Knightley’s Duchess Shines in an Uninspired Period Piece

Last night, after more than willingly being wined and dined, I, in my rather happily besotted state, was introduced to Georgiana, an impeccably dressed, lovely young woman of eighteen years of age who was abundantly pleased and honored to be selected for marriage by the Duke of Devonshire.  Perhaps “honored” isn’t exactly the right word for it: poor Georgiana, after all, was about to enter a formal and loveless marriage to the rather stiff and dull Duke, who would show his two similarly personality-deficient mongrels more affection than he ever would his own wife and children.  Throughout the course of their opulent aristocratic existence, Georgiana would painfully discover the selfishness and desperation of the women of her time; that, in truth, marriage is always a “duty,” never a joy; and that every woman must sacrifice her own happiness for that of her children – who, one day, will inevitably do the same for their own luckless progeny.

If the sentiments and situations of screenwriter Jeffrey Hatcher’s The Duchess appear all too familiar, that’s because they are.  While we’ve been transported from France to England, and there’s a distinct lack of excessive parties, decadent desserts, and an insanely awesome shoe collection, and certainly everyone’s head remains firmly attached to the body, The Duchess does remind us a bit of Sophia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, as well as countless other films that deal with the constricted lives of the softer sex in periods past.  While Saul Dibb’s direction is more classic costume drama in its elegant simplicity than stunning in its stylishness (as Coppola’s work was), his softer and more reserved tone is supported by Gyula Pados’s lush and sweeping cinematography that fittingly reminds us of that acclaimed period piece (Pride & Prejudice) that also boasts the waifish yet sassily strong-willed Keira Knightley.

 

Knightley

 

 

Knightley gives one of her finest and most affecting performances to date as the Duchess of Devonshire (and yes, I’ll go so far as to say her skills here are even more stunning than those she demonstrated in Atonement).  With every personal disappointment and  societal restriction that is forced upon Georgiana, this young and quite talented actress reacts honestly and flawlessly:  composed and refined on the surface, Georgiana’s heartache and fire are kept in check, always subtly visible on Knightley’s delicate porcelain doll face, but never overcoming, and we feel our own guts wrench as we know hers must at such trying times.  Only once does G – as her husband familiarly (and therefore strangely) refers to her –  allow her composure to crumble, and only when her maternal feelings and warmth are questioned, but even then, only for the briefest of moments.  But oh, how we feel her suffering thanks to Knightley’s keenly nuanced depiction of the Duchess’s difficulties.   Ralph Fiennes is the cold, distant, and unfeeling husband who refuses G’s every pleasure – even that of a lover, though he himself takes on a myriad of mistresses.  As per usual, Fiennes doesn’t disappoint, though it would be nice to see him play a role that requires a bit of warmth and emotion at some point.  

While the entire cast is lovely and in sync, all offering gratifyingly subtle performances (thank goodness Mama Mia! and History Boys’s Dominic Cooper – playing G’s lover – is finally given a decent vehicle through which to demonstrate his fine abilities), they can never quite make us forget that what we’re watching, we’ve all seen before.  Not only that, but we’ve seen it done better.  Georgiana Spencer didexist in 18th century England, and she is well-known as being one of the very first celebrities, as well as a politically active feminine figure for her time.  But does the film capitalize on these choice characteristics?  No. Rather, her importance as a British cultural and historical icon (and one who contemporary women could certainly relate to) is offered in the form of only slightly interesting, yet entirely throwaway tidbits that actually, when they appear, are quite irksome as they take away from what the film raises as the main issue at hand: will the spirited G ever leave that dastardly Duke?  As tame as the film’s politics are, it does attempt to make some kind of comment on freedom, which theme is not exactly seamlessly woven throughout the plot, and which never appears to resolve itself through the film’s uninspiring conclusion (if one can call it that).

Despite its lack of fervor in meaning and topicality, The Duchess offers many wonderful moments brimming with quiet, yet deeply felt emotions thanks largely due to the dedicated and sensitive Knightley.  Will Oscar be a-buzzin’ ’round everyone’s favorite British It Girl?  Unfortunately, I think Knightley’s intuitive and moving performance is not flashy enough to draw attention to this quiet film and its creators, but one hopes that it will draw her to films more worthy of her high caliber of talent.

Pixar Gets Political

Not since Short Circuit have we encountered such an adorably harmless robot.  Wall•E is a simple ‘bot who putters out his days humming Hello, Dolly! tunes and discovering treasure in others’ trash (dinglehopper, anyone?).  It isn’t until a fem ‘bot lands on the devastated Earth that we realize our hero’s true plight:  the little guy just wants some love.  And, of course, to save Earth along the way — or does he really want that after all?

If the basic plot of finding love and/or a sense of belonging seems all too familiar to us (everything from The Little Mermaid to E.T. to Lilo and Stitch come to mind), what does seem  different is the overt politics that spring up mid-’toon that are only resolved when the love quandary of our faithful ‘bot is happily settled.  Pixar isn’t dealing with complex emotions and character relationships as it has in the past; in Wall•E, writer and director Andrew Stanton has discarded those notable trademarks for a strangely simplistic statement concerning the environment and how our ignorance and laziness will most assuredly lead to the absolute destruction of the planet.  That is, of course, until we remember that what the world needs now, is love, sweet love, and then we realize that all will be righted soon enough.

Perhaps I’m being too hard on what many would defend as just a “kids movie,” and what others would call an amazing technological feat (as always, the details are delightful and the artistry in animation stunning).  The problem with that argument is that Pixar’s films are always awe-inspiring to look at, and the company doesn’t create just “kids movies,” it never has.  Toy Story, Finding Nemo, and The Incredibles all subtly produce rich characters and situations and the emotions always run high and deep in those films.  Wall•E never reaches those heights because no matter how many times our protagonist (and he is A-dorable)  induces “awwws” from me and the rest of the audience, he never accomplishes anything more.  The adorable android dutifully collects garbage, carefully crunching the junk into easily disposable cubes, but he doesn’t do it because he cares about having a clean Earth.  Just like the blobby humans the film depicts as unthinkingly wittling away their days as a planet goes to ruin, Wall•E simply zooms along, carelessly cleaning out of routine — until a girl comes around, and then he finally cares about saving the Earth, but only because she does, and only because she has been given the “directive” to.  

Where Wall•E fails in creating complex characters and subtle plot, however, it makes up for in clever sequences involving the ‘bot’s daily musings (a favorite:  his grudgingly awakening and, groggy, unable to put on his “shoes”) and his dedicated fawning over the laser-happy female ‘bot, Eva. The flick also boasts a typically hilarious Pixar short involving a short-tempered magician and his hungry and rather industrious rabbit.  In the end, I was glad to have met Wall•E; I only wish I had gotten to know him better.    

 

 

 

Masked Murderers

Masks are creepy.  Whether it protects a noggin from the effects of a fierce slapshot, hides those pesky facial deformities, or shields a 

surgeon from a myriad of deadly diseases, donned under just the right circumstances, a mask is unnerving at best, terrifying at worst.  Actually, 

it’s creepy any time, and The Strangers takes full and frisky advantage of this haunting horror flick staple.  

James (Scott Speedman) and Kristen (Liv Tyler) are meant to have a romantic weekend away, but after a bit of a tiff that takes up too much – unnecessary – expository time, they find themselves unhappily stuck together in the family summer home that is conveniently located in the middle of nowhere, aka in a dark, scary wood.  

And then, a knock at the door.  

What ensues is an unexplained and brutally bloody harassment of the couple by three eerily masked individuals – “inspired by true events,” no less – as the estranged couple pluckily attempts to survive the night.  Bryan Bertino’s script (and direction) gamely accounts for any possible viewer skepticism of how the couple mismanaged to contact help and get away (land line?  cut.  cell phone?  burned, baby, burned in the cozy cabin fire), but the film fails to fully immerse the audience in the horrors portrayed onscreen.  The couple’s inessential backstory gives us little to grasp onto, and we never have an inkling as to why these carnival killers are, well, killing.  Is a complex and clever plot necessary for the average, jump-out-of-your-skin horror flick?  Absolutely not, and there are more than a handful of cowering, face-behind-hands (albeit, fairly predictable) frights accompanied by spooky, old-school recordplayer music that make The Strangers solid, good Friday night fun.  The question remains, however, that if that suited, strangely wheezing figure wasn’t capped with a ghastly burlap sack of a face, would his freakish image, or the movie he infiltrated, haunt and startle us so?

Then again…does it matter?