Shirley Valentine

Shirley Valentine is a middle-aged Liverpool housewife who refers to herself as “St. Joan of the Kitchen Sink.” Having raised two grown children, her function now is to make sure she has her husband’s supper ready at six o’clock every night.

The allure of this existence begins to wane, and Shirley has begun to talk to the walls, which is to say, the camera, in the movie that bears her name. Shirley spouts her philosophy (“Marriage is like the Middle East. There’s no solution”) and maintains as best she can. When a friend proposes a trip to Greece, leaving hubby behind, Shirley vacillates at first, but goes.

It’s in Greece that she falls in love. Not with the likably devilish tavern owner who takes her on a romantic boat ride, or any other man. She falls in love with the idea of living her own life. After two weeks, she’s haunted by a thought: Would anyone really miss her if she didn’t go back?

Shirley Valentine is based on a one-woman show written by Willy Russell (Educating Rita), who also adapted the screenplay. Russell has rewritten the stage play so that Shirley is now surrounded by other characters, but she retains the ability to speak directly to the audience, which she does with puckish regularity.

Shirley is played by Pauline Collins, who triumphed in the role in London and Broadway (she won the Tony this year). Collins is a delight; her rolling Liverpudlian accent and her brazenly unglamorous appearance make for a refreshing heroine. (Bernard Hill plays the husband; Tom Conti is the Greek fling. Both are excellent.)

Russell’s main point, about people taking charge of their destinies, is familiar. And his script is overwritten; there are too many pat one-liners and convenient situations, and director Lewis Gilbert, who also directed Educating Rita, gives the material a glossy overglow.

But it plays into a universal fantasy: It’s an irresistible moment when Shirley stands with her luggage at the Greek airport and simply walks away from the plane bound to take her back to England.

Of course, everything works out a little too neatly, but then this is something of a fantasy. And with Pauline Collins in control, it’s a pretty easy one to enjoy.

First published in The Herald, September 7, 1989

Collins was Oscar-nominated for her role; there was also a Best Song nomination, for a little concoction from Marvin Hamlisch and the Bergmans. The universal fantasy of walking away was very much my own at the time; but I assume it is also universal, at least some of the time.