Spencer Tracy spends the entire film being politely, lovingly destroyed, and it’s a joy to watch. As the title’s hapless patriarch, he’s baffled by florists, defeated by guest lists, and ground down by the sheer logistics of marrying off a daughter he’d rather just keep. Elizabeth Taylor plays her as radiant and serenely oblivious to the carnage she’s causing. Tracy’s performance builds through quiet exhaustion rather than big comic flourishes — effective, even if the film rarely pushes him into full comic meltdown.
Joan Bennett is the secret weapon: composed, sharp, and properly present in scenes where lesser films would sideline the mother entirely. She and Tracy warm the film from the inside, which is exactly what Father of the Bride needs when the script settles for gentle domestic chaos over outright farce.
Pleasant, well-crafted, and utterly predictable. More soft smile than belly laugh — though occasionally you wish it would loosen its tie and go for the bigger one.
A father recounts the events surrounding his daughter's wedding. With meagre plot or character and a dollop of uncomfortable old timey family standards, this comedy is tedious.