Feminists would tear it to shreds and the script's as light as a balloon but this lovely airy fairy-tale about three secretary-birds in romantic old Rome works like a dream - provided you don't dwell too much on certain aspects.. Foreign travel was not a commonplace for most punters back in 1954 so Fox's full-time commitment to CinemaScope opened up the world in more ways than one. With Sinatra on the soundtrack ushering in the Oscar-winning title-song over a scenic tour of the Eternal City the blend of ancient and modern was irresistible. Little Maria from the mid-West (Maggie McNamara) ushers in the story, arriving to work at a U.S. Government Agency. She's hardly got her coat off the first day before she's invited to a cocktail-party where she meets handsome Prince Dino (Louis Jourdan) and is determined to land him. ("Palazzo ? That's a palace, isn't it ?" Clever girl). Her strategy, encouraged by her flatmates, is to find out what his cultural tastes and interests are and then pretend, somewhat sketchily, to share them. This leads to some fatuous conversations which wouldn't fool a ten-year-old and are understandably short on screen. For a knowing Lothario (he'd already tried to lure her to Venice for the weekend) Dino seems remarkably gullible and gets terribly upset when she finally confesses the truth.
Meanwhile,'Big Sister' Anita (Jean Peters),struggling with convention and the agency's strict no-fratting rule, gets close to Giorgio (Rossano Brazzi, lower lip a-quiver) following a not-too-well-done incident with a runaway car. He's a humble interpreter from the wrong side of town who wants to be a lawyer but has to support Mamma and his twenty-five brothers and sisters. When their liaison is discovered by the boss's wife, who seems to be everywhere, Giorgio gets the sack and Anita, feeling responsible, is all set to share his bleak future. It's left to Clifton Webb to play fairy-godfather as the expatriate novelist Shadwell (the man who wrote Winter Harvest, we're told, but we're not told what it's about), smoothly tossing-off a new masterpiece between epigrams and suddenly proposing marriage to Miss Frances (Dorothy McGuire), his loyal secretary for the last fifteen years (remember that) whom the film has been regarding as practically on the edge of the grave because she's 35 and hasn't got a man. (Shadwell's housekeeper kindly offers her a kitten for companionship). But when Shadwell's told he has a brain tumour he reneges on the offer as a moment of madness and won't tell her the real reason. Even after she finds out he won't shift ground so, dejected, she gets drunk and goes wading (not in the Fountain, it's not LA DOLCE VITA). Shadwell takes her home for a dry-out and a heart-to-heart which puts them back on track. Webb and McGuire handle these scenes touchingly, with grace and humour. He thereupon sorts out the younger set's problems with some influential words in the right places and all six reunite at Rome's new tourist attraction to a choral reprise of the theme-song.
No one ever mentions that minor historical disturbance known as World War 11 in which the Eternal City was somewhat heavily involved. This would not be so surprising were it not for the oldsters' pointed references to "fifteen years of contentment" which would have dated from about 1938. As American residents how would they have lived, what were they up to all those years ? Speech-writing for the Fascisti, possibly ? No, I don't think so either. Rather an extreme if not wilfully perverse case of diplomatic forgetfulness in face of a new world-situation, a thriving overseas market and the no doubt enthusiastic goodwill and co-operation of an indigenous people who used to be on the wrong side. History here is reflected not in bomb-sites but in museums basking sedately, like the characters, in perpetual brochure-sunshine.
Meanwhile,'Big Sister' Anita (Jean Peters),struggling with convention and the agency's strict no-fratting rule, gets close to Giorgio (Rossano Brazzi, lower lip a-quiver) following a not-too-well-done incident with a runaway car. He's a humble interpreter from the wrong side of town who wants to be a lawyer but has to support Mamma and his twenty-five brothers and sisters. When their liaison is discovered by the boss's wife, who seems to be everywhere, Giorgio gets the sack and Anita, feeling responsible, is all set to share his bleak future. It's left to Clifton Webb to play fairy-godfather as the expatriate novelist Shadwell (the man who wrote Winter Harvest, we're told, but we're not told what it's about), smoothly tossing-off a new masterpiece between epigrams and suddenly proposing marriage to Miss Frances (Dorothy McGuire), his loyal secretary for the last fifteen years (remember that) whom the film has been regarding as practically on the edge of the grave because she's 35 and hasn't got a man. (Shadwell's housekeeper kindly offers her a kitten for companionship). But when Shadwell's told he has a brain tumour he reneges on the offer as a moment of madness and won't tell her the real reason. Even after she finds out he won't shift ground so, dejected, she gets drunk and goes wading (not in the Fountain, it's not LA DOLCE VITA). Shadwell takes her home for a dry-out and a heart-to-heart which puts them back on track. Webb and McGuire handle these scenes touchingly, with grace and humour. He thereupon sorts out the younger set's problems with some influential words in the right places and all six reunite at Rome's new tourist attraction to a choral reprise of the theme-song.
No one ever mentions that minor historical disturbance known as World War 11 in which the Eternal City was somewhat heavily involved. This would not be so surprising were it not for the oldsters' pointed references to "fifteen years of contentment" which would have dated from about 1938. As American residents how would they have lived, what were they up to all those years ? Speech-writing for the Fascisti, possibly ? No, I don't think so either. Rather an extreme if not wilfully perverse case of diplomatic forgetfulness in face of a new world-situation, a thriving overseas market and the no doubt enthusiastic goodwill and co-operation of an indigenous people who used to be on the wrong side. History here is reflected not in bomb-sites but in museums basking sedately, like the characters, in perpetual brochure-sunshine.