The Golden Coach

Marilyn Monroe overdeveloped Hollywood's fetish for sultriness, and Audrey Hepburn reversed the trend, substituting for the revered sweater a combination of spriteliness and naivete. And now Anna Magnani, the Italian actress starring in Jean Renoir's The Golden Coach, has presented moviegoers with a new idea of feminine acting. Instead of emphasizing the body, the voice, or even the personality, she relies wholly on her face to express the emotion of each dramatic situation.

Merely by the arching of her eyebrows or the reshaping of her lips, Miss Magnani can depict moods that quickly change from flamboyancy to sulkiness, or from stubbornness to sweetness. No one will deny that this is an admirable talent for any actress. Unfortunately, however, talent in itself is rarely entertaining, and an hour and a half of Magnani's facial contortions, no matter how gifted, is a tedious display.

The plot, which was designed to give the Magnani physiognomy a full workout, concerns a troupe of Italian actors in a Spanish colony in 18th century South America. As Camilla, the troupe's earthy and impetuous leading lady, Miss Magnani wins the love of the colony's viceroy, who is understandably bored with the elegant dullness of his court. He tries to give her his golden coach as a present, but the local nobility objects, and finally Camilla herself must save him his viceroyalty by sacrificing the coach to the Bishop, who seems to be the colony's real boss anyway.

On the whole, The Golden Coach fails because it spends too much time concentrating on Miss Magnani and not enough on the plot and the rest of the cast, most of whom are excellent. But as a background for his star, M. Renoir has also created a lavish spectacle of costumes, sets, and fine color photography. These elements are expertly combined to produce delightful splashes of color. There are some people, however, who feel that they can get all the color they want by watching a sunset, and who look for something else on a movie screen.