Adapted from Paul Gallico’s 1958 novel about a London charwoman’s adventures in the City of Love, Mrs Harris Goes to Paris carries all the same life-affirming philosophy as its source material, providing a lesson in conquering grief with hope.
★★★★✰
From the first moment we first meet the eponymous Mrs Harris there is a warmth and optimism in her approach to life that cannot be faulted, even in her bereavement. Throughout her hectic journey, this is what prevails and keeps the flame of optimism and hope alive, reminding us of what is important in life, even when we are faced with adversity and ignorance. Lifting much of this from its source material, there is no denying the timelessness of this philosophy, and how effectively it shows us that even today, 64 years later, we all need to be a bit more like Mrs Harris.
After acquainting ourselves with the recently bereaved protagonist (played with calm nuance by Lesley Manville), we see the discovery of the object of her desire: a dress made by the House of Dior, hidden in the wardrobe of one of her cleaning clients. With a newfound sense of determination and fulfilment, Mrs Harris takes a leap into unknown territory and flies to Paris to get her own Dior dress. With the help of a friendly Marquis (Lambert Wilson), Harris is brought into the world of haute couture, where she meets many characters, all with their own pains and quandaries. In turn, like a saintly being, Harris imparts her philosophy onto them in an effort to make the world a better place, going as far as bringing about the upturning of one of fashion’s biggest brands.
Given the scale of the story and the sheer scale of transportation that writer-director Anthony Fabian and writer Carroll Cartwright haul us through, Harris’ character is quite passive. A lot of what happens to her seems to be out of her control. She is only really motivated by the right she has to buy the dress, which she has saved up for for ages. This isn’t a discrepancy, however. Fabian and Cartwright wittingly place an emphasis on her love for her late husband and the grief that comes with his death to the point where, at times, his influence on her creates an ethereal character in itself. Beautifully set up in this way, the rest of the film’s (fittingly) romanticised plot feels driven by his transcendental influence on her, be it by helping her save the money or taking agency in her decisions, helping her move on and grow from her experience. The plot might be somewhat unbelievable, but what it represents is a positive attitude towards moving through trauma, and reassures us that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, however long the tunnel may be.
To strengthen this, Fabian and Carroll also present a theme of invisibility. Through Harris accepting her own invisibility in the world, and through her discovery of the problems facing those that surround her, the film plays around with the relationship between the strength of one’s problems and their visibility to the world. In the context of high fashion, this is inevitable, with Natasha (Alba Baptista), André (Lucas Bravo) and Mme Colbert having to maintain a stiff upper-lip to remain successful. We are shown that privacy and control are essential to getting over your problems, before opening up to others. This is translated brilliantly at the end of Gallico’s novel, in which the climactic mishap leaves Harris reflecting on what she has left: how far she has come as a person in her adventures. This is glossed over in the film, however, with said mishap being solved in a rather convoluted manner, somewhat awkwardly tying together smaller characters whose stories were told only as much as they needed to be for the main narrative. Invalidating this introspective theme a bit, it felt like the need for cyclicality and a classical ending was prioritised in lieu of the themes built up over the duration of the film, though, again, this was only to a minor degree.
It might be that I myself need to follow the film’s optimistic message. Indeed, these themes are brought together brilliantly by the ensemble cast, sporting the likes of Jason Isaacs, Ellen Thomas, and Rose Williams, all of whom give independently inspired performances. Each one of them, in their own way, brings an individual complexity that represents another approach to Harris’ reconciliation. The conflicted and grief-stricken Mme Colbert, played by the always amazing Isabelle Huppert, represents a turning point in both her own and Harris’ characters after her position in Dior is threatened. On the flip side, Isaacs’ playful Archie represents a light-heartedness that is equally essential to Harris’ recovery. The multifaceted approach that Fabian, Carroll, and their ensemble bring to exploring Harris’ character and her grief leaves no stone unturned and no problem unclosed.
Mrs Harris Goes to Paris is not a filmic phenomenon. When I went to see it, I wasn’t in a packed cinema full of intellectual presences or people looking for a miracle. I was there with a small crowd who wanted to be entertained, and with the film’s fast-paced, often outrageous plot, this is what we got. The introspection and the life-affirming warmth, whether through the performances, the story, or just the sight of beautiful couture, was a bonus. Seeing a widow find her way back to the joys of life was a whimsical byproduct of a classically didactic story about a bygone generation. It had such a calm effect on those that saw it because of this; the kindness and inconsequentiality, the lessons and the morals of the film, felt natural and normal. Not a cinematic sensation, but an extension of fundamental human values: “we mend, but we don’t forget”.
The Verdict
Mrs Harris Goes to Paris takes us along for a ride in the magical-realist presentation of a recent widow’s road to recovery, leaving us with a warm, life-affirming feeling that puts the world in a new, profoundly optimistic light.
Words by Oisín McGilloway
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