What is there left to say about The Odd Couple? It is universally lauded and commercially viable (so much so that it spawned a rather pedantic television series and a second rate sequel 30 years after), with two stars who went on to make another eight movies together.
Like most films written by Neil Simon (much like Paddy Chayefsky), The Odd Couple is directed with great care and is almost invisible, stylistically. This time around Gene Saks shoots the script with minimal interference with the Hawksian dialogue and the rapid fire blocking. While the play was confined strictly to Oscar Madison's (Walter Matthau) eight-room apartment, Simon utilizes the new medium by opening up the script, flavoring it with New York's inimitable presence.
Striking a melancholy note, the film opens on the empty shell of Felix Unger (Jack Lemmon). We watch him check into an ugly, fleabag of a motel, refuse a room on the third floor, and demand one on a higher level. We're lulled into a somber mood by Felix's absentminded approach of his room on the ninth floor, mindlessly taking off his watch and other valuables and placing them in a large envelope addressed to his wife and kids. He putters about the room aimlessly, then finally approaches the window and attempts to open it. In doing so he strains his back, and falls helplessly (and amusingly) onto the mattress.
This introductory scene does much for the film, establishing one of its central characters as a vulnerable and fragile little man who has clearly suffered some sort of recent trauma. Also indicative of Simon's style is the small addition of the envelope, properly labeled, expressing his dislike of disorder, as well as hinting to the nature of the trauma. It is of great credit to Simon that he scatters tiny, pointed pieces of information throughout the film, and it proves the suitability of the director that he lingers on the envelope and other items (e.g. Oscar's Mets hat) just long enough for us to recognize their importance.
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