Film Review
The Millionairess was the last
of Anthony Asquith's screen adaptations of celebrated plays by
well-known British playwrights. The film was based on a
play of the same title by George Bernard Shaw, whose most famous work,
Pygmalion,
had also been adapted by Asquith, back in 1938. In between these
two films, Asquith had enjoyed great success with his adaptations of
plays by Terence Rattigan and Oscar Wilde, including his triumphant
The Importance of Being Earnest
(1952).
For all its surface gloss, Asquith's
The
Millionairess is a plodding and cumbersome affair, lacking both
the elegance and keen satirical edge of the director's previous
adaptations. Shaw's vitriolic salvos against the excesses of
capitalism are diluted to almost homeopathic proportions, presumably
because the producers were too conscious that the film might be
perceived as left-wing, pro-communist propaganda in its lucrative
American market. Whereas Shaw's humour has the cutting edge of a
razor-sharp scalpel, the comedy offered by this film impacts with the
subtle grace of a badly aimed croquet mallet.
Despite the lacklustre screenplay and Asquith's less than inspired
direction,
The Millionairess
is worth watching for Peter Sellers' star turn and some enjoyable
supporting contributions from such screen legends as Alastair Sim and
Vittorio de Sica. Here, Sellers is surprisingly convincing
as an Indian slum doctor, turning in a serious character performance
rather than a mere comedy impersonation. Sellers is probably the
one big-name British actor who could get away
with playing an Indian; he would do so again in his subsequent
Tati-inspired farce
The Party (1968). Sophia
Loren is glamorous but mildly irritating (in the way that pushy
self-assertive females often are), although her scenes with de Sica are
hilarious. Alastair Sim very nearly steals the show, but doesn't
he always?
It was whilst making this film that George Martin, the producer of
Sellers' comedy recordings, suggested a comedy duet sung by Sellers and
Loren. This song,
Goodness
Gracious Me, was recorded by the two stars but Martin was unable to
persuade the producers of
The
Millionairess to include it in the film. Instead,
the record was used to promote the film and became a hit in the UK
singles charts in 1960. The song's title would later inspire a
successful BBC radio and television series, performed by a talented
team of Asian comedians in the late 1990s.
© James Travers 2010
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.
Next Anthony Asquith film:
The Yellow Rolls-Royce (1964)
Film Synopsis
Under the terms of her father's will, heiress Epifania Parerga can only
marry a man who manages to turn £500 into £15,000 within
three months. When her first marriage proves to be a disaster,
Epifania tries to kill herself by jumping into the River Thames.
Although the attempt fails it is not without incident, since it
introduces her to Ahmed el Kabir, an Indian doctor with a rundown
practice visited only by London's poorest. Epifania is
strangely attracted to the curious little Indian and feigns illness so
she can see him at his surgery. Whilst he finds Epifania
attractive, Ahmed is irritated by her visits, partly because he
harbours great bitterness for the misery that her father inflicted on
his employees in his pursuit of every greater profits.
Spurned by the man she now intends to marry, Epifania retaliates by
building an ultramodern hospital on his doorstep. The heiress's
hopes that Ahmed will agree to take charge of the new hospital are
dashed when the doctor chooses instead to retain his old
practice. Ahmed tells Epifania that he cannot marry her
because he promised his mother on her deathbed that he would only marry
a poor homeless woman who could make a success of her life by starting
out with 500 rupees. Epifania accepts the challenge and
persuades the doctor to attempt her father's own test. With her
business acumen, the heiress has no difficulty honouring her side
of the bargain. Ahmed, however, has no idea what to do with the
£500 Epifania thrusts into his hands...
© James Travers
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.