Daisy Miller (Peter Bogdanovich, 1974)
I'm not sure she's capable of thought at all. I certainly see no evidence of it.Much maligned, miscast, and the apparent end of Bogdanovich's hot streak, poor old
Daisy Miller is little seen, and usually not loved. Complaints centre around the dialogue - its Hawksian patois infringing on the delicacy of James' ironies and social critique - and the performance of Shepherd.
For me, the film has a wonderful beauty, the cool elegance of Bogdanovich's camera gives the images an unforced naturalism reminiscent of what Kubrick was going for in
Barry Lyndon, released the same year. This elegance seems at odds with the rapid-fire dialogue - especially Shepherd's - and is probably the root cause of discombobulation. For me, it was not such a worry. Shepherd's Daisy Miller is intelligent, a little coarse, possibly too flirty, but very American. She has this perhaps too-pleased look on her face, and a barely repressed smile, all signs of an American's native innocence, contrasting with the refinement, social elaborateness and archaicness of Europe. Her enchantment of Frederick Winterbourne (Barry Brown), a man forlornly enmeshed in the European ways, is well backed-up by players like Eileen Brennan, Cloris Leachman, and Mildred Natwick creating a sort-of milieu that is a little Henry James, and a little Hawks or Ford. That's the way Bogdanovich liked it, and it's easy enough to agree.