Vibes. It’s the first thing I thought upon seeing two movies based on fiction centered on different women, both of whom are complaisant of others – even those who see them as invisible or beneath them. By vibes, I don’t mean the forgettable ‘80s comedy with Cyndi Lauper and Jeff Goldblum that only I and those in a certain age group have vague recollections. More like the Je ne sais quoi quality vibes, ardent A24 cinephiles lobby around in describing older films or television programs with shared similarities.
Neither WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING nor MRS. HARRIS GOES TO HARRIS have A24 vibes. If they did, this would be a completely different article.
The vibes I write about vary between the female-centric films. For one, it is a singular performance drawing comparison to someone who should be a household name. The other, about a woman who cleans households, is good-natured to such a degree it could make a cynic cheery.
WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING is a question left unanswered. If it were, then the story wouldn’t be nearly as enigmatic as it tries to be. With more than 15 million copies sold, Delia Owens’ novel has the screen advantage of being a recognized piece of fiction with a built-in audience. As one of the most popular books of all time – landing closer to Nicholas Sparks than Harper Lee – the novel uses mystery and melodrama to build a narrative about coming of age. Curious about its best-seller success, I read the novel and quickly understood how it became a literary juggernaut and why it was championed by Reese Witherspoon. (She would option the novel before publication for her media company, Hello Sunshine.)
Her name is Catherine (Daisy Edgar-Jones), but she goes “Kya.” The townspeople of Barkley Cove refer to her differently: the “Marsh Girl.” Abandoned by her family as a child, Kya survives alone in the wilds of eastern North Carolina. Digging up mussels to buy household staples and eating grits, greens, and cornbread, Kya blossoms into a teenage nymph attracting the attention of two local boys. The sweet one (Taylor John Smith) helps her read and inspires her pursuit for sketching flora and fauna. The other (Harris Dickinson) sees Kya as a swampland beauty and little else. Both are nearly indistinguishable in looks and act as a pair of commitment-phobes. When the bad one turns up dead, Kya is seen as the primary suspect.
CRAWDADS uses the arrest to offer parallel timelines of the present (Kya’s murder trial) and the past (Kya’s isolation and upbringing). The latter informs the former when it comes to character and possible causality. Daisy Edgar-Jones is superb in imbuing Kya with an overriding sense of innocence. She’s like Scout Finch raised in the backwoods without the support of her respected lawyer-father Atticus and brother Jem. The NORMAL PEOPLE star drops her Irish accent and picks up bits of a corn pone dialect. Edgar-Jones’ commitment gives off Rebecca Hall vibes in delivering a star-making performance by not being showy but by letting the coalescence of setting and evolving disposition define her.
Adapted by the screenwriter of BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD, CRAWDADS should have been Beauty of the Southern Wild. But here, backwoods poverty never looked so good. Adherence to broad characters, including David Strathairn as the lawyer in Kya’s corner taking the case, and tonal shifting throughout become glaringly obtrusive. And the central mystery of Kya’s guilt or innocence is logically nearsighted, and its epilogue closure undersells the expanse of Kya’s maturity. But the built-in audience (fans of the novel) know this already. The unfamiliar is left to wonder where’s all the singing.
Grade: C
Willie Nelson once strummed a tune about mothers not letting their babies grow up to be cowboys. I wonder if he’d say the same to fathers about their daughters being housekeepers. Nannies, maids, and tidy-uppers are mostly invisible to those they serve. If ever there was a profession in need of good spit polish of having a fairy tale for women above a certain age threshold, MRS. HARRIS GOES TO PARIS is the one; a sweet and frothy dreamsicle concocted with good humor and generosity and a luminous Lesley Manville. Once protective of her haute couture designer brother in PHANTOM THREAD, Manville dusts her way into our hearts as Ada Harris, a housekeeper serving aristocrats who do their best to keep up appearances while tightening their purses and wallets when it comes to paying the working class in post-World War II London. She lives in a basement-level flat, unwinds after work at the Kings Arms pub with her best friend Vi (Ellen Thomas), and pines solemnly that her pilot husband will return someday.
When Ada takes a liking to a spellbinding number from Christian Dior hanging in the closet of an effeminate employer, she starts adding up her quids and figuring how long it will take to reach the amount she needs. Thanks to a streak of luck, what once seemed like wishful thinking quickly becomes wish fulfillment as the housekeeper is jetting off to Paris to get the dress of her dreams and paying cash money (nicely wrapped rolls held tightly with rubber bands).
MRS. HARRIS GOES TO PARIS becomes a “Cin-Dior-ella” story where our once invisible heroine doesn’t pretend to be anything other than she is: a nice lady. Her goodness is never too good to be true. It just is. She has the ability to turn cynics into optimists, and dreams into reality. While the niceties she shows others may not always get Ada the desired results, destiny has a way of manifesting itself in magical ways.
Venturing into the House of Dior (not Gucci – thank goodness), Manville inspires the prestige clothier in the matters of self worth – including de-icing Isabelle Huppert, who plays Dior’s stern maîtresse – during her daily measurements and fittings as her dress is being constructed. Both actresses are screen highlights in a period comedy that gives off PADDINGTON vibes. The amount of sweetness on display and offered may require a shot of insulin to level things off.
Some might find MRS. HARRIS to be too Hallmark-y in its design, which is funny because it was previously adapted as a TV movie thirty years ago starring Angela Lansbury in the title role. Manville’s presence is as palatable as biting into a macaroon and just as colorful. The film is the stuff of dreams, leaving you happily ever after.
Grade: B
