JUMPING JACKS, the sixth comedy with Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, came out in the summer of 1952 and by the time receipts from the Dean & Jerry-crazed crowds were tallied the $11,000,000 take made it the year’s 9th most popular picture, only two spots under the duo’s other ’52 smash, Sailor Beware. The pair were their 1st and 2nd biggest hits. You’ll have to look elsewhere for a positive review, so we’ll keep’er brief.

‘Chick Allen’ (Dean) is a corporal in the Army who puts on shows for the troops. He convinces his ex-partner, civilian ‘Hap Smith’ (Jerry) to come to the base, impersonate another soldier and stealth join the troop troupe to pep it up to the commanding general’s satisfaction. Mega-klutz Hap does so and during the ongoing charade he undergoes paratroop training. ‘Betsy Carter’ (Mona Freeman), his partner from his civilian act, shows up, proud that Hap’s doing the manly patriotic thing, but then she gets swooned by Chick’s crooning. Never mind that grinding war stalemate police action going on over in Korea.

With Norman Taurog in the director’s chair, this knockabout nonsense (with five music/dance numbers) was aided in its sell-the-services-with-a-simpleton’s-smile pitch by full co-operation from the Army, with filming done at the Jump School in Georgia. The Deputy Chief of the Army’s Information Office snapped a salute, saying it would “contribute to troop morale within the Army.” Yes, Sir! No doubt more than the casualty figures coming back from hills around the 38th Parallel.

Credit for the script went to Robert Lees (seven Abbott & Costello pix), Herbert Baker (The Girl Can’t Help It, King Creole) and Frederic I. Renaldo (six A&C’s). Between stumbles and pratfalls is a line the constantly shouting ‘Sgt. McClusky’ (Robert Strauss, piling it on) delivers to Hap/Jerry: “You know boy, you’re getting funnier to me all the time.” Let’s just say we beg to differ. So as to further goose us into gales of Jerrylarity there are reaction shots of other cast members (and soldiers, playing soldiers) guffawing their heads off—did the Pentagon test release some kind of Idiot Gas on the public? Was Truman in on this? Nah, politicians with a sandgrain of shame would never treat a huge slice of the American public like they were imbeciles.

96 minutes, with Don DeFore, Richard Erdman, Ray Teal, Marcy McBride, Danny Arnold.