Mike Nichols makes a warm, sharp corporate comedy, with Melanie Griffith giving its upwardly mobile secretary good reason to be heard. The romance is less interesting than the office manoeuvring, but the performances make the familiar climb worth taking.
Mike Nichols’s Working Girl is a warm, funny corporate comedy whose heroine’s promotion matters more than her love life. That imbalance is our chief reservation about a film we otherwise recommend readily. Kevin Wade’s screenplay follows Tess McGill, a secretary determined to outsmart her boss and move into the executive ranks. Nichols takes her wish seriously enough to make the office manoeuvring feel personal.
Melanie Griffith gives Tess enough uncertainty to make that wish matter. Her performance allows eagerness and shrewdness to coexist, without making every moment of vulnerability a request for sympathy. We found ourselves fiercely on her side: Griffith makes the effort of staying hopeful while being underestimated look tiring. Nichols gives her space to be funny without treating her ambition as a joke, and Griffith makes good use of that freedom.
Sigourney Weaver’s Katharine Parker gives her a boss worth worrying about. Weaver makes authority look comfortable, so Griffith’s effort to compete has something precise to push against. Their exchanges are funny because both performers understand how much can be claimed merely by seeming sure of oneself. Joan Cusack, as Cyn, has a comic timing that stops the supporting part from becoming an afterthought. Nichols lets the women be funny without smoothing away the friction between them.
Michael Ballhaus’s cinematography makes the executive workplace look desirable, which helps us understand Tess’s determination to get inside. Patrizia von Brandenstein’s production design makes the offices do useful comic work: we can read differences in status before anybody needs to explain them. Ann Roth’s costumes likewise make the effort of fitting in visible, giving appearance a place in the competition for recognition. Nichols pays enough attention to these details that the workplace remains interesting even when the dialogue is doing most of the work.
Sam O’Steen’s editing is a large part of why Wade’s plotting feels brisk. The comic exchanges have room to register, but the film does not keep waiting for applause before moving on to the next complication. Carly Simon’s music lends Tess’s striving an emotional directness that could have been sugary in less assured hands. Here it helps Nichols keep the hope credible without making Griffith supply every scrap of warmth herself.
The less persuasive material is the romance. Harrison Ford brings an agreeable ease to Jack Trainer, but his presence cannot make the love story as compelling as Tess’s struggle to be heard at work. Wade gives her professional hopes such clear stakes that the romantic material can feel like a requirement being met. Ford is pleasant company, and that is enough to keep these stretches amiable. The dialogue and performances remain enjoyable even when the story has turned towards its less interesting business.
As an office fairy tale, it works because Nichols takes the wish seriously and keeps the people funny. We would not mistake it for a searching account of corporate power: it wants Tess to get her chance, and that is where its curiosity is concentrated. Watch it with someone who has had a boss take them for granted.
