Don't let the first 10 minutes fool you, this movie is tremendous. Shepherd might seem off putting at the start, but she fully takes hold of the character and Brown's sad eyes do more to sell the story than anything. Sure it's set in a bygone age, but the feelings are totally universal and the ending is just devastating. This is totally unfairly passed over and deserves more attention. It's every bit as good as Barry Lyndon, just in a different way.

The movie opens in a Swiss hotel in the 1880s, with young Randall emerging from his room and committing acts that justify Oscar Wilde's recommendation that children should be struck regularly like gongs.

Then we are introduced to some tangled social relationships involving mainly Cybill Shepherd as Daisy and Barry Brown as a fellow American who wants to be her suitor. They meet in Vevey, Switzerland, and again in Rome. Brown discovers that established European and ex-pat American society considers Daisy reckless in that she waltzes around in public with men on her arm -- sometimes arms -- and is rumored to have been "intimate" with the family courtier. In other words, she'd defying all these mores with her American willfulness.

Brown is caught between two worlds and is only willing to remain in this conflict because of his love for Daisy. But even he, an American, is surprised and disappointed when Daisy begins seeing an Italian and smooching him under her parasol. In any case, she solves the problem by malaria ex machina.

I understand that Henry James' novella was a slight work and difficult to transpose to the screen. I never read it myself. But it's all laid out in plain celluloid in this adaptation. There are no directorial fireworks. None at all. It's done in the classic style that director Bogdanovitch feels comfortable with. Maybe he uses traditional techniques a bit too much. There are innumerable close ups, more than would ever appear in something by John Ford, Howard Hawks, or Orson Welles. And when a character is about to project some important communication, the camera moves in meaningfully, just so we get the point. The scene in which Brown learns of Daisy's death is very decorously handled though, shot through a lace curtain and rendered in barely audible Italian.

But the film has a fundamental problem. What makes Daisy so attractive? Of course Cybill Shepherd is beautiful but that's about it. She prattles on breathlessly like a bipolar in a manic episode. She taunts Brown maliciously. She willingly and knowingly violates the local conventions. That's not American independence. That's self indulgence. Nor does she show any interest in historical structures or art or, indeed, anything else that doesn't impact her body sheath.

Watching it, I sensed a painful intensity behind the production, as of trying too hard, but I may be wrong.

Aloof, mechanical adaptation of an 1878 novella by Henry James, a short story which curiously attracted the attention of hot-property Peter Bogdanovich, a film director then riding high with a string of successful films to his credit. While showcasing Cybill Shepherd in the title role, Bogdanovich does give hint early on why this tale tempted him so: the breathlessly bemused bantering of the characters could be straight out of a Howard Hawks comedy from the 1930s (complete with exhausted patches),while the staging reminds one of a Noël Coward play. Shepherd's Daisy, American girl from Schenectady on vacation in Europe with her mother and little brother, captivates a handsome, worldly admirer (Barry Brown, who resembles Bogdanovich); his pursuit of Daisy becomes a game of catching-up, which brings words of disapproval from the surrounding members of high society, who attempt to warn the young man that Daisy's flirtatiousness spells trouble. As written, Daisy is supposed to be a blooming flower of a girl, but Shepherd seems too coached, too self-consciously frivolous to be convincing here. It would take a leap of faith for any audience to believe a sophisticated, if ultimately ambivalent, man of the world would take a passing interest in this innocuous creature. However, Shepherd does improve by the film's second-half, especially as the mood of the picture turns a bit more somber and Shepherd becomes a tad more thoughtful in her characterization. Several of the supporting performances are certainly superior (especially Eileen Brennan as the contemptuous Mrs. Walker and Duilio Del Prete as the dutiful Gionavelli). The finest work in the film comes from Brown as Frederick Winterbourne; clearly this is the character whom Bogdanovich identifies with, and Brown's grasp of this perplexed-yet-intrigued traveler makes an immediate connection with the audience (his performance is a life-raft we can hold onto). Despite flaws in the screenplay and the handling (and portions of the casting, including an annoying youngster I could have done without),the movie carefully makes its way to a touching conclusion. It isn't an involving picture, and it doesn't have a fluidity to it--nor a grand sweep--which might have made it an art-house success. Bogdanovich is occasionally static with his direction, as if his actors were on the stage, rapidly bantering in goosey spirits. Still, the filmmaker gets moments on film that dig a little deeper into loss and loneliness than I think he was given credit for at the time. The film's general design and style are rather disappointing, as is Alberto Spagnoli's cinematography, but "Daisy Miller" is not a failure. There is a heart underneath these smoke and mirrors. ** from ****