Mia moglie è un fantasma

I didn't laugh even once. It wasn't even a dark comedy. There simply weren't any jokes in it. Like, none. The production value is top notch and the acting is pretty good but that's about all there is to it. The story is quite boring actually. Nothing original. Judy Dench is great of course.

Not a patch on the 1945 version I'm afraid. Even the wonderful Judi Dench can't match Margaret Rutherford as Madame Arcati and sadly Dan Stevens is nowhere near as sauve as Rex Harrison. Elvira seems quite horrible as opposed to mischievous. A case of style over substance.

Blithe Sprit

So many reviews on here fail to just get it, this play/farce was written by Noel Coward, in 1941 as an antidote to WW2 and presented on the West End stage. Noel Coward very much in the style of Oscar Wilde writes light whimsical repartee between the characters and it really is a celebration of language.

This movie, set in the 1937, just does not tick the boxes that light up modern audiences. This is a most unfair way to judge it, the plot was well executed, the acting crisp, with a light touch delivery was really quite splendid.

It your looking for a car chase, criminal masterminds and superheroes in spandex look elsewhere.

I'm giving this a jolly well done 7

The only levels on which this adaptation succeeds is that it opens the play up so it feels less theatrical. However the new script on retains only a scattering of the Noel Coward dialogue and the new stuff makes all the characters unlikable and tedious. They've even made Madame Arcati's character far less quirky and quite bland. Can't image who the makers think this will appeal to. Traditional Coward fans will hate it and it has nothing to recommend it to anyone else.

Blithe Spirit, loosely based on Noel Coward's classic farce. We have Dan Stevens as a writer who's trying to turn his novel into a screenplay. He has an empty-headed wife (Isla Fsher) who swans about the estate. With friends, they go to see a show Madame Arcati (Judi Dench) is putting on, but her act goes wrong and she's exposed as a phony. Because Stevens is thinking a lot about his dead first wife (Leslie Mann) he gets Arcati to come to the house (a sprawling art deco thing) for a seance. Of course she summons the dead wife who, although it's 1937, has a #metoo sensibility.

Things turn slapsticky, and although the stars try hard, it doesn't work. One moment the ghosty wife can't slap Stevens because she's only ectoplasm but the next minute she can play a piano. Worst of all is the version of Arcati. Dench plays her as an aggrieved victim who's sham has been discovered and she's resentful. Bleh. The various Arcati's of film, TV, and stage, have generally played her as a swooping eccentric who's on the dotty side: Margaret Rutherford, Mildred Natwick, Ruth Gordon, Angela Lansbury, Penelope Keith.

This version plays like a sitcom, with the three main characters as madcaps and Dench's shuffling dud of a medium as an unfunny subplot.