“A period piece both trifling and precious.” And that’s what some of the positive national reviews said of this small film that, for me, packed a winsome wallop of enjoyment and old-fashioned charm! (That’s my attempt to create a line that would be quotable in a movie ad.)

Great measured performances (well, there is nothing measured, on purpose, in Amy Adams’ [latest] realization of her over-the-top brash and promiscuous post-ingenue character) from some of cinema’s grandest character actors (Frances McDormand, Ciaran Hinds, Shirley Henderson), filmed at the legendary Ealing Studios (that produced so many of Alec Guinness’s most beguiling movies), makes Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day an impertinent, impetuous delight.

A confection to be sure, but if what one wants is a different sort of fancy or fantasy that doesn’t take place in space or beneath the earth: this is as welcome as two back-to-back Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

This is the sort of film they don’t make any more, except in India, and this one is directed by Bharat Nalluri, whose main claim to fame is being the director of a majority of the episodes of British import, Hustle (the grifters series that featured token Yankee, Robert Vaughn, on AMC).

The conceit is this: It’s just before WWII breaks out in London, a time of air raid sirens and suddenly darkened ballrooms, and Miss Pettigrew is a middle-aged recently-dispatched, opinionated nanny (McDormand), a forlorn, pre-widowed, lonely, and alone vicar’s daughter, who finds herself improbably in the employ of an on-the-make American songstress (Adams) who’s been occupying one of her lovers’ apartments in London.

Miss Pettigrew is everything Delysia Lafosse is not: cultured, industrious, practical, and scrupled. Pettigrew brings order, consistency, and nurturing hope to several fractured households, just by being herself. Fending off wayward suitors on Lafosse’s behalf, she also manages to uncover one of her own. During the 24 hours that the movie circumspectly covers (faintly obeying Aristotelian strictures), Miss Pettigrew helps everyone recover a sense of propriety (even if violated), restores the prospect of true love defeating mere ambition, and, (spoiler alert) discovers its power for herself.

This is the kind of movie experience where you expectantly seek a “The End” at the end, and when it comes, it is a wholesome reminder of the time when all movies rewarded valor and punished caddery. A bonus, to me, is the appearance of Lee Pace, Ned from Pushing Daisies, who inhabits his vagabond piano artiste effortlessly and reminds us of William Powell at his dapper dandiest in the Thin Man series.

The credulity stretched by this unpretentious romp is a small price to pay for its whimsicality, fabulous art direction, and smart pace. Even when Miss Pettigrew’s inevitable makeover scenes come, they’re not so extravagant that we lose her in the mix; her native loyalties and common-sense commitment to, well, common sense endear her to us, and prove her worth to all who come near her.

Sitting in the theatre as the credits rolled, I found myself wistful, relishing the days when comedy did not mean crudity (yes, I mean you, Seth Rogen), and hoping for box office for Pettigrew that will inspire more Indian directors to ignore the calendar and just keep making quality entertainment that also passes quite suitably as fine art .

 
Posted in Movies by Bruce Edwards

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