I don’t know if karma is actually a thing. It’s a nice idea as a general principle, and it would certainly help the world make a bit more sense, but... well, that’s just it: It relies on things in the world having a logical progression to them, and I’m not so sure of that. Bad people get rewarded for their dickery all the time, while those trying to do good often run at a deficit because altruism isn’t exactly a profitable endeavour. We should be good to each other and to ourselves, but that doesn’t mean getting recognised by some nebulous universal force is going to be part of the deal. Not that it isn’t a dream worth striving for, though, and dreams are bountiful when it comes to this particular film.
Lesley Manville as the titular Mrs. Harris, a British cleaning lady who scrapes together every penny to go to Paris and get a haute couture Dior dress, illuminates every room she enters with near-blinding sunshine. Working-class, optimistic, dreaming of ideas ‘beyond her station’; I kept getting the feeling that this is what Pollyanna would look like as an OAP. Now, considering the pop culture legacy of that character, that might sound like an insult, but we’re not talking about the toxic positivity that tends to cling to that name in the collective consciousness. I mean more in regards to her generous spirit, her want to help out and uplift others, and how that kindness is returned to her at numerous turns. Not gonna lie, I’ve got a soft spot for that kind of dream.
It helps that all this wide-eyed idealism is tempered by a lot of blunt class commentary in Harris’ actions, pitting her against Isabelle Huppert as the icy-cold Claudine, the director at Dior and the embodiment of the high-class exclusivity mindset that, at the time of the film’s setting, was running the company into the ground. Without getting directly preachy or blaring with any of it (no doubt aided by just how down-to-earth Manville plays the character), the film does well at separating itself from the usual storytelling concerning ‘the help’. Not only is the importance of individual goals and ambitions kept firmly in the foreground, regardless of societal background, but it makes sure to check those who show less overt signs of that same elitism. Lambert Wilson may be playing much less of a dick than his more famous roles, but even here, in the midst of so much pleasantry, he’s playing someone with some… interesting takes on the role of ‘the help’.
Not that this is filmed manifesto, though, even with its inclusion of a brief worker’s strike while a communist casually remarks that he’s on their side; this coasts on the charm of Mrs. Harris and the generated want to see good things happen to her (which, thankfully, isn’t always the case here). Well, that and the solid cinematography on display. DP Felix Wiedemann puts a lot of work into conveying how transformative and transportive these Dior dresses are for Mrs. Harris, putting her in a state of joy and bliss missing from her day-by-day existence. I mean, I’m not that big on fashion (“No shit!”, cry the people who have ever seen me out in public), but the production did well enough in getting me to understand why someone else would be that invested in getting one of these frocks. And all without making the mistake of fetishizing the opulent decadence they represent; it’s not about the dress, it’s about the idea of the dress and what it means to the people making and wearing it.
This is basically Paddington for an older generation of audiences, operating on the same level of warmth and comfort but with an added dash of war widow ennui. Just for Manville’s performance, I’d argue that this is worth checking out already, but with how sweet and inviting and chuckle-worthy everything else around her is, there’s plenty of other niceties to be found here.
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