Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day is something of a fairy-tale, or perhaps just a warm-hearted story. It's about a middle-aged woman, a nanny in 1939 London, down on her luck, who manages to help a young couple realize what love is all about, and in the process finds some love for herself. This is all told amidst the accouterments of sophisticated comedy, complete with a Cole Porter song and some Noel Coward brittleness.
Somewhere, either in the script, the acting or the direction, Miss Pettigrew, in my opinion, went a bit off the tracks. We have Pettigrew (Frances McDormand) trying unsuccessfully to find work. She's a woman with a particular personality who, we can see, can be difficult. By chance she winds up with a job as secretary to Delysia Lafosse (Amy Adams), an ambitious, ditzy, effervescent nightclub singer who lives in exquisite digs and balances, barely, an active love life with three boyfriends. There's young Phil, wealthy son of a London producer who may cast Delysia as the lead in a new musical; there's Nick, the assured and tough owner of the nightclub; and there's Michael, her accompanist who loves her and accepts her for who she really is. Delysia is determined to become famous, adored and rich on the London stage. Into this whirlwind comes Pettigrew, who has never known sophistication, much less ditzy, beddable blondes, and who now finds herself trying to sort out Delysia's overlapping boyfriends and deal with Delysia's habit of spontaneous party giving, lingerie buying and impetuous decisions. Along the way, she meets Joe (Ciaran Hinds), the famous designer of all that gorgeous lingerie who just may be looking for a simpler and more honest life. It's not long, as air raid warnings blare, that Pettigrew realizes before Delysia does who the man is Delysia truly loves and what Delysia needs to do to be true to love and to herself. All this happens in one day.
The problem with this fairy-tale is three-fold. First, structure. The movie falls into two parts, and they don't share the same spirit. The first half is all sophisticated, fast-paced screwball comedy, with boyfriends coming and going, a bra hanging from a chandelier, nighties hidden under the rug and the slightly flustered but indomitable Pettigrew doing what it takes to keep Delysia under some sort of barely manageable control. The second half, however, switches comedy for daytime soap opera. We learn Delysia's real story. We learn Pettigrew's real story. We learn about true love and false ambition and all that other stuff. The movie shuffles the cards on us. Second, style. Conducting a sophisticated, brittle drawing room comedy in the style of the Thirties requires as much skill as playing in a great chamber music ensemble. In my view, the actors, led by the director, don't manage to bring it off. The gears show. For instance, in one scene Pettigrew is frantically cleaning up in Delysia's apartment as one boyfriend is leaving and another is on the way up. There's much rushing around but no sense of exquisite timing. There's little blending of an ensemble, just a number of actors doing their best. And third, is the actors, or at least some of them. Francis MacDormand does a fine job...if she didn't, there'd be no movie. She is secure as Miss Pettigrew and has the sense to underplay while so many others are rushing around or conniving next to her. However, Amy Adams as Delysia Lafosse is problematic. She does everything the director and script ask of her, from high gloss ditzy to tremulous uncertainty. For me, however, she has that Nicole Kidman look about her...proficient acting tools, a flashing smile but eyes that always seem tense and anxious. Adams always seems to me to be trying too hard. For sheer bright- young-things sophisticated attitudes and acting style, try watching Fenella Woolgar as Agatha in Bright Young Things or Carole Lombard as Irene Bullock in My Man Godfrey. I admire Adams' energy but for me she doesn't quite carry it off. Unfortunately, the actor playing her real love is just a pleasant, undynamic hunk with a day-and-a-half growth of well-groomed whiskers. When the two of them in the nightclub toward the end of the movie sing together a song of love and regret, the effect is, for me, mawkish. Noel Coward might have stayed for the whole play, but he probably would have sent a brisk note afterward to the director. This is a pleasant, feel-good movie with a fine performance by MacDormand. I wish the film had been better.
Somewhere, either in the script, the acting or the direction, Miss Pettigrew, in my opinion, went a bit off the tracks. We have Pettigrew (Frances McDormand) trying unsuccessfully to find work. She's a woman with a particular personality who, we can see, can be difficult. By chance she winds up with a job as secretary to Delysia Lafosse (Amy Adams), an ambitious, ditzy, effervescent nightclub singer who lives in exquisite digs and balances, barely, an active love life with three boyfriends. There's young Phil, wealthy son of a London producer who may cast Delysia as the lead in a new musical; there's Nick, the assured and tough owner of the nightclub; and there's Michael, her accompanist who loves her and accepts her for who she really is. Delysia is determined to become famous, adored and rich on the London stage. Into this whirlwind comes Pettigrew, who has never known sophistication, much less ditzy, beddable blondes, and who now finds herself trying to sort out Delysia's overlapping boyfriends and deal with Delysia's habit of spontaneous party giving, lingerie buying and impetuous decisions. Along the way, she meets Joe (Ciaran Hinds), the famous designer of all that gorgeous lingerie who just may be looking for a simpler and more honest life. It's not long, as air raid warnings blare, that Pettigrew realizes before Delysia does who the man is Delysia truly loves and what Delysia needs to do to be true to love and to herself. All this happens in one day.
The problem with this fairy-tale is three-fold. First, structure. The movie falls into two parts, and they don't share the same spirit. The first half is all sophisticated, fast-paced screwball comedy, with boyfriends coming and going, a bra hanging from a chandelier, nighties hidden under the rug and the slightly flustered but indomitable Pettigrew doing what it takes to keep Delysia under some sort of barely manageable control. The second half, however, switches comedy for daytime soap opera. We learn Delysia's real story. We learn Pettigrew's real story. We learn about true love and false ambition and all that other stuff. The movie shuffles the cards on us. Second, style. Conducting a sophisticated, brittle drawing room comedy in the style of the Thirties requires as much skill as playing in a great chamber music ensemble. In my view, the actors, led by the director, don't manage to bring it off. The gears show. For instance, in one scene Pettigrew is frantically cleaning up in Delysia's apartment as one boyfriend is leaving and another is on the way up. There's much rushing around but no sense of exquisite timing. There's little blending of an ensemble, just a number of actors doing their best. And third, is the actors, or at least some of them. Francis MacDormand does a fine job...if she didn't, there'd be no movie. She is secure as Miss Pettigrew and has the sense to underplay while so many others are rushing around or conniving next to her. However, Amy Adams as Delysia Lafosse is problematic. She does everything the director and script ask of her, from high gloss ditzy to tremulous uncertainty. For me, however, she has that Nicole Kidman look about her...proficient acting tools, a flashing smile but eyes that always seem tense and anxious. Adams always seems to me to be trying too hard. For sheer bright- young-things sophisticated attitudes and acting style, try watching Fenella Woolgar as Agatha in Bright Young Things or Carole Lombard as Irene Bullock in My Man Godfrey. I admire Adams' energy but for me she doesn't quite carry it off. Unfortunately, the actor playing her real love is just a pleasant, undynamic hunk with a day-and-a-half growth of well-groomed whiskers. When the two of them in the nightclub toward the end of the movie sing together a song of love and regret, the effect is, for me, mawkish. Noel Coward might have stayed for the whole play, but he probably would have sent a brisk note afterward to the director. This is a pleasant, feel-good movie with a fine performance by MacDormand. I wish the film had been better.