A Donzela Disse Sim!

Exceptionally slight and meandering comedy has Hayley Mills portraying a twenty-ish girl from Northern England who relocates to London to teach school, taking a room in a boarding house and getting pawed at by various randy men. Of course, being a determined virgin until true love sets in, our heroine keeps all the beggars at bay. Adapted from a novel by Kingsley Amis, this a sex comedy with no sex in it. The Swinging Sixties having passed, what we get here is a rather staid and starchy London, and one quickly loses interest in the character's predicament since her rigid stance fails to propel the slim plot (even though Mills herself is a lovely screen presence). Best performance is given by Oliver Reed as a confirmed bachelor eager to deflower the pretty lass--even if it be on her terms. A few funny moments, but lazily put together and nearly crippled by a terrible finish. *1/2 from ****

Being the same age and lifelong fan of Hayley Mills I just had to watch this film when it showed up recently on TV. Sadly, I'm unable to recommend it to anyone above the age of about 16 as this is about the age that all of the adult actors seem to be in this mess. The fault is with the script, by jazz singer George Melly who adapted it from the Kingsley Amis novel. It's so badly written with such dire dialogue that it's almost unwatchable. Jonathan Miller directed and he should have known better than to take this turkey on. The entire script calls for Oliver Reed to attempt to bed Hayley. That's it. Nearly two hours going over the same trite dialogue of teenage sex talk. It becomes a triangle when Noel Harrison also gets involved which doesn't help. The only sane adult performance comes from Sheila Hancock as the increasingly frustrated wife of idiot Labour prospective candidate, John Wells who tries desperately to inject some of that missing comedy ingredient. Even the normally reliable Ronald Lacey is miscast with the strangest accent. Very of it's time but there were far better, although now dated, sex comedies made, although they didn't really have much of that either. The Me Too movement now would be justifiably horrified by all the groping on display here that makes all the male actors look like randy manics. All very embarrassing and one I'm sure Hayley Mills would rather forget.

The opening titles (in funky 1970 font) are accompanied by the Foundations singing the title song, the hook of which sounds a lot like "Fly Me To The Moon" (aka "In Other Words"). If this film were set when Kingsley Amis, the novelist, set it, and when "Fly Me To The Moon" had its first success (mid-1950s) it might work better. Transposing the action to the dog-end of the swinging 60s is an awkward fit for a story about a young woman who comes from the North of England to a dull Southern town, and is determined to cling to her virginity, rings slightly false, but that's not the only problem. It's a curiously lifeless mix of sketch-comedy turns and a soapy boy-meets-girl sequences which never quite gels. Oliver Reed seems to be on automatic, Sheila Hancock is wasted, Noel Harrison is creepy, but Hayley Mills, despite being slightly too old for the central role of the girl is such a positive force, that every time she's on screen she almost saves this plod. She is a brilliant actress and an inspirational human being - at least that's the vibe I get from her performance in this pale adaptation of a very funny novel.

Based on Kingsley Amis's 1960 novel, everything about this travesty is rendered hideously dated by it having actually been made at the wrong end of the sixties during that fleeting era when Hayley Mills & Noel Harrison were considered bankable stars; and well and truly put Jonathan Miller off ever getting involved with the film industry again.

Amis's contempt both for the permissive society and for women in general, alas, comes through loud and clear. And why Oliver Reed is so charmlessly set on bedding the virginal Hayley when the lovely Aimi MacDonald is all over him is one of several uninteresting mysteries the film presents us with, such as how - with the possible exception of Sheila Hancock - such a good cast is ill-used.

Take a girl like Hayley Mills, Britain's professional virgin for much of her career, and so who better to play the part of Jenny Bunn, the new girl in town who has yet to have her cherry popped. Barely has she got out of the taxi before she's accosted by local lothario Patrick (Oliver Reed), slavering at the chops at the prospect of fresh meat. He's as slimy as slime can be but you wonder if the (male) writers see him this way, or whether they regard him as a kindred spirit. The narrative proceeds along a familiar will-she, won't-she path, with less than hilarious consequences.

You don't really expect Dr Jonathan Miller, Kingsley Amis and George Melly to come up with a feminist tract, but you'd think they would be capable of producing better dialogue rather than the terrible twaddle they peddle here; e.g. "don't blow your cool over Patrick, dinner will be groovy". To add to the grief there's the usual line-up of British 'character actors' hamming it up like mad, turning it into a kind of Carry On Chastity, but without the laughs. The source novel by Amis was written in the 50s but the film, made in 1970, updates this only stylistically. It didn't seem to occur to anyone that this would make it seem even more anachronistic than it was when the story was first published