The big day has arrived and you're to wed, a union with young Jenny, conjugal bed, a honeymoon in Majorca (cancelled at the last minute), she really is a corker, but there's things spinning around inside your head. You're father doesn't help as he's a boor, while living in his house is such a chore, no escape on the horizon, and you're struggling to enliven, perform the ritual of love, ardour, l'amour. And now the world has been informed of your shortcoming, about the problem you've been having with your plumbing, you feel belittled and enraged, life was much easier when engaged, it's so unsavoury, unpleasant and unbecoming.

The trials and tribulations of a newly married couple and their irritating and interfering parents.

Young British working-class newlyweds are having trouble consummating their marriage whilst living with the in-laws, and it gets even worse when neighbors start speculating about the groom's "performance". A realistic play on a modern-day situation that is still timeless. The elders in this film are especially amazing, their roles full of dimension, though everyone here excels with the solid, no-frills screenplay. This is one of Hayley Mills' best movies, as she exhibits a strong, self-assured presence and lends nuances to every scene (she's captivating). Paul McCartney contributed the background score, and his main theme is lovely. A fine film. *** from ****

Handsome, naive young Hywel Bennett marries beautiful, naive young Hayley Mills and, for lack of any other place, they move into the spare room of Bennett's accommodating, working-class parents, John Mills and Marjorie Rhodes.

It's all very cozy -- too cozy. Mills and Rhodes occupy one bedroom, Bennett and Mills another, and Bennett's brother Eddie sleeps in the third and last. The problem is that the walls of this humble apartment are too thin. A sound in any of the rooms seems to penetrate and echo in all the others. You can not only hear the gruff John Mills using the chamber pot, you hear him complaining that it's always under the wife's side of the bed.

These circumstances -- the humiliation of still having to live at home, and the thin walls -- puts Bennett's agenda off and he's unable to make love to Hayley Mills. Bennett is a normal enough kid but he's shy and a virgin. Mills is more practical but she's virgo intacta too. His inability to perform what everyone in their Manchester neighborhood considers his husbandly duties only adds to Bennett's discomfort and throws him into a state of gloomy impotence. He takes to sleeping in a chair by the window. The secret gets out, as all secrets do, and some neighborhood toughs taunt Bennett.

Everyone seems to sense something is wrong with the newly weds except John Mills. He's a dull bulb in many ways. It's a magnificent performance, really, because what has John Mills, the actor, got going for him? His appearance is best described as unprepossessing, and that's doing him a kindness. He's of only modest height; he doesn't have Olivier's good looks, or Burton's stunning voice, or any kind of magnetism at all. He only has talent. His performances range from the tragic ("Tunes of Glory") to the positively deranged ("Ryan's Daughter").

Here, he's brusquely ludic but sensitive underneath all that common-sense bluster. He lives for his job at the gas works, his ketchup-splattered unidentifiable meals, his pipe, and his beer. He fails to recognize the heavy irony in his own statements. They take away his television. "I'm glad they took it," he mumbles. "It was killing the art of conversation," and he begins to nod off in front of the fire. "I noticed that," says his resigned wife from the table.

He has one scene that always cracks me up. The in-laws come to his house to discuss the situation in the new couple's boudoir. Everybody's in on what's happening except Mills with his bushy mustache and his clumsily cut hair parted in the middle like something out of a 1920 photograph. The marriage hasn't taken on, they tell him. "Taken on? Taken on WHAT?" Well, the husband hasn't taken the plunge. His face twists in exasperation. "What plunge?" The marriage hasn't gelled. "GELLED"? He's not doing his marital duties. "You mean -- you mean --" And his wife mutters, "I think the penny's dropped." It probably doesn't sound like much in print, but that's not simply because of my ragged prose. It's a tribute to the four actors in the scene, especially Mills, and to the director, Roy Boulting. They pull it off with panache.

Hayley Mills was a young girl at the time, a little gangly in a post-adolescent way, for my taste, but not without feminine grace. We get two brief glimpses of her buns, which I doubt anyone would describe as saucy. She's radiant in her own way. Her hair is a long lustrous blond and her features are those of a cherub. Bennett is the perfect mate. He's boyish and seems barely past puberty.

It's a comedy, of course, but there is some tension too, chiefly revolving around John Mills' insensitivity to the needs of others in his family, especially Bennett. He knows his station. His tastes are simple. He comes down to breakfast and speaks disapprovingly to Bennett: "Isn't it a little early for that?" One expects to find Bennett with a beer on the table but all he's doing is reading. "Books!", exclaims Mills. And when Bennett plays Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, Mills complains about having to listen to "chamber music." The last scene resolves any of that tension and it does so without being, well, treacly.

It sounds like an episode from a television situation comedy, and it resembles one, but the performances and the exquisite writing lift it well above that bar. We can feel a part of ourselves in every one of the principal characters. It's full of charm.