"My Fair Lady" 60th Anniversary Review: A Rough Reunion With Old Hollywood Sexism

Not even Audrey Hepburn can save George Cukor's overlong, insulting musical.

September 30, 2024

On April 7, 2004, FOX premiered a new reality show called The Swan. Inspired by The Ugly Duckling, the show took conventionally unattractive women and televised their quest for beauty. As this newfound beauty was achieved with plastic surgery, the program was, in a word, problematic.

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The show's core, that surgical “enhancement," is what gets remembered today, but that was just one step. Every episode operated on two women and monitored them over three months. At hour’s end, one received the "honor" of competing in the season-ending pageant, the winner of whom was crowned “The Swan.”

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It was an ode to revisionism, where the bullies could excuse their torment by reasoning that network TV's celebration of such behavior absolved them. It was a message to every victim, mocked for their physical imperfections and forced to find solace in empowerment anthems and the reassuring words of biased parents: your tormenters were right.

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In condemning The Swan on principle, we expose ourselves. We cannot chastise its misogyny and abhorrent message without acknowledging that the featured women are suited for the show. We must admit to finding them undesirable, unappealing, and unattractive. After all, My Fair Lady sang so The Swan could… float?

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My Fair Lady is the story of Eliza Doolittle, a Cockney-accented aspiring flower seller from the wrong side of the tracks. Professor Henry Higgins takes her under his wing on a bet: if she passes for a duchess at the impending Embassy Ball, Colonel Hugh Pickering will cover her transformation's expenses.

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We cannot pick and choose in matters of principle. It may not feature plastic surgery pageants, but it supports stripping women of all "imperfections" and turning them into what men, and thus the world, deem attractive, appropriate, and appealing. Eliza gets dolled up to code, paraded around as an anti-feminist guinea pig, and subjugated by the man who perpetrates this unwarranted transformation to the tune of returning to him after he levels an insulting plea for her affections.

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Even when the movie tries to undermine this reality and assuage our doubts, it falters. It aims to give Eliza dignity by inspiring outrage when she is not given credit for her transformation, but we cannot adopt this mentality when we know it was neither wanted nor needed. She has the self-respect to remember her roots. She does not accept inhumane treatment. She will not sit unless asked kindly.

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The movie does not care. Two wealthy men, speaking as if she isn't there, elect to take her initial proposal and run with it, insulting her entire being and striking a wager over being able to turn her from a dirty street girl to a duchess. Any possible resistance deserves physical abuse.

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It renders the movie unwatchable. After all, if a film is this earnest in presenting troubling thematics, we must evaluate the legitimacy of those thematics. My Fair Lady has much to recommend but is more like a candidate with a glossy resume loaded with shallow buzzwords than a genuine contender. Audrey Hepburn is charming, and her atrocious Cockney accent charms, but Eliza is not a woman we can support.

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Even before getting warped by patriarchal misogyny, she is neither sympathetic nor endearing. She is bratty and brash, but not in a way that feels like she's on a journey. People can be virtuous despite traditionally detestable qualities, but they must have something special that outshines their flaws. We must believe they can improve and learn to blend flawed idiosyncrasies with maturity. Eliza does not earn this belief.

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It is not entirely her fault. After all, she is merely a design of men who subjugate women for sport, not empowered to chart her course, relish her journey, and find her way. She has bursts of charm, namely when sharing her conspiracy theory on the death of a beloved aunt or bellowing profane “encouragement” at a racehorse, but the movie never explores her fully.

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Instead, it caters to its male lead, Professor Henry Higgins, who is wholly devoted to turning the ugly duckling into a swan.

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In fairness, My Fair Lady is a testament to craftsmanship. It feels like a stage. Every scene is like watching a dream, packed with colors and patterns. Each set is its own world, feeling like every shift is a fully realized step in the story. It earns that admiration, but visuals cannot distract from thematics.

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My Fair Lady is so intent on its ideals that even ironic likability is impossible. Eliza’s father sells her like cattle to get ahead, almost exasperated by her return to his life as he stands upon the precipice of wealth. Higgins' smugness views destroying Eliza’s nature as kindness. Considering Rex Harrison’s questionable virtue, it feels like he conjoined himself with his character, making him even more insufferable.

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Every time a musical number gathers momentum, it throws us for a chauvinistic loop, comparing women to bloodhounds for investigating potential infidelity, which the film portrays as an unjust impediment to the birthright of male carnal greed. After all, “the gentle sex was made for man to marry,” which is the issue. Eliza is a woman from the poor part of town with dirt on her face, but she is herself. Despite Higgins’ disapproval, the film never condemns Eliza’s nature. It asks us to believe in what she endures but cannot bring itself to justify it. We cannot support Higgins and do the same for Eliza.

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My Fair Lady finds something unique with “Ascot Gavotte,” a three-minute number that opens the horse race sequence. It’s all deliberate movement, every step and turn matching the hopscotch ascension of the lyric. One could watch a musical built on it, where instead of dragging out every song for eternity, it compresses itself to make the most of the allotted time.

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After all, we do our best work within constraints. The fewer ingredients, words, or notes we have, the greater the challenge. Everything must count because expenses must be spared. By affording itself the luxury of time, My Fair Lady overextends itself. Eliza sings that she “could have danced all night,” and by God does she mean it.

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Movies that drag lack purpose, rendering investment impossible. It’s difficult enough to buy in when even the original playwright believes its two leads shouldn’t be together, so justifying Higgins and Eliza's romance means establishing compatibility.

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For older audiences, their eventual romance is tangible because they come from a time where love meant women forsaking individuality and adopting every outfit, belief, and perspective that makes them “suitable” for marriage. Now, we know better. The film pushes Higgins back to Eliza not because he’s come to appreciate her natural inclinations but because he has “grown accustomed to her face.”

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Of course, that face is of his making, rendering his supposed affections nothing but egomania. Neither of these people gains anything worthwhile from the other, and they are not compatible outside the moments the film forgets their personalities to pretend otherwise. Higgins can only view her favorably by his will, so what poses as an ode to familiar affection is a testament to male entitlement.

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In the end, that remains true. My Fair Lady does not even grant Eliza the dignity of having Higgins beg: his “plea” is criticizing her choice of partner and belittling her for bruising his ego. He condemns a man who sheds propriety in favor of vulnerability and Eliza for allowing decency to dictate her choices. It works. Eliza happily casts aside autonomy for someone who cannot give her compassion or understanding.

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My Fair Lady has abstract charm but doesn’t distinguish itself from others of its genre, period, or acclaim. It is colorful like Gigi, earnest like The Sound of Music, and overlong like West Side Story. It never offers something new, and thus we look to its principles. Sadly, it is a decades-old prelude to the dreaded 2000s reality shows that capitalized on our immorality as we clamored for a new television genre.

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It’s all in the title: from a down-on-her-luck, potty-mouthed ghoul to the inoffensive duchess whose contrived femininity is the property of a scoundrel. A film called Stick to What I Paid You For or No Thanks You Presumptuous, Sexist Swine would be more appropriate, but those don't sound as nice. Although considering the general absence of musical merit, My Fair Lady doesn't sing a tune worth hearing anyway.