To talk of the Victorian novel, and any film derived from them, generally imposes the theme of the sociological novel: these works were frequently what might be called a social critique, unbehest by the landed gentry of the times, ignored by the reigning sovereign, much encouraged by the publishing houses, lapped up by the intelligencia of the public at large, but in general lacking the more profound humane sentiments of, say, the Russian novel. The result is sometimes rather sanctimonious, at others preachy, not to mention parsimonious. Wilkie Collins embarked on such ideas, and found fame with his two most well-known novels - `Moonstone' and `The Lady in White'. However, his themes suffer from certain overladen stylism, absent from novels by his very good friend Charles Dickens.
Thus any serious attempt at transposing such works to the screen is bound to bump into all kinds of problems; however, Radha Bharadwaj resolves most of them with a certain degree of panache, such that the end result in this film is more or less acceptable. There is that sense of proprietary so correct to the times in question which pervades the essence of capturing those times of social inequality, rule by power, the burgeoning heavy hand of the upper-class bourgoisie, the India-rich dwellers of mansions in London and the far-flung provincial counties. But it must be said, Wilkie Collins drove himself to his own despair, and this is clearly shown in his novels, though not so clearly perceived in this film. He tried the Russian technique, thus missing out on the Dickensian style - much more to the point - incorporating ideas which could only come to fruition a little later by such novelists as Joseph Conrad. If you like, he was the masculine equivalent of Virginia Woolf who also drove herself to despair and attempted suicide. But do not compare this film with the recent `The Hours' (q.v.), nor even with `The Portrait of a Lady' (q.v.), Jane Campion's exquisite film based on the novel by Henry James.
Notwithstanding (how good that word sounds in Dickens' novels!) the film has its interest; not necessarily because either Christian Slater or Jared Leto have anything special to offer on which to comment, as they are both merely acceptable, nor for Claire Forlani's part, nor for yet another appearance by yet another member of the Bonham-Carter family - in this case Crispin, cousin to Helena. The film stands up for its merits as a carefully directed and produced period piece which is nicely photographed, within and without London. How much of the film is made in Cornwall or even Yorkshire will have to be guessed.
An interesting film for its story-line, with not much real tangible evidence as to the Victorian scene, but which worked hard to transport the book to visual contemplation.
Thus any serious attempt at transposing such works to the screen is bound to bump into all kinds of problems; however, Radha Bharadwaj resolves most of them with a certain degree of panache, such that the end result in this film is more or less acceptable. There is that sense of proprietary so correct to the times in question which pervades the essence of capturing those times of social inequality, rule by power, the burgeoning heavy hand of the upper-class bourgoisie, the India-rich dwellers of mansions in London and the far-flung provincial counties. But it must be said, Wilkie Collins drove himself to his own despair, and this is clearly shown in his novels, though not so clearly perceived in this film. He tried the Russian technique, thus missing out on the Dickensian style - much more to the point - incorporating ideas which could only come to fruition a little later by such novelists as Joseph Conrad. If you like, he was the masculine equivalent of Virginia Woolf who also drove herself to despair and attempted suicide. But do not compare this film with the recent `The Hours' (q.v.), nor even with `The Portrait of a Lady' (q.v.), Jane Campion's exquisite film based on the novel by Henry James.
Notwithstanding (how good that word sounds in Dickens' novels!) the film has its interest; not necessarily because either Christian Slater or Jared Leto have anything special to offer on which to comment, as they are both merely acceptable, nor for Claire Forlani's part, nor for yet another appearance by yet another member of the Bonham-Carter family - in this case Crispin, cousin to Helena. The film stands up for its merits as a carefully directed and produced period piece which is nicely photographed, within and without London. How much of the film is made in Cornwall or even Yorkshire will have to be guessed.
An interesting film for its story-line, with not much real tangible evidence as to the Victorian scene, but which worked hard to transport the book to visual contemplation.