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Wonderfully elite and fabulously pretentious, the film's three Brits and two Americans expatriated to beautiful Florence some time ago, taking it upon themselves to preserve a way of life that was probably dead years before they were born, if it ever existed at all. Dilettantes extraordinaire, they are patrons of the arts, keepers of the culture. Rabidly defending their highfalutin calling with a biting wit born of dedicated urbanity, they have come to be known as the Scorpioni.
Among the English contingent, there is Lady Hester (Maggie Smith), autocratic widow of the late ambassador to Italy and the tacitly acknowledged leader of the clique; of course, her speciality is manners. Swooning Arabella (Judi Dench), whose whole life is one swirling palette of performance art, is forever climbing some precarious ladder to save a fresco in dishabille. She is entirely dedicated to her ubiquitous dog, Billy Boy. And then there's motherly Mary (Joan Plowright), a romantic devotee of Shakespeare but a thorough pragmatist who, unlike her wealthy pals, must work as a secretary/translator in order to maintain her Florentine lifestyle.
Rounding out the coterie of dreamy dabblers are the two Yanks. Lily Tomlin is steadfast Georgie, who, as an ahead-of-her time archaeologist, makes no bones about her lesbianism. And Cher is Elsa Morganthal, a joyously ostentatious, former Ziegfeld girl who has parlayed a show business career into several wealth-building marriages and a penchant for Picassos. Incidentally, she is Jewish.
The intrepid klatch adds a special project to its list of humanitarian causes when they informally adopt Luca (Charlie Lucas), the illegitimate son of Mary's self-centred, haberdasher boss. Originally consigned to turn Luca into a "proper English gentleman," Mary insists on the expanded role, enlisting her friends when it becomes apparent that the philandering clothier's shamelessly indifferent attitude is short-changing the precocious little boy (presumably director Zeffirelli as a child). Like a chanting chorus of mass-produced Auntie Mames, the enterprising old gals begin to tutor the sweet little boy, each in their own field of speciality. He shows a talent for drawing. It's all quite enlightened, civilised, and optimistic.
But the calendar says 1935, and we know what's wrong with this picture. It is that haunting time and place known as Europe between the wars. Even before the first rattling of sabres, prior to the wholesale rising of dictators, in every word and deed there is just the slightest trace of irresolution, an almost imperceptible uneasiness. As if, subconsciously, folks know what cataclysm lies in store. And they just aren't exactly sure how to proceed.
Ill wind blowing or not, there'll be no pending of civilisation for Lady Hester. It's upward and onward. Besides, Benito would never allow any harm to come to a woman of such high station, or so she egotistically believes. She has bought Mussolini's propaganda, hook line and sinker. But just to be sure, after one ominously unsettling afternoon that sees the notorious black shirts roam the streets of Florence perpetrating random acts of meanness, the doyen asks for an audience with the dictator. And just in case you were wondering, yes, she and the gang do get to have tea with Mussolini.
One must wonder what it says about the top fascist's intelligence sources that this fanciful get-together actually comes off. The total implausibility makes it quite a chuckle. And because he thinks his guest may have important connections in high places, Il Duce assures his aristocratic visitor that she enjoys his personal protection. It is at this point, when a self-satisfied Lady Hester takes charge and decides to pour, that you begin speculating what sort of acting award nominations Miss Smith will garner. Hammy? It sure is. But it's the imported stuff, and strictly top shelf.
Impatient moviegoers should be warned. Tea With Mussolini unravels quite leisurely, using almost its entire first half for character exposition and sowing little story details. Happily, there is historically romantic Florence to dazzle our eyes and imaginations while we're waiting for the action to begin. So be sure to catch the travelogue-worthy sights, photographed by David Watkin (Out Of Africa). Because once this ensemble of grand dames swings into gear, they unabashedly ravish the scenery.
With Maggie Smith setting the tone, the Misses Plowright and Dench follow suit, realising their eccentric characters with joyfully unmitigated indulgence. And Cher engages in a bit of dramatic flamboyance of her own as good-hearted Elsa, a generous soul with an entertaining flair for conspicuous consumption. But when the gold digger steps out of character and fancies a dashing Italian lawyer her own age, the results are ironic.
Expectedly, the English ladies don't fully approve of their American cousins, and the various relationships come into sharp focus after Italy declares war on England and the proverbial wicket grows sticky. Classified as "resident aliens," the Scorpioni are hustled away to meagre digs in the mountains. But when good fortune seems to strike and the detainees are relocated to a hotel, Lady Hester still holds that old friend Benito is most likely their benefactor. The truth is more interesting.
Hester and her hothouse flowers are allowed their high-minded shenanigans for the same reason that we let Maggie Smith and company get away with such extravagant leeway in portraying them. Proving that grace, elegance and polish can also be stout-hearted, the preservation of civility is at the core of both their noble missions. Viewers looking to quench a thirst for culturally uplifting entertainment will find that Tea With Mussolini hits the spot.
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