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With “A Little Bit of Luck,” Holloway introduces his philosophy, and closes out his story with a sad reversal of position when he sings “Get Me to the Church on Time.” In the first instance he is celebrating unwed married bliss. Doolittle, a victim of middle-class morality, one of the undeserving poor. Then there is the incomparable Stanley Holloway as Eliza’s father, the dustman philosopher, Alfred P. But the astonishing thing about this is, the really great tribute he deserves, is that his re-creation is as vital, as varied and as overwhelming as if he had just come to it. It might seem that Harrison has to be good, having played the role more than 1,000 times. It is a bravura performance of the kind that comes to few actors, and to even fewer actors who could play it. But Harrison’s roaring Professor Higgins, determined not to be henpecked, shouting his lament, “Why Can’t a Woman Be More Like a Man,” seems tailor-made for these mom-ridden times. Shaw wrote his character in 1912, so the situation is not new. If Miss Hepburn will be everyone’s darling, as indeed she will, Harrison will be everyone’s delight. He has created a duchess, but Eliza has made herself a lady.
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Then there is the touching moment when he stands aside to let her pass. Miss Hepburn, her hair piled high and sparkling with brilliants, her shimmering dress and regal bearing, for the first time strikes the irascible Professor Higgins dumb. Her appearance before the great ball, where she is to be seen by all London society, is a throat-catching moment.
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She is able to make the transformation, as Harrison creates his Galatea, to pass her off as a duchess. She has impeccable innocence, and this must be established. The “Ascot Gavotte” number, in which the bored habitues of society chant their devotion to racing, has the joke highlighted by a swift impression of the horses thundering by.Īt first Miss Hepburn’s natural elegance seems at variance with Eliza Doolittle, the Covent Garden waif. There is a gleaming ballroom scene, all cream and gilt and mirrors. There is a stunning re-creation of Covent Garden. The show opens up when the action suits opening up. Cukor paces his action so there is a continuous flow of movement, although long scenes play in relatively small settings. Lerner and Loewe’s songs gave the conversation variety. Cukor, knowing that motion does not depend on space, uses his camera for movement, and in many cases keeps his area tight. It thus fits the story without the story being interrupted. Hermes Pan, who did the choreography, creates movement, not dance in its usual sense. Cukor has even dispensed with dance production numbers in the customary sense. It is brilliant writing, as Loewe’s music is imperishable.Ĭukor and Lerner have not done the conventional treatment of a stage play made into a movie, i.e., erratically moved scenes outdoors for greater playing area or into bigger settings than the stage could manage. What Lerner did with his lyrics was to extend the comedy into music, to put the ideas into restatement of another form. Most of the dialogue, most of the jokes are Shaw’s. Lerner has been wise and modest in not attempting to improve on Shaw. Lerner did the screenplay, as he did the book and lyrics for the stage version. Audrey Hepburn plays this girl, and Rex Harrison, repeating his great stage success, plays her mentor. She is seen for what she is, but dearly loved and respected. But, and this is dear to all hearts, in the end it is the girl who triumphs. It is the story, as everyone must know by now, of the flower girl who becomes a princess, the dirty Cockney guttersnipe who is taught to talk like a lady, to walk like a lady, to hold her place in high society with the nobs and swells. This was the theme of Shaw’s play Pygmalion, and remained intact when it became My Fair Lady, and has survived - again intact, but marvelously refurbished and glittering - in the screen version. It incarnates the dream of almost everyone: to be bewitched or transmuted and awake to be handsome or beautiful, and the beloved of one’s idol. It has perhaps the most nearly universal of themes. It is tremulous with sentiment and rich with an unusual love story. It is such a pretty picture.īut far more is the fact that it is a witty film, and earthy film, with humor that ranges from the sophisticated conversation of George Bernard Shaw at his most recondite to Shaw at his most daring - with an assist from Alan Jay Lerner. Technicolor might have been invented for the vivid profusion of color that is splashed on the screen. Visually there has never - not ever - been a motion picture to equal the breathtaking loveliness of My Fair Lady. George Cukor’s direction is as fresh and crisp as a first night, electric with dramatic tension, keyed high and held. 'The Shop Around the Corner': THR's 1940 Review