What is there to say about this perfect film?
Audrey Hepburn is just the most luminous creature ever. Let me be Will Ferrell as James Lipton for a moment, leaning forward in my chair with my greasy comb-over and making up a new word to describe her:
She really is. She's an elegant, glowing, absolutely enchanting girl with an impossibly tiny waist and the most beautiful posture any movie actress has ever had. I can't imagine any screen siren today who could make me believe she is a princess. I believed Audrey Hepburn was a princess. She's swellegant and then some.
That tiny crooked tooth she has just makes her more perfect. Has there ever been a more beaming smile in all cinematic history? I would pay to watch this woman stand in a doorway. She is beyond the reach of any of my usual feminist critique.
And then there's Gregory Peck. I'm glad I was alone when this flick came on so that others would be spared my "oh my Gods" every time he appeared in a close-up. I'm thinking, "Lord help me... am I actually older now than he was when he made this film?" Because when I watch Gregory, I'm squirmy-stomached little girl dreaming of my first kiss.
Speaking of which, I love that Peck and Hepburn -- about 15 years apart -- manage a passionate embrace without wolfing each other's faces. A lost art in today's Hollywood.
William Wyler's direction is totally crisp, charming, well-paced, carefully choreographed yet endearingly clutzy, and sweet, sweet, sweet.
And -- quelle surprise! -- Eddie Arnold is just plain hot as the comic banana-best friend-boho photographer.
Now I'm going to call Sister of PeaceBang and talk like Audrey Hepburn all night, 'cause we can both do a mad accurate impression.