My Geisha (1962)

The greatest stories are based on deceit, and the deepest romances are forged from secret identities (not to mention the lies we tell ourselves). Think of Shakespeare, his plays within plays that illustrate the larger drama and enrich the plot with shades of emotion. Now, I’m not saying My Geisha, an early ’60s postcard from America’s favorite colony is quite Shakespeare…. The premise and characters are tissue-thin, especially Bob Cummings’ infantile playboy straight out of a Doris Day movie. But it does, at times, rise above its hackneyed plot of an actress assuming an exotic identity to fool her husband (and land a starring role in the show), to reveal a complicated dance of egos between man and wife, and the eventual submergence of her identity to provide his greatest happiness.

Shirley MacClaine plays a successful formula comedienne who is sidelined when her longtime director husband (Yves Montand) wants to film an epic version of Madame Butterfly in Japan complete with an authentic geisha as the lead. She is hurt, but realizes the film will be a chance to prove himself as a great director and not just her husband. But without her starring name attached, the studio slashes the budget and his hopeful opus will be filmed in black and white. With the help of the film’s producer and family friend (Edward G. Robinson), MacClaine trains to be such a convincing geisha that she will even fool her husband and save the film, but to protect his ego he can’t know his authentic geisha is really his meddling wife — at least until the film’s premier when her unmasking will spur publicity and probably win her an Oscar.
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