Review of The Yellow Rolls-Royce (1964) by Susan W — 12 May 2014

I saw this film when it was released. From a teenager's perspective, it seemed wonderful: three stories bound together by an amazing automobile. Forty years later, I am watching it as a grandmother who has been through as much as the titular Rolls.

What my younger self saw as fresh literary invention, my present self sees as a rather trite series of tales that need rewriting, tightening and to come out of the 1950s. Despite the reputation of the "international cast (international cast generally means recognizable names put together for attention and profit)," shows little acting ability.

Jeanne Moreau and Alain Delon were wooden. George C. Scott never bothered to read the script. Shirley MacLaine did the gangster's moll schtick while looking more like Marilyn Monroe than herself. Ingrid Bergman tried desperately to be someone else.

Omar Sharif, in corny costumes, was the cornily romantic resistance fighter. The only genuine performance was turned in by Rex Harrison. And, no, I was not taken in by his height, fitness and polished good looks.

Harrison managed to convey a naive man deeply in love with his wife, totally blind to his stiff wife's indifference. His desire to keep a stiff upper lip and to protect himself and his wounded heart from the curious eyes of his guests who will know his wife is unfaithful felt genuine.