La Fille à la casquette

A New Kind of Love (1963)

* 1/2 (out of 4)

A complete misfire has Paul Newman playing journalist Steve Sherman who accidentally sleeps with his bosses wife who in return send him to Paris to work. Once in Paris he spends more time partying with various beautiful women than actually working. The story also centers on fashion designer Samantha (Joanne Woodward) who does nothing but work and has no time for any sort of pleasure. The two bump heads but meets under different circumstances when Steve mistakes her for a prostitute.

A NEW KIND OF LOVE was originally being developed by Billy Wilder and under his direction perhaps something would have worked out. Sadly director Melville Shavelson can't handle the material but in all honesty it's doubtful too many directors would have been able to make something out of this mess.

The screenplay is simply a mess with way too much time being spent on subplots than the actual story, which is obviously the love story between the partying writer and the lonely fashion designer. This story is just buried under so much stuff that it never works and for once Newman and Woodward has very little chemistry on the screen. The entire idea of her being mistaken for a prostitute adds up to nothing and never gets the laughs that it tries for.

A NEW KIND OF LOVE has zero laughs, which is its biggest flaw. The cinematography, score and opening track by Frank Sinatra are all good. Newman and Woodward are just lost in the material where the on-running joke has Woodward being mistaken for a man. Thelma Ritter, Eva Gabor and George Tobias are all wasted in supporting parts. A NEW KIND OF LOVE is certainly the least of the Newman-Woodward films and just a flat out stinker.

That quote, uttered by a tearful Joanne Woodward, is the perfect summation of this frothy sex comedy: It gives us a brief taste of something delicious before breaking off and leaving us cold and disappointed. Let's start at the beginning. Paul Newman is at his coolest as a slick swinger, and Joanne Woodward is appealing as the unkempt, androgynous fashion consultant everyone keeps mistaking for a man. There's a terrific opening, followed by some snappy montages and split screens. But then, about halfway through, the fun's over and the frustration begins. Suddenly everything is presented before the camera in a very bland manner as the plot becomes a ponderous romantic chase into nothingness. The characters begin spouting cliches about love and marriage. And to top it off, the film pulls that awful hooker-housewife double standard still widely in use today: If a man enjoys sex he's a playboy, if a woman enjoys sex she's a tramp. The whole thing becomes so obtrusive and heavy handed that not even the charm of Paul, Joanne, and the bubbly Eva Gabor can save it. Despite being set in red hot, exquisitely photographed Paris, A New Kind of Love's traditional, preachy, and ultimately boring sensibilities would be more at home in suburban Iowa.

Writer/director Shavelson treads Billy Wilder territory with this Paris-set romantic comedy; nevertheless, he’s more successful penning witty dialogue (making him something of an underrated figure in this genre) than concocting funny situations (which, in spite – or because – of their satirical/fanciful bent come across as heavy-handed most of the time).

Still, it was refreshing to watch the Newmans letting their hair down (incidentally, the couple’s previous stint in the French capital – in Paris BLUES [1961], with which I actually preceded this viewing – had been of a more serious nature): Joanne Woodward, especially, demonstrated a lighter side which has rarely been exploited (and earned a Golden Globe nod in the process)…though she seemed much more at ease playing the tomboyish fashion designer than the tale-spinning high-class ‘broad’.

At 110 minutes, the film eventually wears thin – but the colorful scenery, a nice title tune (sung by Frank Sinatra, no less) and the supporting cast (including Thelma Ritter, George Tobias and Marvin Kaplan, not to mention a fun guest appearance by Maurice Chevalier as himself) ensure that a generally pleasant (albeit forgettable) time is had by all. For what it’s worth, looking up the film in a book my father has on Newman (written by Michael Kerbel), it’s stated that A NEW KIND OF LOVE was “Newman’s worst film” and his career nadir; while that might be too harsh a judgment, I have to say that I am quite fond of Newman’s previous and subsequent comic efforts – respectively Leo McCarey’s RALLY ‘ROUND THE FLAG, BOYS! (1958) and J. Lee Thompson’s star-studded WHAT A WAY TO GO! (1964) – both of which I’ve just acquired following the actor’s demise…

1963 lay somewhere between Ozzie and Harriet and Janice Joplin and this movie was raunchy "adult fare" for the time but sanitized. The characters couldn't say "virgin" but did say "maiden", couldn't even say "prostitute" but could say it in French ("fille de joie" or something). If you can imagine Paul Newman as a rakish cad who writes Beaudelaire verses on the bare bottoms of his nightly conquests and his real-life partner Joanne Woodward as a dike dress-designer turned tender hearted and vulnerable real woman posing as a prostitute after praying to St. Catherine, then you have a greater (much) ability to suspend disbelief than I do. Badly miscast leads, especially Woodward, despite one sexy scene in a teddy at the end. Otherwise, enjoy Paris, enjoy 60's color, and 60's sophistication and pretend that you are sneaking a look at the naughty movie that your parents wouldn't want you to see.

"A New Kind of Love" is a genuinely bad film--something you'd never expect considering it stars Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. Additionally, having Thelma Ritter for support would also seem to guarantee a much better film. However, despite the talent, the film is terrible--with only a few moments here or there that rise above the rest. The bottom line is that if you have a badly written film, even top stars won't save it.

Paul Newman's character is a HUGE part of the problem. While he's supposed to be a bright and talented newspaper man, he's mostly just a horny guy who spends most of his time chasing women. This is very one-dimensional and makes him hard to like. As for Woodward, she is more interesting--a scared woman who makes herself look far less attractive because of her fears. However, after getting herself a makeover when she's in Paris, he sees her and thinks she's a prostitute--a very expensive prostitute--and that intrigues him. Does any of this sound the least bit romantic? And, does it seem very funny? If your answer to both is 'no', then you see why the film has a lot of problems. All in all, a very disappointing and unfunny movie.

By the way, there really is a Festival of St. Catherines and women really do such silly hats. I assume, however, that most parties for St. Catherines did not involve having Maurice Chevalier showing up to entertain!