Cluny Brown (1946)

Introduction

Cluny Brown is one of those rare comedies that’s both effervescent and quietly radical. Directed by Ernst Lubitsch, in what would tragically be his last completed film, it is a parting gift of lightness laced with sharp social critique. Released just after World War II, the film may seem on its surface to be a frothy period farce about class and romance, but beneath its genteel British setting lies a delightfully subversive attack on social pretension, repression, and the boundaries placed on women’s lives.

Often overlooked in discussions of Lubitsch’s finest works, Cluny Brown is a sophisticated delight—buoyed by a dazzlingly modern performance from Jennifer Jones, sparkling dialogue, and Lubitsch’s trademark “touch”: witty, elegant, suggestive, and always knowing.

Plot Summary

Set in pre-war England, the film follows Cluny Brown (Jennifer Jones), a free-spirited, orphaned young woman with an unusual passion—for plumbing. Yes, plumbing. After fixing a blocked sink in the apartment of an elegant gentleman, Cluny is deemed by her concerned uncle to be “getting above her station” and sent into domestic service as a maid at the country estate of the Carmelt family.

At the same time, Adam Belinski (Charles Boyer), an urbane, penniless Czech intellectual fleeing Nazi oppression, arrives at the same estate as the guest of an aspiring author and well-meaning young aristocrat, Andrew Carmelt (Peter Lawford). Belinski soon becomes an observer and gentle disruptor of the British class system’s absurdities.

Cluny and Belinski’s paths cross, and he quickly recognizes in her a kindred spirit—restless, curious, and yearning to be more than the role society has dictated. The romantic arc is understated and offbeat, as much about mutual liberation and understanding as it is about affection.

Performances

Jennifer Jones delivers a performance of surprising vitality and comic verve. Known at the time for dramatic roles (The Song of Bernadette, Since You Went Away), Jones proves herself more than capable of screwball brilliance. Her Cluny is wide-eyed without being naïve, passionate without being manic. Jones infuses her with a comic innocence—a woman who doesn’t understand why liking plumbing should be scandalous—and that innocence allows her to challenge the world around her without seeming rebellious.

Charles Boyer, meanwhile, turns in a wonderfully light, urbane performance. His Belinski is not a romantic hero in the traditional sense; he’s more of an amused philosopher, always two steps ahead of the English upper class, which he views with gentle bemusement. Boyer’s chemistry with Jones is built less on conventional passion than on mutual recognition and respect—a romance of equals, which was rare for the genre at the time.

Peter Lawford, Helen Walker, and Reginald Gardiner round out the ensemble with subtly exaggerated caricatures of upper-class affectation. Each character, no matter how minor, serves as a puzzle piece in Lubitsch’s portrait of a stultified society on the brink of upheaval.

Direction and "The Lubitsch Touch"

Lubitsch’s direction in Cluny Brown is as graceful and layered as ever. There are no broad gags or pratfalls here; instead, the humour comes from implication, character behaviour, and social incongruity. The “Lubitsch Touch” is often defined by what’s not shown—what happens off-screen, in a pause, a reaction, a line delivered with ironic emphasis.

He handles the romance with feather-light precision, never tipping into sentimentality. The class satire is equally deft: while Belinski sees the British system as benignly absurd, Lubitsch sees it as stifling, particularly for women like Cluny who step outside accepted roles.

This critique is never didactic. Instead, it floats in the background like a wry smile. Lubitsch was a master of social commentary through comedy, and in Cluny Brown, he delivers a feminist message that is strikingly ahead of its time: individuality and curiosity should not be punished, and a woman has every right to follow her bliss—even if it’s down a drainpipe.

Themes

Class and Social Constraint

The film gently mocks the British class system, with its emphasis on appearances, manners, and inherited status. Lubitsch portrays aristocrats as well-meaning but clueless, oblivious to the absurdity of their rituals. Belinski, as a foreigner, serves as both insider and outsider, allowing the audience to laugh along with him.

Repression vs. Expression

Cluny’s desires—be they plumbing or romance—are consistently stifled by a society that wants her to be "normal." Her journey is one of self-discovery and resistance to repression. The film argues that joy, curiosity, and passion are more important than propriety.

Feminism and Personal Autonomy

Cluny’s story is fundamentally about a woman choosing her own path in a world that doesn’t think she should have one. Her refusal to be boxed in—by family, employers, or suitors—is radical in its quiet way.

The Role of the Outsider

Belinski, as an exile, offers the clearest lens through which to view the foibles of English society. But he’s also in need of grounding—and he finds that in Cluny. Their romance is one of mutual affirmation, each giving the other courage to be fully themselves.

Visual Style and Setting

Shot in elegant black and white by Joseph LaShelle (who won an Oscar for Laura), the film’s visuals are subtly luxurious. The country estate, the bustling town, and even the plumbing underpinnings are rendered with precision. The costumes reflect not just period style but also character—Cluny’s uniforms, for instance, contrast with her spirited nature.

Though restrained by the Production Code, Lubitsch uses suggestion and innuendo to full comic effect. His camera doesn’t move much, but when it does, it’s with purpose—highlighting a reaction, a social faux pas, or a character’s awakening.

Reception and Legacy

Cluny Brown was well received by critics, though perhaps overshadowed by bigger films in a post-war moment that leaned toward realism and melodrama. Lubitsch died suddenly in 1947, and this final completed film didn't get the attention it deserved at the time.

However, its reputation has grown significantly. Modern critics have praised its sophisticated wit, its proto-feminist message, and its subtle charm. It is now considered a gem of late-period Lubitsch, with some even calling it his most underappreciated work.

Its influence can be felt in later romantic comedies that feature quirky, rule-breaking heroines and philosophical foreign suitors. In its embrace of individuality and joyful rebellion, it feels surprisingly modern.

Final Verdict

Cluny Brown is a delicious and daring comedy—an elegant, whimsical rebellion against the rules of society, class, and gender. With a luminous Jennifer Jones and a charming Charles Boyer at its centre, it offers not just romance but liberation. Lubitsch left the world with a final laugh—and a reminder that everyone has the right to know where the pipes go.

A witty, ahead-of-its-time romantic satire that sparkles with charm and quiet subversion.