I can't (or won't) criticize the source material, as Colette wrote primarily for women, and I'm a man. My wife enjoys Colette's oeuvre, so I'll take her word for the quality of the stories.
However, this film fails at anything approaching bringing a story to life, despite some appealing sets. Some of the blame must be laid upon the director and producers who decided to make another one of those "Americans playing non-Americans, please suspend your disbelief" films. How is it possible to suspend the disbelief that Kathy Bates was ever a desirable courtesan, much less French?! Much of the costuming, hairstyles and makeup are period-wrong. The re-use of exterior settings (particularly the recurring "car arriving at the manor house" scenes) gives the film a cheapness.
But the majority of the blame has to be assigned to Michelle Pfeiffer whose acting skills are seldom detectable here. Nearly every line is delivered as if she's reading a Barbara Courtland novel aloud to an audience in the next room. Her voice is flat and declamatory, and she seldom shows any depth or subtlety. If she was reading for an audio-book, this might be acceptable; for a film, it's an endless line of sour notes.
"Cheri" mostly reads as soft-core porn from the 1970s, like one of the "Emmanuelle" series, or perhaps David Hamilton's work. It aspires to be elegant but just looks posed. It tries to be sophisticated, but never rises above soap opera. It attempts to give us a believable relationship, but it's really just actors going through the motions. I didn't buy any of it for a second. And my Colette-reading wife fared no better than I.
However, this film fails at anything approaching bringing a story to life, despite some appealing sets. Some of the blame must be laid upon the director and producers who decided to make another one of those "Americans playing non-Americans, please suspend your disbelief" films. How is it possible to suspend the disbelief that Kathy Bates was ever a desirable courtesan, much less French?! Much of the costuming, hairstyles and makeup are period-wrong. The re-use of exterior settings (particularly the recurring "car arriving at the manor house" scenes) gives the film a cheapness.
But the majority of the blame has to be assigned to Michelle Pfeiffer whose acting skills are seldom detectable here. Nearly every line is delivered as if she's reading a Barbara Courtland novel aloud to an audience in the next room. Her voice is flat and declamatory, and she seldom shows any depth or subtlety. If she was reading for an audio-book, this might be acceptable; for a film, it's an endless line of sour notes.
"Cheri" mostly reads as soft-core porn from the 1970s, like one of the "Emmanuelle" series, or perhaps David Hamilton's work. It aspires to be elegant but just looks posed. It tries to be sophisticated, but never rises above soap opera. It attempts to give us a believable relationship, but it's really just actors going through the motions. I didn't buy any of it for a second. And my Colette-reading wife fared no better than I.