Rent Cluny Brown (1946)

Perfection - Cluny Brown review by CH

Author of many novels, some of which became plays and films, Margery Sharp is most associated with one which became animated: The Rescuers. Too little known now, and decidedly animated in the general sense of the word, is Cluny Brown. This became Lubritch's last film. Made in 1946, and set eight years earlier, it is a satire upon the English upper classes' hidebound notions, with an emphasis upon their deploring Jennifer Jones in the eponymous role as a womam for whom pleasure offers nothing greater than taking a spanner to a pipe and unblocking the laden sink above.

She finds herself as a maid in a country house where Charles Boyer (whom she has previously encountered) has been offered sanctuary from German persecution. They are kindred spirits, and make this the most unusual of romantic comedies, one encapsulated in the phrase "nuts to the squirrels!" - or should that be "squirrels to the nuts!"? Either way, this is one of the many details, such as a well-bred welcoming pot of tea and crumpet, which sound preposterous in summary but prove to have a logic as comic and affecting as the entire film.

Be sure not to miss it.

Lubitsch in Britain - Cluny Brown review by AG

Late Lubitsch, but still on top comic form. The eponymous Cluny (Jennifer Jones) steals this film with a wonderfully quirky character. Lubitsch sends up the British class system with outsiders revealing its absurdity. 

Polite Society, Meet the Wrench - Cluny Brown review by griggs

Some comfort films are just the cinematic equivalent of beige. This one’s a proper pick-me-up — warm-hearted, properly funny, and put together with real craft.

Cluny Brown is silly but never stupid. It glides along on farce fuel, then slips the blade in: class anxiety, good manners as a weapon, and those “polite” little cruelties that land harder because everyone keeps smiling. The characters feel observed rather than invented — nobody’s a cardboard cut-out, even when they’re posing like one.

Jennifer Jones gives Cluny a bright, stubborn spark, the kind you can’t politely pat out. Charles Boyer is deliciously dry as Belinski, dispensing charm like a quiet insult in a well-cut suit. Lubitsch treats society like a starched shirt: crisp, expensive, and begging to be creased. You leave lighter, and a bit more allergic to snobbery.