stealing from yourself
by Douglas Messerli
Harry Kunitz (screenplay), William
Wyler (director) How to Steal a Million /
1966
Audrey Hepburn, who stars in William
Wyler’s spritely comedy, How to Steal a
Million, has perhaps appeared on celluloid in more fashionable gowns than
any actress in the cinema—even more than the always fashionably dressed Grace
Kelley. After all, Hepburn was a princess in Wyler’s successful Roman Holiday, a restyled young
woman—working for a year in France—in Sabrina,
a newly discovered fashion model in Funny
Face, a significant figure of Russian society in War and Peace, an eccentric proto-fashionista in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, a formerly
wealthy young Parisian wife in Charade,
and an again-transformed societal doyenne in My Fair Lady. Wearing only Givenchy gowns in How to Steal a Million, her foil in the film, Simon Dermott (the
enchanting Peter O’Toole), dresses her up in her other traditional cinema
costume, the urchin in servant garb, in a scrub-woman’s dress—much to her
dismay—which to her question of what it “does for her,” he replies, quite
adroitly, “Well, for one thing, it gives Givenchy the night off.”
I mention this only so that might anyone thinking I were going to
embrace Wyler’s spirited comedy with deep resonances, they may relax. From
beginning to end—although this film is absolutely enjoyable—How to Steal a Million has no profundity
whatsoever. Film critic Andrew Sarris described directly Wyler as a cipher, and
I’d have to agree. But he does know how to turn a script into an afternoon of
splendiferous enjoyment. And perhaps, we ought to leave it there: How to Steal a Million is a perfect
exemplar of the genre of successful criminal actions that allows the audience
no compunction or qualms. For, together, Simon Dermont and Nichole Bonnet
(Audrey Hepburn), the daughter of a notorious artist-fraud steal only from
themselves in order to protect their family deceit. Simon becomes a notorious
thief only out of his sudden love of Nicole. These people, despite the
completely corrupt father (Hugh Griffith as Charles Bonnet), are almost incorruptible. How delicious! A
film about a successful heist and numerous other illegal interchanges by
utterly innocent figures—or, at least,
somewhat innocent. As the elderly Bonnet puts it:
Nicole: I keep
telling you, Papa, when you sell a fake masterpiece,
that
is a crime!
Charles: But I
don’t sell them to poor people, only to millionaires.
Throughout this film, Wyler and his writer, Harry Kunitz, seem to
suggest that those who want this fraudulent art deserve it!
They also gave wide range to
whom one might describe as a “mad gay interior designer” to create the Bonnet
mansion—presumably Alexandre Trauner (who did over 62 film productions; don't
know if was gay nor not, but he was buried next to the grave of his long-time
collaborator, Jacques Prévert)—with its mix-and-match French 17th and
18th century inspired furniture and purple-carpeted staircase. Bad taste,
elegantly interrupted, along with the kitsch renderings of Cezanne, Gauguin,
Van Gogh and others—supposedly impeccable recreations of the artists’
nonexistent masterpieces. Wyler’s world is pure Hollywood hokum, that,
nonetheless, carries it off, partly through the Givenchy gowns, the Fiat and
Jaguar cars, the Cartier diamond earrings and the sophisticated sparing of
Hepburn and O’Toole. Accessories truly matter in How to Steal a Million.
The story? Well, once the movie has established that Nicole’s father is an artistic fraud, there is little else to say. When he tries to exhibit the families’ famed Cellini Venus—created not by Papa Bonnet but by Grandfather Bonnet—in a famed French museum, what is Nicole to do, particularly when the signed insurance agreement demands a contemporary scientific check to make sure of the great pieces’ authenticity, but to seek out a robber to steal the sculpture from its highly protected museum spot. She has, after all, caught Simon Dermott in her house, attempting, as he describes it, to seal her father’s Van Gogh forgery. She might well wish that he succeeded, but that also might reveal her father’s criminal activities, so she has no choice but to protect it, with an ancient gun, mounted as a kind of artisanal portrait upon the mansion’s wall. By accident, she actually succeeds in shooting the intruder, who demands she drive him back to his hotel quarters—an expensive Paris hotel, The Ritz. He, in fact, has no intention of stealing the painting—he is, in reality, an expert on art theft and a noted investigator and expert on museum security—who actually intended to steal only a small scraping from the painting to prove it was a forgery. The only thing he does steal is a deep, long kiss from his newly met assailant, Nicole.
The rest of the story doesn’t truly matter. Nicole suffers a frontal
attack by the ridiculously nervous American megalomaniac businessman and “lover
of art,” Davis Leland (the delightful Eli Wallach), who is desperate to get the
Cellini Venus, but is so smitten by the so-called burglar, that before Simon
can even report to her his knowledge, she has commissioned him to accomplish a
burglary from the French museum that is near impossible. In her scatter-brained
logic, he is the perfect man to accomplish the task—although in reality he has
no experience at all, but, in fact, he is the perfect choice, being, as he is,
so knowledgeable about museum security. She cannot, of course, reveal why she
wants the sculpture stolen, particularly since she and her father already own
it. As Simon quips: "Why don't you wait till you get it home and steal it
then? No muss, no fuss, just a nice clean inside job? I'd be happy to offer my
services."
He also has a great psychological understanding of human nature, using
it not only for his advantage in the outrageous and improbable robbery, but in
his attempts to woo his all-to-willing potential lover, Nicole. Before the
heist has even begun, she has fallen in love, and in the long hours of waiting
in a dark closet, from whence they plan the final assault, they fall, not only
in love, but into each other’s arms. If they can only survive the robbery, they
are doomed to live a life of and imprisonment of marriage.
The strange devices of his robbery, a children’s toy based on the
Australian boomerang, a cinematic movement of a key over a large territory of a
back wall to the lock which traps them into the closet (in a brilliantly
abstract representation of magnetic power), and an all-too-human abandonment of
scientifically controlled systems, allows him the opportunity of reclaiming the
false Cellini, which he unloads upon the unsuspecting and ridiculously
opportunistic Leland, who accepts the stolen statue with the realization that
he can never display it or even reveal its existence. A perfect situation for
the Bonnet family!
In return for his expert achievement, Simon Dermott insists that his now
soon-to-be father-in-law give up his fraudulent painting career: “I tossed a
coin on the way over. ‘You’ lost.” But the very moment the impatient wedding
couple drive off, the father greets a South American collector to whom he
intends to sell his fraudulent Van Gogh. Perhaps in Brazil it will never be
discovered. The soon-to-be bride lies, when questioned by her intuitive lover,
“He’s Pappa’s cousin…from South America.” To which he responds, in the last
lines of the film, “You know for someone who started lying recently, you’re
showing a real flair?’ Her response is typical Hepburn, “Oh thank you.” She is,
after all, dressed once more, in a Givenchy dress, and they have just succeeded
in pulling off the biggest heist in French history—speaking only in American
and British English!
So what does it matter that Wyler is not a profound director? Like the
characters of his film, he has, nonetheless, pulled it off.
Los Angeles, September 9, 2017
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (September 2017).
No comments:
Post a Comment