An Awfully Big Adventure 1995

In the film’s opening, a hotelier leads a wary figure into a bomb shelter as Liverpool endures the Blitz, anchoring the story in a city scarred by war. A brief flashback then reveals a mother who, faced with danger, leaves her baby in a basement lit by flickering candles, slipping a string of pearls onto the child’s pillow while a single rose is wrapped around them. This haunting image threads its way through the narrative, hinting at secrets that will shape the lives of the characters to come.

Years later, Stella Bradshaw Georgina Cates grows up in a working-class Liverpool home with her Uncle Vernon Alun Armstrong and Aunt Lily Rita Tushingham. With little real family closeness, she clings to memories of her mother—often speaking into phone booths as if the call might reach her, though the mother never appears on screen. This longing for connection drives Stella to search for a path that will lift her from the only predictable life she knows.

Her uncle believes acting could be that path, pushing Stella toward a career in performance. He arranges speech lessons and pulls strings to secure her a place at a local repertory theatre, hoping the stage will provide an escape from the routine of working behind a shop counter. The plan sounds straightforward, but the theatre world proves more complicated than the family anticipates, filled with charm and danger in equal measure.

After an unsuccessful audition, Stella ends up as a gofer for Meredith Potter Hugh Grant, a director whose gleaming exterior masks a troubling moral void, and Bunny [Peter Firth], his loyal stage manager. Stella’s first real foothold in the company sets her on a collision course with the men who run the troupe, and she soon finds herself drawn toward the orbit of Meredith, even as his worldliness and self-absorption blur the lines between mentorship and manipulation. Meredith’s attitude—cool, caustic, and dismissive—casts a shadow over everyone in the troupe, especially those who hope for genuine recognition.

Into this volatile mix steps P. L. O’Hara Alan Rickman, a brilliantly capable actor who has returned to the company to play Captain Hook in a Christmas production of Peter Pan, and who also doubles as Mr. Darling. O’Hara moves with quiet grace, but beneath the polish lies a mind shaped by wartime memories and a belief in a past love he once thought might have produced a son. His presence adds a layer of emotional tension to the backstage dynamics, and his interactions with Stella grow into something both intimate and morally fraught.

Stella’s infatuation with Meredith deepens as she interprets his worldliness as a kind of glamour she has never known. She sees in him not just a director, but a doorway to experiences beyond her upbringing, even as the truth about Meredith’s treatment of others—how he treats Dawn Allenby, a desperate actress who is dismissed and left to unravel—keeps surfacing as a dark counterpoint to his charm. Among the backstage intrigue, Stella also becomes entangled with the company’s younger performers, including the offers of affection from the boys who circle the theatre, further complicating her attempt to stake a claim on Meredith’s attention and approval.

The tension comes to a head during a cast outing when Geoffrey [Alan Cox], a fellow stagehand whom Potter has been toying with, erupts and strikes Meredith Potter in the nose. The moment unsettles the cast, who rally around Geoffrey, but Stella voices a harsh verdict that he should be fired. In the midst of the fallout, O’Hara confronts a hard truth about Meredith, explaining with a clarity that cuts through the fog of backstage cruelty: “believe it or not, it doesn’t much matter him or her to Meredith. What he wants is hearts.” This blunt assessment casts a harsh light on Meredith’s predatory dynamic with the people around him and reframes Stella’s attraction as part of a larger economy of desire and power.

The plot pivots on a revelation that changes everything Stella thinks she knows. O’Hara visits Stella’s aunt and uncle and reveals that Stella’s long-missing mother was his own lost love, whom he had known by the nickname Stella Maris. This revelation implies that Stella is, in fact, his daughter—a truth he keeps to himself as he returns to the seaport. On the journey home, disaster strikes when he loses footing on a wet gangplank, falls into the water, and begins to drown. Before the darkness overtakes him, he glimpses the girl from the earlier flashbacks, clutching an infant—a poignant reminder of the family ties he believed he was not destined to claim.

In the aftermath, Stella rushes to a phone booth to confess her woes, confronting a lineage she never fully understood. The film then ties the emotional thread to a final, bittersweet note: Stella Maris—the mother who vanished from the present—had years earlier won a nationwide contest to be the voice of the speaking clock. Her recorded voice remains the sole reply to her daughter’s confidences, a haunting reminder that memory and legacy endure even when people disappear from the world they left behind.

Across this sweeping, intimate portrait, the film explores longing, ambition, and the often painful collision between art and life. It traces Stella’s attempts to navigate affection, professional ambition, and the shadows of her parentage, all set within the claustrophobic, combustible world of a theatre company where desire and cruelty are in constant play. The result is a relentlessly human story, anchored in strong performances and a reverberating sense that the past continues to steer the present, even when the living cannot fully reach it.