One’s rather spiffing night to remember
flaws and foibles of this well-intentioned film, are a f ew small triumphs.
One of t hem is Everett’s performance as George VI, not exactly eclipsing memories of Colin Firth’s Academy Awardwinning coup five years ago, but appealing and sympathetic nonetheless.
Watson does a predictably decent job, too, and I liked Gadon’s Elizabeth, which, especially with direction that overdoes the cut-glass enunciation, is not an easy role to pull orf.
As Margaret, Powley works hard to convey an irrepressible free spirit, but succeeds mainly in making her seem a trifle simple. It takes a friendly footman to point out that wearing a tiara might, in pursuit of anonymity, ‘rather give the game away’.
But the era and setting are carefully and effectively evoked (Hull mostly standing in for London), which makes the odd crashing euphemism, such as a British Army officer taking a ‘comfort break’, all the more regrettable.
I wanted to enjoy this film more than I did, which I suspect will be the verdict of most who see it.
Jarrold is manifestly fishing for the spirit and charm of William Wyler’s 1953 film Roman Holiday, i n which Audrey Hepburn’s princess slipped unrecognised into the streets of Rome, and was befriended by unsuspecting reporter Gregory Peck. Perhaps to make the point, Peck even gets a mention in the script, his name popping up i n an edition of Tit-Bits magazine.
But, for all its sporadic likeability, this is no Roman Holiday.