Cinema: People Who Use People

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The Pad (And How to Use It). The title swings like a rusty tailpipe, but stay cool. Ross Hunter, the Hollywood production genius who gave the world Tammy and a yock-pile of fill'ems starring Rock Hudson and Doris Day, has actually produced an intelligent picture at last. Based on the first half of The Private Ear—The Public Eye, a 1963 Broadway hit by Britain's Peter Shaffer, The Pad is laid out as a parable of friendship. Ted (James Farentino), who considers himself God's gift to the working girl, is a crude dude with a smile like a moonlit mackerel and a little black book that would choke a billy-goat. Bob (Brian Bedford), on the other hand, is one of the pure to whom all things are pure, a dear young fuddy-duddy who works as an errand boy in a freight company, lives in a furnished garret in Venice, Calif., and is so madly in love with classical music that he seldom remembers how much he longs to fall in love with a girl.

When he meets one at a concert, he manages almost suavely to ask her for a d-d-date, but when she says yes, he suddenly looks like Donald Duck walking on air—about 15 ft. out from the edge of the cliff. Big-hearted Ted, of course, gives the poor kid some useful advice ("Put two cigarettes between your lips, light them and give one to her —very sexy, women love it") and then kindly offers to come over to Bob's pad on the big night and whip up one of those "seductive suppers from Playboy."

He comes, he cooks, he conquers. The girl, a nice dumb redhead (Julie Sommars) who talks as if she thinks Bach comes in bottles, tempts Ted to prove the one thing he is never really sure of: his virility. To ease his fear, he betrays his friend, but poor bumbling Bob refuses to accept betrayal. Galvanized by indignation, he demonstrates that true virility is not a matter of sexual prowess but of spiritual force.

The scene is shrewdly written, strongly performed. Bedford, the only holdover from the Broadway cast, is the perfect mouse—funny when he squeaks, staggering when he roars. Whenever she is onscreen, Actress Sommars matches him laugh for laugh, and Farentino with never a false step leads the spectator to the clear-eyed conclusion of this wise little comedy: people who use people are the loneliest people in the world.