front of the camera and puts us at ease (the man knows what he's doing). Binnie Barnes and Nancy Walker are also good (Walker singlehandedly saves her scenes with Ullmann), while the more serious third act performances by potential in-laws Don Porter and Rosemary Murphy are solid. Deborah Raffin makes her film debut as Ullmann's daughter--and has a killer scene at the pool table--but her match-up with older Billy Green Bush doesn't work (he's either miscast or misdirected in his approach to this role). Gershe gives the May-September material some of the snap of his "Butterflies Are Free", and there are a few laughs in the picture, but it trudges along with an unhappy spirit. There's also a ballad--a lousy one--written by Michel Legrand and Alan & Marilyn Bergman to clinch the deal. ** from ****
