Before France surrendered to being decidedly Americanized in its quest to become part of the “globalization effort” that the U.S. rallied hard for after the fall of the Berlin Wall, it was, shall we say, far more reminiscent of the “workers’ paradise” it still claims to be. And yeah, in respect to many other countries, especially America, it can easily hold onto that title in the present. What’s more, it’s been made patently clear to Emmanuel Macron—thanks to the gilets jaunes—that any attempts to strip the worker of his rights (read: rightful retirement age and according pension) will result in all-out chaos. Complete with hurled Molotov cocktails. That’s how much the French value their autonomy. Or at least as much autonomy as one can have when they’re forced to work for a proverbial Master.
But it has always been the French way to fight back against the employer-oppressor. To never let him get too comfortable in the belief that he holds all the power. That much is made evident the moment Ada Harris (Lesley Manville a.k.a. the first Mrs. Gary Oldman) sets foot into Paris amid a fictionalized garbage strike. Although this could just as easily be happening au présent, Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris, based on Paul Gallico’s more Britishly titled Mrs. ‘Arris Goes to Paris (originally Flowers for Mrs. Harris), is set in 1957—the book itself released in 1958. Also known as the height of Dior fever.
And yet, for as renowned as the designer’s frocks were (and are), it didn’t necessarily mean Dior himself was “rolling in it.” At least not by the film’s account, and not enough to keep the fashion haus afloat without doing something drastic (apart from outsourcing any labor—it was still too soon for that). To this end, Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris addresses the open secret that rich people don’t actually have money. It’s all made up, none of it is liquid. That’s why Dior’s primary “average customer” is useless to him in this moment of financial disarray. But here comes “simple,” “low-class” Mrs. Harris with her cold, hard cash ready to serve up on a platter she would polish herself in her role as charwoman.
The House of Dior’s pragmatic accountant, André Fauvel (Lucas Bravo, still not redeemable after agreeing to star in Emily in Paris), is quick to point out that he wishes all of their customers would pay that way, both tangibly and before buying (instead of “upon delivery of goods”). The salon’s snooty gatekeeper, Madame Colbert (Isabelle Huppert, in a somewhat fish-out-of-water role), is not quite so keen on the appearance of this “lowly” cleaner. At first, she seeks to shoo her away like so much rubbish on the streets (oui, it’s all very Vivian Ward [Julia Roberts] at the boutique in Beverly Hills) before an affluent patron of the salon, Marquis de Chassagne (Lambert Wilson), witnesses the exchange and offers Mrs. Harris the invitation to be his guest for the exclusive show celebrating the ten-year anniversary of Dior. Which must logically be sometime before October of 1957, as that’s when Dior actually died while vacationing in Montecatini (a.k.a. the place where Madonna gets ingredients from for MDNA Skin). And noticeably missing from anywhere in the plotline is the highly involved Yves Saint Laurent, who took over that year after Dior’s death.
In any event, witnessing Mrs. Harris’ “peon” presence as well is another hoity-toity “VIP” named Madame Avallon (Guilaine Londez), the wife of the so-called King of Garbage. The person whose management style has, in other words, incited the workers to rebel. Nonetheless, he’s “very powerful,” which gives Madame Avallon the clout to retaliate for Mrs. Harris “daring” to sit in her usual chair. There with her daughter, Mathilde (Dorottya Ilosvai, who has no dialogue but says everything with her eye-rolling expressions), Madame Avallon takes note of the two dresses that catch Mrs. Harris’ attention, including a green one called “Venise” and a rouge and black number called “Temptation.” The latter is Mrs. Harris’ ultimate dream, but it’s plucked quickly away by a retaliative Madame Avallon, a woman so emblematic of how the rich get almost a hundred percent of their jollies from “knocking plebes back down to their places” (you know, like the stepmother in Cinderella—especially when played by Anjelica Huston in Ever After).
But Mrs. Harris isn’t so easily knocked. Especially not after all the signs she feels she’s been given by her husband, Eddie. “God rest his soul” and all that rot. For it’s only recently that she’s been forced to reconcile the reality that he died in the war. A revelation made official by a letter she receives from the government in the mail identifying his plane as having gone missing in action. Comforted by her closest friend, Vi Butterfield (Ellen Thomas), Mrs. Harris must finally accept that she has to start fostering a new dream. A more realistic one than a man returning from the dead. Though some would say that might be more plausible than a working-class “nobody” finagling a five-hundred-pound Dior dress. No matter—Mrs. Harris has spirit. Joie de vivre. And she can’t be stopped, tamed or otherwise hemmed in by the presumed limitations of her class. She proceeds to scrimp and save every last shilling to get what she wants, even reducing herself to being further demeaned by one of her key employers, Lady Dant (Anna Chancellor), after asking her to settle up the amount she’s been owed for a while now.
Lady Dant, however, does not fork it over. She is yet another Rich Bitch who serves as the quintessential example of the “wealthy” possessing no actual money, though they always seem to have enough credit to afford their lifestyle. In Lady Dant’s case, that also means a brand-new dress from Dior, called the Ravissant. It’s the glittering gown that sparks Mrs. Harris’ new dream—nay, obsession—in the first place. She must own something as beautiful, as stunning. And Dior is the only man who can give it to her. So we watch her get swept up in the mania of pursuing it, by way of scrounging for a trip to Paris. Vi watches too, she being the only person to offer steadfast encouragement even if she thinks Ada is mad.
As for Vi, she’s elemental to Mrs. Harris’ Disney-fied realm, where no mention is made of Vi’s race in public places, even though Britain had what was called a “colour bar” in the 1950s just the same as the U.S. was continuing to embrace its “unspoken” policy of segregation. Mrs. Harris is also able to inexplicably delight drunk homeless men in a Parisian train station rather than invoking their contempt for her wannabe posh ways and prompting them to take the opportunity to steal from her while she sleeps on a bench in the Gare du Nord. Instead, one of the homeless men escorts her personally to Dior the following morning and tells her that, “In France, the worker is king.” Ah yes, once upon a time. This shot of encouragement lends her a bit more confidence to feel at home in the bougie environment of Avenue Montaigne. And yet, she never appears to fully transcend into the heroine of her own fairy tale landscape, relegated to the part of Fairy Godmother (even called that at one point by one of her clients) as opposed to Princess.
In short, no one ever really sees her. Not beyond the class lines demarcated by her job. This much is brought up cursorily by André and Dior’s star model, Natasha (Warrior Nun’s Alba Baptista), in their googly-eyed conversation about Jean-Paul Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. Realizing the other has read it during dinner with Mrs. Harris at André’s apartment, they touch on the bad faith concept in chapter two. In it, Sartre writes that most of humanity buys into the notion that who they “are” is defined by their job. But that example of bad faith—wherein one succumbs to the external pressures of society to act disingenuously and according to “rules” that sacrifice their own inherent freedom—is precisely why the lower classes (or anyone, really) never feel as though they can rise up.
Mrs. Harris is starting to understand that she’s so much more than mere “charwoman.” That she is not the sum of what she does for money. And getting to wear the dress is part of the transformation being complete. With costume designs by Jenny Beavan (who recently won the Oscar for her work on Cruella), Dior’s signature style is recreated to a tee. And it’s easy to understand why Mrs. Harris could get so caught up in it as a life-changing object. Yet when she finally does put it on, her love interest, Archie (Jason Isaacs), notes that she seems different, but that it isn’t the dress. It’s something about her entire aura and persona. As though, at last, she refuses to be invisible. No matter how many times she’s been kicked aside or taken for granted. To quote what she says to Lady Dant, “Them days is over when you can treat people like scum and expect loyalty in return.”
