Bharat Nalluri, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

Photo Credit: Focus Features

by T.O. Lawrence
03/07/2008

In life as in love, one must try to be compassionate, understanding and, in the end, forgiving in order to achieve the best of everything. These are the lessons Miss Pettigrew tries to teach us in Bharat Nalluri’s new film Miss Pettigre Lives for a Day. But even with the healthiest doses of high-grade moral fiber and massive quantities of alcohol, passing Miss Pettigrew through my system was one of the most painful movie experiences I’ve had this year, and yes, I already saw Semi-Pro.

Frances McDormand stars as Miss Pettigrew, an out-of-work governess who has been discharged from her employer for being overly moral and an all-around busybody to boot. In order to save herself from the streets and the soup kitchens of London, she maneuvers herself into the life of Delysia Lafosse (Amy Adams), a successful American cabaret, as her new social secretary.

Almost immediately, Pettigrew is thrust into a world she couldn’t be less prepared for helping Lafosse juggle three very different lovers each offering different gifts of love, lust and gainful employment. As her renown spreads through the high-pitched squeal of Lafosse, Pettigrew is taken on to defend yet another coupling with Joe (Ciarán Hinds), a lingerie designer by his now ex-fiancée Edyth (Shirley Henderson).

Honestly, this movie could not get any stupider or more predictable had it been written by a perverted third grader who just wanted to see a lot of girls in skimpy 1930s underwear. For the first forty-five minutes you practically have to guess where the story is taking place they throw so many bad accents your way (Adams and Henderson taking the cake). And though Nalluri throws in the odd WWII or depression reference, the place and time of plot are about as arbitrary as a salad menu at a steak house.

The acting. Good lord, the acting. Adams solidifies herself as my least favorite actress in showbiz with her incessant nasal whine and complete lack of genuine talent. The woman walks around as if she’s either constipated or has a pinecone up her butt and gasps loudly between every two words. The only positive aspect of her presence is that she spends most of the movie half-naked or prancing around without a bra. She has one musical number towards the end of the flick, but trust me; you’d do best to leave early and find a showing of Sweeny Todd instead.

Frances McDormand does her best with what little she’s given, turning horrible lines into… well… not quite so horrible ones. More than that, she has an extremely expressive face which adds plenty of funny to some damn unfunny dialogue. But no amount of mugging can last this film long. I mean can anybody deliver lines like “jeepers” and “thrice” regardless of how funny they look? No. The answer is most definitely no.

The supporting cast is just about as bad as the leads, relying on bad physical comedy and worse lines to coast through. From the freakishly voiced Edyth to young Phil (Tom Payne) who says “what?” after every phrase just to make sure you know that he’s British, the troupe is at best forgettable and at worst inexcusable. My only real hope is for Hinds in that nobody will have noticed he was ever even there in the first place.

The rest of the movie is just about as visually dull as it can get with Nalluri relying entirely on convention to get himself through. The only thing worth looking at are the scantily clad women waving their legs on the screen. If it wasn’t for the accents, this would have been better made for radio. With the accents, it would have been better not made at all.

I cannot encourage people to see this movie less. For less money you could get yourself to a strip club, sit there for an hour and a half and find at least one or two reasons to attend. And do you really want to advance Adams’ career at the box office? Really? Personally, I think I’ve all had more than enough.

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