Mary Pickford often stated that Tess Skinner was her favorite movie role. Well said! She played the part twice and for this version which she herself produced, she not only had to purchase the rights from Adolph Zukor but even give him credit on the film's main title card. Needless to say her portrayal of this role here is most winning. Indeed, in my opinion, the movie itself rates as one the all-time great experiences of silent cinema.
True, director John S. Robertson doesn't move his camera an inch from start to finish, but in Robertson's skillful hands this affectation not only doesn't matter but is probably more effective. A creative artist of the first rank, Robertson is a master of pace, camera angles and montage. He has also drawn brilliantly natural performances from all his players. Jean Hersholt who enacts the heavy is so hideously repulsive, it's hard to believe this is the same man as kindly Dr Christian; while Lloyd Hughes renders one of the best acting jobs of his entire career. True, it's probably not the way Mrs White intended, but it serves the plot admirably, as otherwise we would have difficulty explaining why the dope spent a fortune on defense but made not the slightest attempt to ascertain who actually fired the gun that killed his future brother-in-law! Needless to say, this particular quality of the likable hero is downplayed by Jack Ging in the bowdlerized 1960 version which also totally deletes the author's trenchant attack on smug, middle-class Christianity. Notice how the well-washed priest here moves forward a pace or two in surprise at the interruption, but then makes no attempt whatever to assist our plucky little heroine in the performance of duties that he himself was supposedly ordained to administer. This is a very moving scene indeed because it is so realistically presented.
"Tess" also provides an insight into the work of another fine actress, Gloria Hope, whose work was entirely confined to silent cinema. She married Lloyd Hughes in 1921 and retired in 1926 to devote her life completely to her husband and their two children. Lloyd Hughes died in 1958, but she lived until 1976, easily contactable in Pasadena, but I bet no-one had the brains to interview her. Another opportunity lost!
To me, Forrest Robinson only made a middling impression as Skinner. I thought he was slightly miscast and a brief glance at his filmography proves this: He usually played priests or judges! But David Torrence as usual was superb.
In all, an expensive production with beautiful photography and marvelous production values.

A singularly unfunny musical comedy that artificially tries to marry the then-cutting edge rock 'n' roll explosion with the middle-class sensibilities of a suburban sitcom. The result is a jarringly dated mish-mash that will satisfy none of the audience that went for the music, but will at least keep their parents sated.
A quick glance at the promo write-up on the back of the video release should give some idea of the content. Tom Ewell is a drunken agent, overplayed with so little comic ability you almost expect him to bellow "hi honey, I'm home!" The blurb sites him as "So funny in 'The 7 Year Itch'". It sounds almost like an excuse. What other film would sell itself on the fact that a leading player was good in something else? It reads like "So funny in 'The 7 Year Itch' ... but he's rubbish in this".
Mansfield, a beautiful girl with rumoured 50-inch assets, is, unfortunately, a bargain basement Monroe with all the acting ability and comic timing of a rotting haddock. Her wooden delivery combined with Ewell's OTT double-takes make this a comedy partnership from Hell. For her part, the sell gives us: "[Jayne Mansfield] whose more obvious talents are the cause of many of the film's biggest laughs!" As you can see, a movie sold on the idea that it's lead has a big chest is not the most sophisticated of things. Most of this "humour" is men literally falling over themselves, their glasses cracking upon site of Mansfield, etc. Only the Freudian nightmare of a milk bottle overflowing casts doubt upon its "U" certificate.
For the musical side, the most adenine of players are chosen. Would you really care to see Eddie Fontaine offer: "I love your eyes, I love your lips, they taste even better than potato chips" in a song called "Cool It, Baby"? Only the incendiary Little Richard breaks out of the MOR, though is forced to sing some of his more dad-friendly songs in a four-minute sequence. And how come all the acts sing without a single microphone? Attempted satires on the industry are broad and childlike in their conception.
Technically, the picture was quite advanced, with special effects (including a ghost-like Julie London) and deluxe color (Which now looks flat and artificial. In fact, with its reds that bleed and fake-looking flesh tones, it resembles a colorised movie). Direction, though, isn't outstanding, and the sound quality is also quite poor.
Perhaps it comes down to it being so old. A time when men still smoked on screen, sickeningly cute child actors made adult remarks and black servants only got to cook and dance. (All of which happen here). Yet Some Like It Hot, The African Queen, Ben Hur and many, many more stand as examples of films from the period that can still be enjoyed today, so the "good at the time" argument doesn't really stand up. At its heart The Girl Can't Help It is a cynical and patronising venture that doesn't bear close inspection. 4/10.