Garry Marshall (1990)
Pretty Woman is often, and reasonably, described as a ‘modern Cinderella story’. To complain, as a friend did the other day, about the easy transformation of the heroine, Vivian Ward, from experienced prostitute to (as he put it) girl next door, is to ignore an important ingredient of the original Cinderella, whose clothes and humble social position merely and temporarily disguise her intrinsic beauty, of body and soul. At one point in the film, Kit De Luca, Vivian’s friend and colleague on the streets of Los Angeles, remarks that she always looked good, even as a hooker. With Julia Roberts in the role, this is an understatement: whether dressed as a streetwalker or in couture gowns, she always looks great. If you Google the meaning of ‘girl next door’ one of the first definitions to come up is ‘perceived as familiar and dependable, typically in the context of a romantic relationship’. This is a pretty good description of part of Julia Roberts’s appeal, early in her screen career anyway, although it doesn’t begin to describe other parts of that appeal – her lovely vividness, her warmth and humour. Roberts was perfectly cast in Pretty Woman: her combination of straightforwardness and spectacular good looks enables her to embody easily – and simultaneously – Cinderella-Vivian’s essence and destiny. Her personality also helps to muffle the stuffy implication of the plot that a whore is a woman in need of salvation.
Vivian becomes plagued by doubts about the future of her relationship with the rich businessman Edward Lewis, who engages her for a week for bedroom and other services. She asks Kit to come up with an example of this kind of pairing actually working out: the answer she gets is ‘Cindefuckinrella’. As Kit, Laura San Giacomo makes the moment funny and J F Lawton’s script includes a few other amusing profanities but Pretty Woman gets off to a bad start in its description of the ‘reality’ of Vivian’s working life before Edward arrives in it: a sequence in which the LAPD is investigating the murder of one of the prostitutes is tasteless as scene-setting. What sticks more persistently in the craw is the film-makers’ confusion of true love and financial clout as transformative agents. (The confusion is certainly thoroughgoing; it’s harder to tell how intentional it is.) Edward’s commercial wheeler-dealing, although to some extent necessary to the plot, is mostly tedious – and Richard Gere, who plays this degraded Prince Charming, is tedious too, whenever he has a scene without Julia Roberts in it. The one entertaining money-talk sequence is a dinner with two generations of the same family, James Morse and his grandson, whose business Edward is planning to acquire: the occasion is enlivened entirely by Vivian’s being at the table and by the old man’s taking a shine to her. Edward increasingly uses Vivian as an escort in affluent society, without revealing the secret of her professional history. This brings to mind Pygmalion rather than Cinderella and references to Edward’s personal immaturity supply a further hint of kinship with Henry Higgins. (Professor Higgins, unlike Edward, may not have been in therapy but he clearly should have been.) It’s Richard Gere, though, who’s the statue in the set-up here and he doesn’t come to life. Gere’s blankness is sometimes an effective complement to Roberts’s vitality and he has a good moment when Edward takes Vivian to the opera and registers her being moved by what she sees and hears there. On the whole, though, his languid, impersonal, male-model presence means that Gere’s Edward isn’t sufficiently changed, let alone enhanced, by Vivian.
Laura San Giacomo’s character is a cliché – the foul-mouthed, good-hearted broad – but she does it well; Ralph Bellamy, in his last screen appearance, is enjoyable as James Morse; and Hector Elizondo – as the hotel manager Barney Thompson, who turns into Vivian’s fairy godfather – is by far the best thing in Pretty Woman after Julia Roberts. Elizondo gives Barney a subtle, witty watchfulness that’s incisive and very satisfying – except that, after not having seen the film for some years, I was disappointed he has so little time on screen. It’s a mark of what a strong impression Elizondo makes that I remembered his role as much larger. Otherwise, the supporting parts are played as crudely as they are written – which means that Jason Alexander as Edward’s slimy lawyer is especially awful. Much of the comic element of this rom-com is ropy. Edward sends Vivian out with money to buy expensive clothes; in her hooker’s outfit she’s treated like dirt by the staff at a high-end Beverly Hills boutique. When Edward accompanies her shopping the following day, the fawning of a store manager is stupidly overwritten; it’s clumsy too that this shop is different from the one where Vivian was insulted, which then features in the anti-climactic scene that follows.
None of this matters much, however, when the result is that the film’s leading actress acquires further outfits, designed by Marilyn Vance, in which to dazzle; and Julia Roberts does much more in Pretty Woman than wear costumes wonderfully. The screenplay is uncertain how dim or smart Vivian is meant to be but Roberts gives her a coherent intelligence. She also gives Vivian, in the early stages of the film, a forthright, almost angry walk – it stays with you and makes you feel it’s being suppressed when Vivian is being passed off as a society belle. Roberts’s mile-wide smile is so expressive, an anxious mask as well as an expression of pleasure or joy. And her laugh is wonderful. When Edward opens a case containing the necklace he’s hired for Vivian to wear, she looks amazed; as she puts her hand forward, Edward claps the case shut. Richard Gere, whatever the shortcomings of his performance, deserves thanks for supplying his co-star with this unscripted and justly famous moment. Julia Roberts pulls her hand away quickly and laughs, in momentarily alarmed surprise. However often you see this clip from Pretty Woman, you always laugh with her, in delight.
19 April 2015
