From Palace to Pavement: Roman Holiday and Auric’s Art

The 1953 film Roman Holiday is in my top ten not only for the superb performances by Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, but also for its glorious travelogue of Rome, one of my favourite European cities.

A young princess, disillusioned by the endless grind of ceremony, speeches, and tightly choreographed appearances, reaches a quiet breaking point during a goodwill tour of Europe. In Rome, the pressure becomes too much, and she slips away into the night, determined - just for a few hours - to experience life without titles, attendants, or expectations. Her escape leads her into the orbit of an American journalist who recognises her but chooses, for his own reasons, to play along with her desire for anonymity.

Roman Holiday unfolds as a gentle, sparkling portrait of freedom tasted in stolen moments: the thrill of wandering a city without a schedule, the pleasure of ordinary encounters, and the subtle shift that happens when two strangers meet as equals rather than as roles. It is a film suffused with charm, buoyed by Audrey Hepburn’s luminous freshness and Gregory Peck’s understated warmth, celebrating the magic of a single day that feels wonderfully, impossibly unencumbered.

Upon its release, the French reviewer Jean de Baroncelli praised Roman Holiday as a rare delight, calling it “this adorable film, sprinkled all over with blue flowers,” and celebrating its power to console viewers weary of films obsessed with “the ugliness, the filth, the sadness of our poor world.” Although the film failed at the Venice Festival - people scorned it…they curled their lips”—the critic argues that its very simplicity was its virtue. Audiences and juries dismissed it because it was “a vulgar romance between a princess and a young journalist” with “not the slightest message,” no propaganda, only “the sweetness of being young and alive.”

He laments that Roman Holiday was relegated “to the toy department,” like other light, gentle films overlooked in favour of “heavy war machines.” Yet, he insists that such neglect cannot last: one day, he writes, critics will have to acknowledge the public’s pleasure and allow “gaiety to triumph over pretentious boredom.”

Across the Atlantic the film critic M. Brog writing for Variety 8 (1 July 1953), praises Roman Holiday as a beautifully mounted romantic comedy that marks a welcome change of pace for William Wyler. The critic highlights how Wyler “used the ancient buildings and streets of Rome as a colourful and beautiful backdrop,” making the city “an unusually effective, without being obtrusive, part of the entertainment values.” Wyler’s return to comedy is described as “all to the good,” supported by a “fine script” by Dalton Trumbo, Ian McLellan Hunter and John Dighton. The reviewer notes that the princess’s adventures with Gregory Peck are “natural and amusing,” generating “continual chuckles with laugh highlights.” Everyday incidents “getting a haircut, taking a wild motor scooter ride, being arrested” are said to be made “very entertaining,” culminating in a lively escape from the princess’s secret police. Crucially, the bittersweet ending was deemed both logical and satisfying: the princess resumes her royal role, and the reporter sacrifices his exclusive story for her sake.

Georges Auric (1899–1983) was a versatile French composer of remarkable versatility, moving with ease between avant‑garde circles, ballet, opera, and an extensive career in film music. A member of Les Six, the group informally linked to Jean Cocteau and Erik Satie, he first gained attention as a talented teenager, with early works performed by leading Parisian musical societies. His association with Cocteau shaped much of his artistic outlook, and Auric’s music often blended irony, clarity, and a reaction against the lush harmonic world of Debussy.

Auric became one of the most sought‑after film composers of his generation. His collaborations with Cocteau included Blood of the Poet (1930) and the celebrated Beauty and the Beast (1946), whose atmospheric score remains one of his most admired achievements. He also wrote for major French and British directors, contributing to À nous la liberté! (1931) and the British classic The Lavender Hill Mob (1951). His international reputation grew further with Moulin Rouge (1952, and his first American score for Roman Holiday (1953).

Listen to the main title track from Roman Holiday, here. Georges Auric's score (assisted by Victor Young) opens with whirling woodwinds and shimmering textures, establishing the film’s playful tone and the sense of a city alive with promise. As the strings begin the principal melody, the music acquires a lyrical warmth that mirrors Princess Ann’s gradual shedding of royal constraint.

A contrasting, more animated section - led by trumpets and passed energetically around the orchestra - introduces the film’s comedic dimension. This jumpy, good‑humoured writing underscores the spontaneity of Ann’s adventures and the growing rapport between her and Joe. Later, the lyrical theme returns, subtly varied, suggesting emotional depth beneath the film’s surface sparkle. The score’s final flourish has brass punctuating the orchestra’s exuberant restatement of the theme.