Everyman Bristol
The trailer assures me that the novel from which Mrs Harris Goes To Paris has been adapted is "beloved". I must confess I had never heard of it. It turns out to have been written by Paul Galico, who I associate with snow geese, lighthouses, donkeys, and St Francis of Assisi. He also wrote quite a famous one about a shipwreck. Mrs Harris Goes To Paris has been moviefied at least three times before, the first time with one Gracie Fields in the title role.
Sofa-buddy notes that I like the kinds of films that aren't the kinds of film I expect to like more than I expect. That was certainly true in this case. Who would have thought that ordinary people doing fairly ordinary things could be more emotionally engaging than CGI orcs?
Not that you could accuse the story of hard-core realism. It invites us to think of it as a modern day Cinderella; but it never quite becomes preposterous. It's quite sentimental and is clearly angling for the "feel good" label, but mostly avoids mawkishness.
It's the 1950s, as it usually is nowadays, and Ada Harris is a cleaner. One of her rich customers has a fantastically beautiful and expensive Dior dress, and she becomes obsessed with the idea of owning one for herself: its almost presented as a love-affair. A series of unlikely, but not too unlikely windfalls means she cobbles a small fortune together, and hops on a plane to Paris. At first everyone is snobby and incredulous, but they grow to like her, and she gets her dress and comes home to England.
Does fulfilling her dream make her happy? Not exactly. Does the story nevertheless have a happy ending? Pretty much.
The central premise is never really called into question: it is taken for granted that wanting to own something incredibly beautiful for its own sake is an uncomplicated and quite admirable dream. We're never really allowed to wonder if Ada couldn't have bought a lot more happiness by spending £500 on something else, and even recklessly blowing £100 on a greyhound with a lucky name is seen as bravely "going for it". Mrs Harris could easily have been a stereotype. (She was called Mrs 'Arris in the novel, and the movie has given her a small upgrade from "char-lady" to "cleaner'.) But Lesley Manville works hard to give her at least three dimensions. There's an element of the working-class Jeeves about her: very, very good at her mundane job, but with a side-line in helping customers with their personal problems. Not exactly stiff-upper-lipped; but not given to great displays of emotion either, even when the telegram arrives confirming that her husband, "missing" since the end of the war is indeed dead. ("God bless you, I hope it was quick.")
Of course, the real star of this kind of movie is actually The Olden Days. It does a good job of playing up the contrast between tawdry Battersea and the enchanted kingdom of France. Paris is romantic even though rubbish is piling up in the streets. Even the tramps on the station drink red wine and talk about existentialism. Book lined French apartments are contrasted with rather false late-50s decor in even the most expensive English homes. Hats off, naturally, to the costume department, who make the Dior fashion show, and the dress Mrs Harris eventually chooses, genuinely breath-taking. Ada hasn't realised that Dior dresses are made specially for each customer and has to wait in Paris for several weeks for fittings, during which time she forms relationships with several characters who show her Paris and generally widen her horizons. A French marquis (Lambert Wilson) who likes flowers and English tea takes gives her champagne and caviar at a risque night club; Andre, the Dior accountant (Lucas Bravel) lends her his sister's room; and model Natasha (Alberta Baptista) gives her an insight into the workings of the fashion industry. Ada tidies up Andre's flat and cooks him toad in the hole ("frog in a ditch".). A sub-plot about trades unions breaks out: Mrs Harris encourages the seamstresses to to go strike and Andre saves the company by showing them that they have to make their wares more accessible to ordinary people. (Am I a bad person for thinking of Winnie-the-Pooh and Ewan McGregor at this point?)
Some of the plot beats are predictable: if your film is predicated on an incredibly expensive and incredibly fragile object, it is a safe bet that it isn't going to make it unscathed to the final reel. I spent the last seconds of the movie wanting to scream at her English boyfriend to put his pint of beer down before starting the dance. There were a few scenes where I wished that Ada could drop the chirpy banter for just one second: would it kill her to say "Yes please" rather than "That's just the ticket" when offered a cup of tea? But the film offers convincing acting, a far-fetched but not ludicrous premise, and a more or less happy ending. As well as nice scenery, a little bit of philosophy, some striking interior decor and a lot of very pretty frocks.
Hi,
I'm Andrew.
I am trying very hard to be a semi-professional writer and have taken the leap of faith of down-sizing my day job.
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