Merry Christmas, Everyone! I hope to keep this post short and sweet so as to allow those dedicated readers (and myself) ample time to spend with family and friends in the next few days. Not that My Fair Lady is particularly Christmasy, but it does possess some interesting themes that we can easily apply to this special time of the year.

For me, the part of this film that has always bothered me the most is the ending (spoiler alert!). Many other critics and reviewers have discussed the sexism that is seen in the film, so I won’t go into that too much here. But I’ve always been most perplexed and uncomfortable with what exactly we are to take away from My Fair Lady’s final line, delivered by the misogynistic Henry Higgins to his love-struck pupil Eliza: “Eliza? Where the devil are my slippers?” The film ends with Higgins pulling his hat over his eyes and slouching down in his chair as Eliza takes a few steps toward him—conspicuously not fetching his slippers. But are we the audience supposed to assume this odd couple ends up married, or do they simply live out their days in companionship? I’ve always assumed the former, but I have to say the thought of the strong-willed Eliza tethering herself to the eccentric and rather heartless Higgins doesn’t really bring me a feeling of satisfaction at the end of the film. Plus, rather than dwelling on the masculine-feminine conflict of the film, what I noticed even more during this most recent viewing is the social discrepancy between Eliza and Higgins and how that difference is almost a bigger deal than that of their genders.

Eliza and Higgins at their first meeting, the difference in their social classes well-defined.

Time and again in the film, both Higgins and Eliza comment on Eliza’s former squalor and ignorance. She supports herself (and often her alcoholic father) by selling flowers, a respectable but very tenuous profession. Higgins supports himself by having no formal occupation. He was born into money and moves rather easily in the social circles of the upper echelon (though his bookish peculiarities lead him to stand out from the general crowd of the elite). When Higgins takes Eliza in as his “project,” he lays out clear instructions for his household staff regarding Eliza’s treatment. She is not an equal—of Higgins or of the staff members. She is inferior in birth, dress, hygiene, employment—and most of all, in language. According to Higgins, Eliza’s dialect is a disgrace to the English language and must be changed in order for her to be accepted by people who matter, the upper class. Of course, high society’s acceptance of her is really a joke to Higgins—he plays a trick on his own class by making them think that Eliza is their equal when, in fact, she never can be. Additionally, Higgins risks Eliza’s well-being with his project, for strict consequences would be applied to any common person pretending to belong to the English upper class (and to the person who helped their pretense). One cannot doubt that Higgins’ punishment would be far less than what would be meted out to Eliza should they be discovered in their deception.

Eliza dislikes her training to become the “perfect woman.”

For Higgins, equality revolves around manners. He tells Eliza, “You see, the great secret, Eliza, is not a question of good manners or bad manners, or any particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all human souls. The question is not whether I treat you rudely, but whether you’ve ever heard me treat anyone else better.” Somehow, in Higgins’ mind, speaking in the same way to everyone regardless of class promotes equality, yet he still clearly sees a gap between himself and the “deliciously low” Eliza that doesn’t depend entirely on gender or dialect. For Eliza, manners are also important, but in a different way. She tells Higgins’ mother toward the end of the film, “The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated.” For Eliza, class depends on people’s treatment of each other—regardless of physical appearances, speech, or class labels. All humans are basically the same, in Eliza’s mind. The only difference is how people respond to others’ monetary situations, birth statuses, and intellectual capabilities.

Eliza, the lady.

For Me Then…

So let’s make this discussion of social levels feel a bit more festive. A little over two millennia ago, a baby was born in what was probably a cave used for sheltering smelly animals. His parents were poor, and the ruling elite soon took a violent disliking to Him. When He grew up, he hung out with stinking, doubting fishermen, tax collectors, and prostitutes. Yet his birth was announced by angels who told some very lowly shepherds: “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.” Not just for the rich and powerful, not only for the well-spoken and influential, not merely for men. All humanity has been blessed by the incarnation of Jesus Christ. And in this wonderful season of family and gift-giving, it is a privilege to know this humble baby who grew up to give Himself as a sacrifice for all humanity. Jesus’ life work demonstrates what Eliza says about class: social distinctions are a human invention, for we are all equally lost and in need of the gift of salvation offered to us by the baby whose first night was spent in a manger. May we acknowledge and praise Him who has given us the greatest gifts of hope, joy, and Himself this Christmas. And in the words of Charles Dickens, “God Bless Us, Every One!”