The most breathtaking moment (and ultimately symbolic) for me is the Ascot Racecourse scene with its spectacular costumes and vocal harmonies. There's something eerie too in watching these upper crust characters as shallow, stiff mannequins, wrapped in black & white satin and silk. Another highlight is the embassy dance ball where Doolittle is shown off in her iconic bouffant hairdo with a glimmering little crown, necklace and simple beaded white gown. The middle of the picture becomes more resonant as Doolittle slowly realizes she is merely Higgins' show pony.
Perhaps because this isn't musical of dance, it comes off a bit stodgy at times, and it's clearly meant for the big screen, yet My Fair Lady is an essential, sometimes exquisite relic of bloated, dazzlingly hand-crafted Hollywood epics that would eventually fade within the changing mores of sixties cinema. One of the era's seminal events even occurred while filming "Wouldn't It Be Loverly," when Hepburn got word of JFK's assassination. She announced his passing to the crew and requested a moment of silence; then they all walked off the set and went home. ***