Maureen O'Hara, the protagonist, was unique. She wasn't a staggering beauty like Gene Tierney, and not a bravura actress, but she was still magnetic on screen. Maybe to fully appreciate Maureen Fitzsimmons, you have to assess her as a gestalt, an entire package. She was innocently delicious in black and white, and in technicolor throw-aways her hair was the lustrous color of coquelicots. She narrates part of this movie and her voice has an earnest, lyrical that lilt sounds like something you might find at the end of the rainbow. She never showed much interest in being a great movie star or an exceptionally skilled "actress". With those attributes alone she deserves attention. But more than that, she was earthy and sassy, and called all kinds of posturing phony. Who else, when criticized by the authoritarian John Ford while filming "The Quiet Man," would shout back at him, "What does a bald-headed old SOB like you know about having your hair blown in your face?" That's sass.
It's the late 1800s. O'Hara is the well-bred daughter of two stuffy parents and lives in a large house whose rear window opens on a squalid street Brittania Mews, which would be quite a classy name in, say, Bakersfield, California. You can tell THIS street is infra dig because you hear the music of a hurdy gurdy and a tinkling piano. O'Hara is forbidden to visit the street because it's filthy and the people are poor and nasty. Still, she's drawn to it. And you can see why. It may be all brick and wrought iron stairways and louche taverns and Dollar Stores but it's colorful and the residents are vibrant with hatred. O'Hara is courted by her art teacher, Dana Andrews, dubbed and so bearded and bushy haired that he's barely recognizable. But her parents reject the notion of marriage because he's frankly too poor, artist or not. She manages to marry him anyway and lives happily on a small stash of her own with him in Brittania Mews. And her family remains estranged.
That is, until he begins to turn down commissions in order to paint what he likes and play with his beloved marionettes. He gets regularly boozed up too, and it develops that he's had previous liaisons. One night, drunk as usual, he admits to having had multiple affairs -- but not with all the women he's been accused of having had as lovers. "Some of them were too repulsive." And then -- the worst words a wife can hear. He doesn't love her. He never did. He courted her because he didn't want to lose the fees from a client. His protestations of love had all been a rich buffet of bullshite. So saying, he falls down the stairs and breaks his neck.
Then the story gets a little weird. An ugly old lady called "the Sow" accuses O'Hara of murder and blackmails her. I kind of like the Sow. She's a fat old witch straight out of Dickens. And then, miraculously, so to speak, a drunk is thrown out of the Red Lion Tavern (not the one downstairs in Greenwich Village) and he looks just like a shaven Dana Andrews, which in fact he is. This incarnation of Andrews is poor but honest. O'Hara, mystified, allows him to sleep in the coach room. Soon he reveals that he is a barrister and puts an end to the Sow's blackmail. He also shows an eerie fascination with Andrew 1.0's collection of puppets. He buffs and restores them, takes lessons in puppeteering, and soon has them dancing around. He and O'Hara find an angel and open a puppet theater in Brittania Mews, staging fairy tales and plays by Moliere, and bringing new life to the crummy alley. The bawdy house piano is now practicing Chopin. It's a roaring success. Of course, by this time the duo are in love, but Andrews 2.0 must still sleep in the coach room because he's married to a wife long gone to America.
The experienced viewer knows that with ten minutes to go, this happiness can't last. And it doesn't. The puppet theater has gained international notice and the original wife of Andrews 2.0 returns from America to cash in on the deal, revealing that she divorced Andrews while she was in Milwaukee. Andrews explains that everything belongs to O'Hara and that he owns nothing. Exit Mrs. Dana Andrews 2.0. It isn't long before O'Hara's family reconciles with the pair. Andrews and O'Hara are promptly married and, boys and girls, they lived happily ever after.
I rather enjoyed it as light entertainment. It's a riches to rags to riches story and a familiar format indeed. But the script has some cute dialog, the acting isn't intolerable, O'Hara shines, and Brittania Mews is enthralling.
It's the late 1800s. O'Hara is the well-bred daughter of two stuffy parents and lives in a large house whose rear window opens on a squalid street Brittania Mews, which would be quite a classy name in, say, Bakersfield, California. You can tell THIS street is infra dig because you hear the music of a hurdy gurdy and a tinkling piano. O'Hara is forbidden to visit the street because it's filthy and the people are poor and nasty. Still, she's drawn to it. And you can see why. It may be all brick and wrought iron stairways and louche taverns and Dollar Stores but it's colorful and the residents are vibrant with hatred. O'Hara is courted by her art teacher, Dana Andrews, dubbed and so bearded and bushy haired that he's barely recognizable. But her parents reject the notion of marriage because he's frankly too poor, artist or not. She manages to marry him anyway and lives happily on a small stash of her own with him in Brittania Mews. And her family remains estranged.
That is, until he begins to turn down commissions in order to paint what he likes and play with his beloved marionettes. He gets regularly boozed up too, and it develops that he's had previous liaisons. One night, drunk as usual, he admits to having had multiple affairs -- but not with all the women he's been accused of having had as lovers. "Some of them were too repulsive." And then -- the worst words a wife can hear. He doesn't love her. He never did. He courted her because he didn't want to lose the fees from a client. His protestations of love had all been a rich buffet of bullshite. So saying, he falls down the stairs and breaks his neck.
Then the story gets a little weird. An ugly old lady called "the Sow" accuses O'Hara of murder and blackmails her. I kind of like the Sow. She's a fat old witch straight out of Dickens. And then, miraculously, so to speak, a drunk is thrown out of the Red Lion Tavern (not the one downstairs in Greenwich Village) and he looks just like a shaven Dana Andrews, which in fact he is. This incarnation of Andrews is poor but honest. O'Hara, mystified, allows him to sleep in the coach room. Soon he reveals that he is a barrister and puts an end to the Sow's blackmail. He also shows an eerie fascination with Andrew 1.0's collection of puppets. He buffs and restores them, takes lessons in puppeteering, and soon has them dancing around. He and O'Hara find an angel and open a puppet theater in Brittania Mews, staging fairy tales and plays by Moliere, and bringing new life to the crummy alley. The bawdy house piano is now practicing Chopin. It's a roaring success. Of course, by this time the duo are in love, but Andrews 2.0 must still sleep in the coach room because he's married to a wife long gone to America.
The experienced viewer knows that with ten minutes to go, this happiness can't last. And it doesn't. The puppet theater has gained international notice and the original wife of Andrews 2.0 returns from America to cash in on the deal, revealing that she divorced Andrews while she was in Milwaukee. Andrews explains that everything belongs to O'Hara and that he owns nothing. Exit Mrs. Dana Andrews 2.0. It isn't long before O'Hara's family reconciles with the pair. Andrews and O'Hara are promptly married and, boys and girls, they lived happily ever after.
I rather enjoyed it as light entertainment. It's a riches to rags to riches story and a familiar format indeed. But the script has some cute dialog, the acting isn't intolerable, O'Hara shines, and Brittania Mews is enthralling.