Yes, it's true that there is no real chemistry here between the stars: Sellers never had any and Sophia always had too much. Every once and awhile the wit of G.B. Shaw's original play sneaks through this unfortunate 1960's modernization. "Puffin" Asquith's rather fey direction doesn't help much. And yet, there are some added attractions here that go beyond the usual rules of the cinema art. For one, the young Sophia was never more luscious -she's the blooming flower of Italia, as tasty as the mozzarella of Napoli, a veritable Mount Vesuvius overflowing with girlish charm, and, as she spends a great deal of time in this film in various stages of undress, some wet and most dry, there is much to look at here beyond Jack Hildyard's photography, Balmain's clothes and Paul Sheriff's elaborate studio sets. Not for Shavians or Fabians but definitely for connoisseurs of feminine pulchritude. Bo Derek might be a 10, but Sophia is cento per cento!
Review of The Millionairess
