The fashion industry and Paris provide the setting for a comedy surrounding the mistaken impression that Joanne Woodward is a high-priced call girl. Paul Newman is the journalist interviewing her for insights on her profession.
Drifter Chance Wayne returns to his hometown after many years of trying to make it in the movies. Arriving with him is a faded film star he picked up along the way, Alexandra Del Lago. ... See full summary »
Having once played and lost in love, twenty-five year old Samantha Blake has immersed herself in her job as the chief ladies fashions buyer for discount J. Bergner's Fifth Avenue in New York. In other words, she scowls the high end shops at night stealing their designs which Bergner then produces and sells for a fraction of the cost. She has placed as much space between herself and romance by dressing like a man and going by the moniker Sam. Steve Sherman could be a great journalist, but his womanizing always seems to get in the way. Steve and Sam meet on the same New York to Paris flight, Sam who is travelling there with her boss Joe Bergner and her wisecracking colleague Lena O'Connor, who is secretly in love with Joe, to visit the Paris design houses under the guidance of vivacious Felicienne Corbeau, while Steve has been exiled there by his boss, International Press chief Bertram Chalmers, as Steve's iron-clad contract won't allow Chalmers to fire him until the expiry of that ...Written by
When his editor tells him he's being reassigned to Paris, "where you'll probably die," Newman replies, "Yeah, but what a wonderful way to go." The line turned out to be prophetic - the very next year, Newman played an American living in Paris in What a Way to Go! (1964). See more »
Maurice Chevalier gives a party hat to Felicienne, who puts it on twice. See more »
This is Paris. Take a look outside. This isn't a city. It's a great big 114 square miles of love potion. And a girl should take advantage.
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Paris originals designed, executed, and pirated from... See more »
When the credits for this one began to roll, accompanied by Frank Sinatra's jazzy update of the standard with the same name as this film's title (and which sounds like an arrangement by Sinatra's frequent and best collaborator, Nelson Riddle, who is, unaccountably, not listed in the credits), I thought I was in for a treat. An attractive cast; top-notch professionals behind the camera; Errol Garner adding his matchless pedigree to the musical scoring; gowns by some of the most renowned Parisian couture houses; plus the participation of several of that era's purveyors of upscale chic; and, finally, Joanne Woodward in a title sequence (designed by George Cukor's frequent visual consultant, Hoyningen-Huene, also listed as this film's color coordinator) surreptitiously snapping photos of the window displays of Manhattan's most expensive retailers. Ah, but what a disappointment followed.
To start, the script is surprisingly and tastelessly lacking in wit; the promised Paris locations are, for the most part, studio recreations; Paramount, by the time of this production, was no longer using its high-quality 70mm VistaVision process for most of its "A"-list productions; and the stars, Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman, were never so thoroughly sabotaged by ridiculous plotting, rarely funny dialogue, and the rather listless direction of Melville Shavelson. And Miss Woodward had also to endure some particularly unflattering hair styles by George Masters, including an ugly platinum wig she was required to wear in several key scenes. (I mean, she can look great as a platinum blonde! Just check out 1960's "From the Terrace.")
There are a (very) few positive attributes, though. Eva Gabor lends a touch of much-needed glamor, as a character named Felicienne (Now there's a name that suits her!); Marvin Kaplan does his usually reliable shtick as the hero's sidekick/schlemiel; and Thelma Ritter, given pitifully little to do, survives this disaster with her fan base intact. But then, toward the end of the proceedings, Maurice Chevalier is dragooned into a seemingly interminable reprise of the music hall hits with which he had long been associated, in a scene where a bevy of females go into paroxysms of ecstasy over his supposedly irresistible Gallic charm. So it finally became apparent why, during the credits, Lanvin and Scandinavian Airlines System, among others, preferred their part in these proceedings to be described as "with the somewhat horrified participation of..." They must have been given a look at a rough cut of this mish-mash before the final release prints were readied. Quel abomination!
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