Roman Holiday (1953)

 

Dir.: William Wyler

Plot: A runaway princess falls into the path of an American journalist in Rome. He realises the exclusive on her whereabouts would be the story of a lifetime, but as they spend the day together she starts to seem more than just a meal ticket.

If the plot sounds familiar to you, it’s probably because it’s a very loose reworking of Frank Capra’s 1934 prototype for the genre which became romantic comedy, It Happened One Night. In the two decades that separate the two films, a lot had happened to cinema, and it shows in the European flavour which radiates not only from the gorgeous setting but also from its star.

Because what Roman Holiday really has going for it is Audrey Hepburn. Even more attractive than her slightly self-consciously iconic Holly Golightly is her interpretation of the restless, unconventional Princess Anya. She is elegant, yes – she would have struggled not to be – but it’s still a move away from the self-possessed glamour of the Golden Era and into quirky Everygirl territory. It’s the sort of the sort of performance that would open the door for Shirley MacLaine, Diane Keaton, right up to (God help us) Zooey Deschanel, and it’s a joy to behold. Gregory Peck scales his performance back considerably to accommodate her, but he can’t scale back his astounding good looks – he’s at his absolute physical peak, here, and to be honest he could have just turned up and it would have worked out fine. The central pair begin the film as very different personalities and at first I wasn’t sure there was much chemistry there, more like two charming people sharing a screen; but as both of them change and develop over the course of the film, the romantic charge between them builds and builds and by the end you wonder how you could ever have thought they weren’t perfect together.

It was decided to film Roman Holiday in monochrome so the setting would not detract from the story, perhaps a little dig at the mid-50s explosion of Italy porn (Summertime, Three Coins in a Fountain etc.). It’s an understandable choice, but with two fantastic leads and a sharp and often funny script, there’s no danger of the film being swamped in its own picturesque-ness. Besides, Rome in black and white has a beauty all its own, and the abundance of street scenes makes for a fascinating portrait of the Eternal City in the midst of Italy’s economic boom. The filmmakers also show admirable restraint in not going down the route of “Oh hey, it’s the Coliseum! ... Oh hey, it’s the Trevi Fountain!”, managing to slip some famous landmarks in quite naturally. Of particular note, the famous Bocca della Verita scene, which perfectly encapsulates the fun, laid-back, slightly off-kilter vibe the film as a whole projects.

The major difference in plot between this and Capra's effort is the ending – in 1934, the reporter got the heiress and in 1953 he didn’t. It’s tempting to overanalyse this aspect, but I will tentatively suggest that there is some social significance to be read into the tonal switch between the two endings. During the Great Depression, the aristocratic class were often depicted as frivolous, utterly isolated from the real world and at worst even parasitical (see My Man Godfrey, Holiday etc). In such an atmosphere, hardworking, salt-of-the earth Peter (a newspaper man, to boot – one of 1930s America’s favourite professions) deserves a high-class dame like Ellen. After all, why not? Anything goes, right? And she’s no better than he is – in fact, she could learn a lot from a guy like Peter…etc. etc. In 1953, the shadow of the Second World War is still large in the popular consciousness. A newfound emphasis on duty, patriotism and responsibility is unmistakeable in Anya’s decision to renounce both love and freedom to fulfil her constitutional obligations. The shift towards self-sacrifice and the greater good was immortalised in Casablanca and it was clearly still resonant with post-war audiences.



It's not only the ending which is unconventional - it’s a rather odd romantic comedy in many ways. For one thing, Hepburn spends the first half-hour out of her head on sedatives, so she and Peck don’t properly ‘meet’ for what seems like an awfully long time. And then when they finally do get going, they never actually spend much time alone, thanks to the presence of Joe’s pal, Irving. Now, it makes perfect sense for him to be there, plot-wise – he’s a photographer, taking pictures on the sly to accompany Joe’s article – but aesthetically, it looks horribly out of place. At times, I was on the verge of screaming “Get lost, Irving!” as he hovered around the edges of what could have been a picturesquely romantic scene.



Ah yes... we all know an Irving. if you don't see what's wrong with this picture, you are the Irving.

The other slight issue for me was that Joe is… well, kind of a jerk. The premise of a character who is manipulating someone else for their own gain but accidentally falls for them is pretty solid, and we see it pretty regularly in movies (Mr Deeds Goes To Town, Ball of Fire, The Hudsucker Proxy to name a few), but the issue here is that Joe remains casually determined to ruin Anya’s reputation for way too long. If we compare it once more with It Happened One Night, we can see that Peter’s decision not to sell Ellen out comes pretty early in the film, despite what he might say; whereas Joe is gleefully exchanging conspirational glances with Irving long after the audience has been completely won over by Hepburn. Perhaps some of the problem is that Hepburn’s interpretation makes Anya so sweet, so naïve, so trusting that it makes Joe’s behaviour seem more callous than is really conducive to the story. What would have been nice was to have seen a gradual development of guilt and indecision on Joe’s part, rather than his going instantly from cheerful manipulation of Anya to heroic protection of her. No wonder Irving is so confused when he announces that they’re dropping the story.

So, can I ruin her life and still marry her? Is that not cool?

Not that these issues are so major that they threaten to undermine the central love story, and this is mostly thanks to a tremendous final act. If you aren’t frantically trying to dislodge a lump from your throat as the lovers exchange glisten-y eyed looks across the press conference, separated by so much more than physical distance, then you need your soul examined. Hepburn and Peck are marvellously restrained, playing up the stiff-upper-lipped resignation of their characters to their respective, incompatible destinies. It’s a fittingly mature conclusion for Anya’s newfound maturity, and a tribute to both actors that what should be an unhappy ending is actually emotionally and intellectually satisfying, in the most bittersweet of ways.

8/10