Starring Frances McDormand and Amy Adams
Review by Laura Hawbaker
“A little desperation has made me a smoking, swearing accomplice to misdeeds in a den of iniquity!” bemoans Frances McDormand’s Guinevere Pettigrew, the woe-begotten heroine of “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.” Based upon the 1938 novel by Winifred Watson, the film draws heavily on its source material. Sweeping marble staircases. Feather-lined silk gowns. Long-stemmed cigarette holders and debonair men in tuxes. Characters cry out “Jeepers!” and then burst into a piano-accompanied song. The sets, the costumes, the dialogue and the direction are pulled straight from a 1940s comedic romp… with lovely results.
The pacing is snappy; in the first five minutes the scene is set, the major players introduced, and the conflict established. London is just minutes from World War II, and Miss Pettigrew is a down-and-out nanny who can’t get a bite to eat. She’s on the streets when she stumbles upon a job offer as the social secretary of aspiring actress Delysia Lafosse (the perpetually cute-as-a-button Amy Adams). Delysia’s dreams of stardom have her juggling three men—Phil, a rich boy theater producer; Nick, a dominative club manager, and Michael (played dashingly by Lee Pace from “Pushing Daisies”), a poor pianist with a heart of gold. Hmmmm… who will she end up with?
There in lies the film’s charm. It is predictable and over-the-top with its likable characters and mise-en-scene eye candy. The talented direction and the pitch perfect ensemble cast inject such earnest sincerity into the script, we find ourselves smiling and laughing exactly when we’re supposed to.
The material is light and fluffy but doesn’t float full off into the clouds. Anchored by the looming shadow of a World War, one gets the impression that the gaudy excess of this elitist world is nothing more than a bubble about to pop. This is best exemplified when the guests of a cocktail party rush to the balcony to “ooh” and “aah” the low passage of war planes over the rooftops. Miss Pettigrew, meanwhile, sits in a dark corner with the only other guest over the age of forty, her own potential love interest, Joe (portrayed exceptionally by Ciaran Hinds). “They don’t remember the last one,” Miss Pettigrew murmurs gravely.
Another potent moment comes earlier and is delivered by the exceptional British actress Shirley Henderson, who is the villainous Edythe Dubarry in this farce. The simple application of eyeliner becomes a moment fraught with conflict and desperation when a single tear slides down Henderson’s cheek.
This is why the film works. It embraces its screwball, retro sensibilities while not abandoning the meat of the matter—the foibles of the human heart.
