4.8/10
Senior Film Conservator

A definitive 4.8/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. The Only Girl remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Honestly, only if you have a massive soft spot for 1930s musical-romance fluff. If you want something gritty or intellectually challenging, look elsewhere—maybe go watch Pandora's Box instead if you want to see someone actually suffer on screen.
This movie is for the people who want to see fancy dresses, hear a bit of singing, and watch rich people misunderstand each other for an hour. If you hate slow, stagey pacing, you’ll probably find this thing agonizing.
The whole thing kicks off with a guy falling off a horse. It’s not exactly the most high-octane start to a film, but it sets the tone for a story that is entirely obsessed with feelings rather than action.
Reginald Smith is... well, he’s there. He plays the Marquis with a level of seriousness that feels slightly out of place, like he’s in a different movie entirely. He really leans into the 'I almost died and now I'm enlightened' act. It’s a bit much, honestly.
The singing! Every time the music starts, the movie just kind of stops. It’s like the film takes a deep breath and waits for the audience to remember they are watching a musical. It’s sweet, sure, but it halts the momentum every single time.
There’s a strange energy to the way people interact in this. It feels like they are performing in a theater for someone sitting in the back row, not for a camera lens. It’s very stiff, but there’s a weirdly cozy vibe to the whole thing if you just let it wash over you.
Is it a masterpiece? Absolutely not. It’s barely a footnote. But it’s got this weirdly specific charm that makes you wonder what the craft services table looked like on set. Probably just tea and biscuits, right? ☕
I found myself drifting off during the middle act, only to be woken up by a sudden burst of orchestral music. Not the most gripping experience, but definitely not the worst way to kill time.