In "The House of Mirth" no character is three-dimensional, therefore convincing. Not the irritatingly vague Lily, not the hazy male or the incomplete supporting female roles. Not even Eleanor Bron, one of the movie's rare non-American performers. She plays the disapproving, rich aunt whose speech, enunciation and pauses feel amateurish in a role that in bygone days would have featured Dame May Whitty or Edna May Oliver. (She's unrecognizable from the charming parts she used to play in the 60s, as in "Bedazzled.")
I like writer-director Terence Davies's modest output, especially his "Distant Voices, Still Lives" (two separate but interconnected films in one) and "The Long Day Closes." These are all based on his dreary life and working-class family in wartime and post-war England. The films are splendid downers in which the only solace for their denizens seemed to be lavishly sampled, mostly American pop songs and Hollywood flicks. Well worth renting.
-- "le mauvais gout mene au crime" (Stendhal)
Movie reviews by Edwin Jahiel are at : http://www.prairienet.org/ejahiel
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