Competent trouping and topflight production make Without Love a click. But there’s no gainsaying the general obviousness of it all, along with a somewhat static plot basis [from a play by Philip Barry].
There is a lack of conviction despite the adult trouping of the lady scientist who aids the gentleman scientist. It’s a foregone conclusion that behind their mutual shells of yesteryear amours they’ll clinch eventually. Hers was the idyllic love, too shortlived, but a perfect two years, until his death; and Spencer Tracy’s love life is something out of a Parisian past.
Interspersed is an intelligent pooch who has been trained to curb Tracy’s somnambulism, which is planted early for boudoir usage later. Somehow this is inconsistent with so stoic a character as Tracy, but somehow, also, it’s made acceptable, as is the squabbling Keenan Wynn-Patricia Morison business, and the rest of it. All of which is wholly to the cast’s credit.