ROMAN HOLIDAY: 4K UHD Blu-ray (Paramount, 1952) Paramount Home Video
Royalty slumming it with commoners
remains a perpetually popular theme…and not only in American movies. Perhaps,
we all secretly long, either to fall in love with a prince or princess, or, aspire
to the throne ourselves, loins girded, just a little bit of luck and wish
fulfillment tucked firmly into our heart’s desires. So, tapping into Charles
Perrault’s Cinderella fable can be quite soothing for the daydreamer. Sometimes,
it also happens for real. Grace Kelly traded in Hollywood goddess for status as
the platinum-haired Highness of Monaco. Princess Diana came from privilege –
not royalty. Alas, neither came to a glittery end. Arguably, no greater
patrician – imagined or real – rivaled Audrey Hepburn. There has never been,
nor is there ever likely to be another as exalted gamin/pixie. Although Hepburn’s
ascendance to Hollywood royalty – both on and off the screen - appeared
sure-footed, it was as an illusion, of course, preceded by famine and fear
during WWII. Hepburn was an Allied courier smuggling messages under the noses
of the Nazi high command. As a child, she desperately wanted to become a
ballerina. Instead, she became a star – one of movie-land’s most cherished
figures, and later, a benevolent spokeswoman for UNICEF. Nice work if you can get it.
The luminosity in Hepburn’s charm emits
kilowatts to penetrate the sham of mere stardom. Hepburn was a lady – first; a
hell of an actress – second, and one of the most gracious creatures to ever
walk the earth. If her classic Givenchy-trademarked style has been endlessly
copied ever since, the ghost flower illusive quality of her inner radiance has
never been equaled, chiefly, I suspect, because it was never affected, but as earthy
and unvarnished as the woman herself. Had Hepburn been born several centuries
earlier, she might very well have served as the inspiration for Perrault’s
classic fairy tale innocent and her magical transformation. Quite simply, Audrey
Hepburn exudes a regal air without ego or stiffness: woman, first and foremost,
yet somehow, destined to remain a princess in our hearts - always. Thirty years
after her passing, it is still quite difficult, if not impossible to qualify what
made Audrey Hepburn the fairest of all the fair ladies. Prior to her big screen
debut, the archetype for women in Hollywood fell into two neatly ascribed
categories; one, typified by inexperience of the ‘gosh and golly, I never
even kissed a boy’ school girl nonsense, the latter, a self-assured
voluptuary, usually trademarked in bleached blonde tresses, blood-red lipstick
and form-fitting accoutrements to accentuate the hips, thighs and, of course,
that perennial prerequisite - the heaving and fulsome cleavage.
But when Audrey Hepburn stepped
before the cameras in William Wyler’s Roman Holiday (1953) she
effectively took a wrecking ball to these imaginary perimeters (nee, barriers),
touching off a spark of vitality and freshness to redefine Hollywood’s idealized
femininity. Hepburn’s intuitiveness and humanity went far beyond a mere
bridging of that chasm in polar opposites. She was attractive and sexual in an
unconventional way. With her short hair,
expressively large eyes and willowy frame, exquisitely sheathed by Givenchy, Hepburn
exuded the seamless and stately virtues of the ruling class while, in tandem,
remaining as accessible to the guy next door as Doris Day. Men were undeniably
attracted to her ‘something new’ quality. Women tried to mimic it – mostly in
vain. Poise can be learned, but real grace cannot be taught. So, our perennial ‘huckleberry friend’
became destined to enter the annals as an ageless among film goddesses. Rumor
has it, Jean Simmons was first considered for the role. Indeed, Hepburn had
only a handful of mediocre bits in as forgettable films to recommend her in 1952.
Yet, under Wyler’s direction, she blossomed as the epitome of elegance and
refinement.
Roman Holiday is a champagne
cocktail of a movie, and Audrey, its most sparkling bauble – novice Princess
Ann, disillusioned and slightly anxious as she is about to embark upon a
European goodwill tour. Already bored with court life, Ann escapes the
constraints of her duty-bound itinerary in a delivery truck, determined to
experience the breezy life the rest of us take for granted, roaming the old-world byways and moda-hip nightclubs of post-war Italy (ravishingly
photographed by Henry Alekan and Franz Planer). Happy chance for Hepburn – both
in real life and this movie – her tour guide is none other than Gregory Peck,
Hollywood’s ‘gentle’ man of integrity. After viewing the dailies, Peck rather
magnanimously insisted Audrey receive equal billing preceding the titles. In
fact, he predicted she would become a star. In Gregory Peck we have the
pluperfect example of what every star should be - contented in his work and
secure in himself, enough to share the spotlight with another performer worthy
of the honor. The rank of stardom has often cast a rather perplexing and
hypnotic spell on mere mortals, warping their self-image and level of
self-importance. But Gregory Peck remains that rare and unspoiled figure among
the legendary talents from Hollywood’s golden era, anchored in a sort of
awe-inspiring personal veracity that served him extremely well throughout his
lifetime and career.
In Roman Holiday, Peck is
newshound, Joe Bradley. He approaches his discovery - that of the sleepy and slightly
intoxicated princess lying on a bench near the Coliseum in the dead of night -
with less than selfless motives. After all, it is a hell of a story: royalty
out on a lark. Tabloid sensationalism briefly rears its ugly head after Joe
elects to keep the princess’ whereabouts to himself, introducing her to the
unprepossessing freedoms of a commoner – tooling around on a Vespa, enjoying
gelato at the foot of the Spanish Steps, squiring Ann on moonlit dances and
allowing her to wear his pajamas to bed – all the while, pretending to be
unaware of her true identity. But then, an unlikely friendship evolves... one,
destined for so much more. Joe begins to understand Ann, only when he briefly
contemplates taking romantic liberties with this sumptuous sprite who has
dazzled him to distraction. At the crux of Roman Holiday is a modern-day
retread of the Cinderella fable; the prince, now from the lower strata,
the princess surrendering true love and the proverbial ‘happy ending’ as
dictated by her moral compass and responsibilities to the Crown.
Roman Holiday’s success is
primarily owed to Dalton Trumbo, the blacklisted writer, toiling secretively
behind the nom de plume, Ian McLellan Hunter (actually, a real person, though
not the author of this work), plying the viewer with a realistic ‘fish out of
water’ premise, mildly subverted by the congenial byplay between Hepburn and
Peck (and co-star Eddie Albert, herein cast as wily photographer, Irving
Radovitch). Trumbo’s efforts would win him an Oscar – one, alas, he could not accept
without exposing his insider’s secret to the rest of the world. But credit is
also due to director, William Wyler, by 1953, a prominent fixture in American
movies whose credits include at least one enduring cultural artifact made in
virtually every genre. A quick Triptek through Wyler’s directorial credits
reveals the breadth of his spellbinding versatility; intriguing melodramas like
Dodsworth (1936), The Letter (1940) and, The Little Foxes
(1941); wartime crowd-pleasers, Mrs. Miniver (1942) and, The Best
Years of Our Lives (1946); probing social dramas sheathed as ‘period’ - The
Heiress (1949), a western - The Big Country (1958) or sobering slant
on lesbianism - The Children’s Hour (1961); the definitive Bible-fiction
epic, Ben-Hur (1959), and, two frothy fantasies; the comedy, How To
Steal a Million (1966), for which he re-teamed with Audrey; the other, a
gorgeous musical, Funny Girl (1968), marking Barbra Streisand’s
cinematic debut. Wyler really could – and did – do it all, did it well,
and arguably, did it better and longer than almost any of his
contemporaries. Roman Holiday is
undeniably Wyler’s most festive rom/com, a lushly orchestrated affair of the
heart with Wyler ever so cautiously plucking at our heartstrings without his
Stradivarius ever succumbing to maudlin chords. ‘The Wyler touch’ as it has
come to be known, is not about hitting the high notes in sentimentality, but
rather presenting characters as unvarnished and having the audience discover
their piebald delicacies as people we would wish to know.
Immediately following the main
titles, majestically photographed against a crane shot overlooking St. Peter’s
Square at Vatican City, Roman Holiday opens with some faux newsreel
footage announcing the arrival of Princess Ann on a goodwill tour to cement
trade relations. The newsreel stresses the pomp and circumstance of lavishly
appointed parades and palace balls, highlighting the usual charitable acts we
have come to expect (christening battleships and cordial waves from balconies
and open-top convertibles to satisfy the thronging masses eagerly awaiting).
Awash in the banality and immaculately gilded by decorous trappings inherent in
court life, Ann is on the verge of losing her equilibrium. Her lady-in-waiting,
the Countess Vereberg (Margaret Rawlings) is the unsympathetic sort who cannot
comprehend whatever is the matter with her young charge. It is pointless to
debate. Ann is a princess, not the scullery maid. Alas, her curiosity about the
outside world is coaxed to wild distraction by the tinkling sounds of music and
gaiety coming from a nearby outdoor trattoria. So, after Ann pretends to go to
sleep, she instead decides to disguise herself in plain clothes and run away
from home, taking a ‘holiday’ as it were.
Sneaking into the back of a waiting
delivery truck and smuggled out of the palace before anyone is the wiser, Ann
delights in the sights and sounds of swinging post-war Italy. Alas, her
newfound freedom leads to mild intoxication, ‘discovered’ while sleeping it off
on a park bench by congenial newspaper hound, Joe Bradley. At first, Joe cannot
believe his great luck. He has been struggling for a story idea to put him back
on top. And Ann is just the ticket: the inside scoop before any other paper is
even aware she has disappeared into the night. Over the next few days, Joe
exposes Ann to some of the joys of Italy: icy gelato on the Spanish steps,
having her hair bobbed by a local stylist, riding a Vespa through the cobbled
streets, and, placing her hand in the famed ‘Mouth of Truth’. The legend is if
one has told a lie the stone facade will sever the hand. In preparing this
scene, Wyler instructed Peck to fake a terrorized scream after having inserted
his hand into the mouth - without first telling Hepburn of their plan - then,
have Peck tuck his fingers up his coat sleeve, thereby implying the prophecy
had been fulfilled. Hepburn’s genuine reaction, first of surprise, then horror,
and penultimate quaking fear turned to relief, was captured on film and used in
the final edit.
However, after contacting his
photographer buddy, Irving Radovich to stick close and take some candid photos
of the princess enjoying the pleasures of Rome, Joe has a change of heart. In
fact, he has become enamored with the girl who just wants to be like everybody
else. So, Joe, Ann and Irving embark on their whimsical Roman holiday – a
playful frolic, destined to end in quiet heartbreak when Ann realizes she must
leave anonymity behind and return to the life she was born to lead. At the
official press conference that concludes her trip, Ann is stunned to find Joe
among the press corp. Briefly concerned
he might expose her frolics for their ‘tabloid sensationalism’, Ann is instead
moved when Joe quietly infers no such story will be published - his oath
assured by Irving’s mimed confirmation all of the photographic evidence of her
‘escape’ has also been destroyed. Even so, their romantic sabbatical has come
to an end. Holiday or not, the fantastic promise of a burgeoning affair can
never be. Princesses do not marry newspaper reporters, however handsome, noble
and forthright. In response to an inquiry made by another interviewer, Ann
departs from her usually scripted answers to inform the press that Rome will
always remain dearest to her heart, the implication, of course, being she will
treasure her brief respite with Joe for the rest of her life. The couple part
without further acknowledgement of one another, each, seemingly and forever
changed for having known the other.
Roman Holiday is a joyous
excursion. William Wyler’s penultimate moment of truth between these would-be
lovers, never to consummate their affair – nor even to continue as friends –
remains devastating, unaffectedly sad, and yet, in tandem, oddly hopeful about
the couple’s future apart. While Ann maintains her imperial poise throughout
this very public exchange (the rest of the reporters, as well as Ann’s royal
entourage are oblivious to the double entendre at play), Joe appears unexpectedly
saddened at their definitive farewell. Wyler punctuates this understated moment
by having Joe glance back for just a moment after Ann has already left the
podium (perhaps, hoping against hope or merely unwilling to surrender the
moment yet in its entirety). The finale, while ‘imperfect’ by Hollywood standards
of their time, nevertheless lingers, tinged in heartsore longing for more to follow.
Viewed today, Roman Holiday is irrefutably one of the most divine and
escapist pleasures ever made. Hepburn’s noble
child hiding behind a very thin veneer of poise earned her a Best Actress
Academy Award the first time out. Taking the stand on Oscar night, Hepburn
graciously acknowledged, “It’s too much” – then, spent the rest of her
career reaffirming for the rest of us it was not nearly enough.
Roman Holiday arrives in 4K
from Paramount Home Video and in a UHD offering that is lightyears ahead of its
standard Blu-ray release. As good as the Blu was (and it was for its time) the
4K expounds upon exceptional clarity derived off the camera negative. We get
fine detail in Hepburn’s costuming that takes everything to a whole new level. It’s not simply the detail that advances. Renewed
contrast lends subtler textures to the sparkle and sheen in jewelry, patent
leather, etc. Sets and costumes look incredible. The 2.0 DTS audio reveals subtler
nuances than before. Regrettably, Paramount – like most of its competition –
has decided that physical home media is pretty much a sideline. So, we get
regurgitated artwork and some hideous menus. There’s also no audio commentary.
A film like Roman Holiday certainly deserved it – especially for its 70th
anniversary. The extras are also
recycled from previous home video editions and include Leonard Maltin’s ‘filmmaker’s
focus’ featurette, a ‘behind the gates’ featurette on costuming, an overview of
the real-life locations, and two more disposable nothings – one, giving us the
Cole’s Notes version of Hepburn’s tenure at Paramount, another focusing on
Dalton Trumbo and the blacklist. Finally, there’s a gloss-over of the other
movies Paramount made in 1952, and several trailers, photo gallery, and other
PR junkets. Bottom line: you can junk your Blu-ray. The 4K easily bests it in
all regards. A ‘must have’ for any serious collector.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the
best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
3
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