The story of the marriage of England’s King Arthur to Guinevere is played out amid the pageantry of Camelot. The plot of illegitimate Modred to gain the throne and Guinevere’s growing attachment to Sir Lancelot, whom she at first abhors, threaten to topple Arthur and destroy his “round table” of knights who would use their might for right. –IMDb
Primarily a man of the theater, Joshua Logan fashioned a brilliant career as a writer, producer and director and was that uncommon phenomenon, the theatrical director whose success extended into films. He was also notable for his candor in discussing manic depression, a condition for which he required hospitalization on two occasions before discovering he could control it with the drug lithium carbonate. When discussing his illness, he made it quite clear that its manic phase contributed to his creativity: “Without my illness . . . I would have missed the sharpest, rarest and, yes, the sweetest moments of my existence.”
Logan entered Princeton University in 1927 because of its Triangle Club that toured the country and became its president during his senior year. He co-wrote and acted in the annual university reviews from 1928-30 but did not graduate, leaving instead to study on scholarship with Stanislavsky and the Moscow Arts Theatre. During his collegiate days, he co-founded… read more
Josh Logan tries. Lord love him, he tries. He had a great feeling for aesthetics and there are some beautiful images here and there that come close to the magic he achieves in Picnic's slow dance, but the material is just wretched. If this had been a straight telling of the legend, I have every confidence Logan could have worked miracles. But with this shallow charade he's hamstrung at every turn.
No matter how much money was thrown at this film it rarely takes hold as anything other than beautiful hubris and nearly drowns a generally appealing libretto and score with needless opulence. Woefully miscast and distracted leads add to the jolly misery and it’s yet another clunking attempt to replicate Warner’s earlier My Fair Lady, itself no stranger to largesse served as whimsy. Oh Julie, where for art thou?