Hannah Geiger

I would say, after some thought, that I would want my money back. As all the reviewers here (most of whose writing I have read, I am not a film critic or theologist and have never claimed to be. Yet, there is something very compelling about some actors and actresses who were children during the war. I think they had to beg Dame Smith to do this film. Here one really doesn't get one of her smiles that can light up the screen, and not much of her wit such as in The Prime of Mrs. Brody, for example. However, this is a horror film. Cheaply made of cardboard and painted wood, mixed with so much so that the important facts matter less. Again, I have read most of the reviews. To my knowledge, nobody has mentioned that there was indeed a miracle, that of a mute boy speaking at the end, which might have been due to the "drop-dead gorgeous" calming presence of the arrival from America. Last but not least, the two friends were cousins, so age difference between those young women should not really matter that much.

The Downton Abbey has always delivered all that it was supposed to deliver. The pomp, the glitter, the extraordinary costumes, the kind-hearted melodrama with the ever- present eye of genius carefully arranging the historical backdrops. As such, it has become the darling of millions everywhere, not unlike an old comfortable adjustable chair into which one falls with a glass of beer after a hard-day's work. I suppose that is where familiarity brings something new. The ice cream is suddenly taken away, the child is shocked and ends up crying. And so, to me, after all those years, the New Era has finally delivered something some thought impossible - a really huge letdown. It is round 1928, but, other than the usual fantastic costumery and wigs, it appears to very much be in the 21st century, not necessarily because there are cameras everywhere and many of the settings are at the palmy villa in the south of France looking down at the cote d’ Azure, not because the shameless allusions to the eras long gone, and not because many characters appear pleasingly human (and yet very un-British) to put on quite a bit of weight within a span of a few years, (so much so that some, unfortunately, appear grotesque in their artificially plumped-up cheeks), but because of a story line which we, more often than not, learn by how many children were added or how the other children had grown up or whose hair has suddenly grown grey. Is Downton Abbey The New Era suddenly cheap? Not so. On Amazon it is $5.99, which is still better than a dinner at a burger place. And why not. We are suddenly not curious about history books after viewing Downton Abbey. In Downton Abbey The New Era, we realize that we are not to need them. However, the question still remains: After all, this is the 21st century, should I see it again in those 48 hours that I have to watch it, or is the first impression enough?

I agree that Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris is an entertaining fluff, and, for some, a “feel good” movie. It also, I think, has some elements of farce and ridicule, and, with the sublime acting, it accounts for a nice experience. Mrs. Harris’ had a husband in the war and does not hear from him when the war is over. She has been a cleaning lady who also does fabric mending on the side. This she does for her main London employer, who treats her as if she were a house fixture. Here she sees a Dior cocktail dress laid out for a festive occasion, and becomes mesmerized to such a degree that, through all sorts of twists and turns, she actually manages to land in Paris. And indeed she lands, because she does take an airplane from London. She enters a room that looks like a tiny train station waiting room with her suitcase in hand, is offered a seat on a bench all of her own, and later some wine from the most debonair of the three good-natured local residents. He later escorts her through the garbage-laden streets of Paris-(the collectors are on strike), uttering that in France, it is the workers who rule. Mrs. Harris’ entry into the hallowed halls of the House of Dior is nothing short of spectacular, and, for someone accustomed to drudgery and tragedy, she again chooses self-confidence and humor, and, as such, she withstands. The film abounds in magical aspects. The diminutive Mrs. Harris lends her dress to a really “big boned” aspiring starlet. The dresses she finds in Dior employee sister’s closet can match in magnificence the runway samples from which she was to choose a dress in post-war Paris. (The House of Dior opened in 1946} The interiors are exquisitely rendered, with the basement-ish lighting of the working class’ dwelling and the bright, magnificently adorned houses and staircases of the rest, not to mention the stark white walls of the Dior House with which the workroom employees almost blend. Indeed, there is lots going on at the Dior, but it’s for the viewer to discover. Against all odds, Mrs. Harris does get her dress at the end and makes a grand entrance in it at a local dance hall.