Rose-Red Youth and Rose-White Boyhood
Feb. 23rd, 2011 11:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
handful_ofdustYesterday I got a cheque from the Public Lending Right--ie, the library just paid me for the use of my books over the last fiscal year, which sort of rocks. So I went out deliberately looking to spend money, and ended up with a replacement DVD copy of Doctor Who: The Talons of Weng-Chiang and a complete Dark Shadows revival series (the one with Ben Cross, amongst others), both for $14.95 each. Naturally, my quest for a "real" run of Kolchak: The Night Stalker (or even the Stuart Townsend Nightstalker) was doomed to frustration, like most insane fixations.
What I did end up renting, however, was Oliver Parker's much-decried version of Dorian Gray, with Ben Barnes as Dorian and Colin Firth as Lord Henry Wotton. Which turns out to be...well, pretty good, in my estimation. Say what you want about Barnes: When the previous standard is either Hurd Hatfield (utterly rigid) or Townsend himself (with no moral fibre whatsoever left, and proud of it), you don't have to do all that much to exceed either template. So his Dorian currently stands as the best I've ever seen, capable of going from innocent to sly to to sinister-charismatic within seconds, but also capable of some really interesting moments: The one where Lord Henry's wife tells him that Basil Hallward's body's been found in the river, for example, and he reacts as though he genuinely doesn't remember having been the person who put him there, along with a string of double-takes in the movie's latter half, when you realize he truly is an old man trapped in a dewy young man's body--his Gilded Age sword-cane less an affectation than a necessity, utterly at sea in this brave new World War I-time world of women's suffrage, motor-cars and photographic evidence. Technology is catching up with him, as it must; Parker rightfully makes the connection that Wilde couldn't possibly foresee, realizing that if Dorian lives as long as he does in the book, he'll end up on the cusp of the Jazz Age, when real misfortunes have rendered his pointed bon mots and cynical epigrams oddly stodgy. At least Lord Henry has the grace to realize his time has passed--but for Dorian, for obvious reasons, this is impossible.
I've also already heard people ragging on the particular load-bearing girlfriend of choice in this narrative, who's not "Hetty from the country" but Lord Henry's actual daughter, as much a maverick as he ever was--more, probably, since her ideals are expressed through action rather than talk. I like the physicality that Rebecca Hall brings to the role, with her uneven teeth and her mannish hands; you can totally see Fiona Shaw's influence on her, as Aunt Agatha. And doomed Sibyl Vane is played by Rachel Hurd-Wood, who just gets older and sexier with every new part.
As for the sins themselves, and the effect they have on the portrait...although there's more CGI involved than I might care fir (naturally), I enjoyed the sense that the portrait was constantly breathing, groaning, its maggoty sighs disturbing Dorian's rest. And I also like the full spectrum of realization--how pleasure can be undercut and then (increasingly) shored up by pain, especially once he understands that nothing he does to himself is permanent. Basil (Ben Chaplin) is presented as explicitly queer from the get-go, which makes sense; Dorian becomes increasingly access-all-areas as things progress, though I was sad that the Herbert West-ish guy from the novel who knows how to make bodies disappear completely doesn't turn up. And I'm not entirely sure that watching two other people make out is always a gateway drug that leads naturally from sex shows to snuff shows, but hey: Gilded Age immediately post-dates Victorian Age, so steam-powered sex makes sense of a sort. And again, this becomes part of Dorian showing his age, once he finds himself stranded amongst free love-practicing young people who've grown up in the shadow of the bombs. Everything's so damn overt with them, so damn easy. Get off my lawn!
One way or the other, it's a fun film, and far better than you've probably been led to believe. And now I'm going to re-read the Wilde, so that's always good.;)
What I did end up renting, however, was Oliver Parker's much-decried version of Dorian Gray, with Ben Barnes as Dorian and Colin Firth as Lord Henry Wotton. Which turns out to be...well, pretty good, in my estimation. Say what you want about Barnes: When the previous standard is either Hurd Hatfield (utterly rigid) or Townsend himself (with no moral fibre whatsoever left, and proud of it), you don't have to do all that much to exceed either template. So his Dorian currently stands as the best I've ever seen, capable of going from innocent to sly to to sinister-charismatic within seconds, but also capable of some really interesting moments: The one where Lord Henry's wife tells him that Basil Hallward's body's been found in the river, for example, and he reacts as though he genuinely doesn't remember having been the person who put him there, along with a string of double-takes in the movie's latter half, when you realize he truly is an old man trapped in a dewy young man's body--his Gilded Age sword-cane less an affectation than a necessity, utterly at sea in this brave new World War I-time world of women's suffrage, motor-cars and photographic evidence. Technology is catching up with him, as it must; Parker rightfully makes the connection that Wilde couldn't possibly foresee, realizing that if Dorian lives as long as he does in the book, he'll end up on the cusp of the Jazz Age, when real misfortunes have rendered his pointed bon mots and cynical epigrams oddly stodgy. At least Lord Henry has the grace to realize his time has passed--but for Dorian, for obvious reasons, this is impossible.
I've also already heard people ragging on the particular load-bearing girlfriend of choice in this narrative, who's not "Hetty from the country" but Lord Henry's actual daughter, as much a maverick as he ever was--more, probably, since her ideals are expressed through action rather than talk. I like the physicality that Rebecca Hall brings to the role, with her uneven teeth and her mannish hands; you can totally see Fiona Shaw's influence on her, as Aunt Agatha. And doomed Sibyl Vane is played by Rachel Hurd-Wood, who just gets older and sexier with every new part.
As for the sins themselves, and the effect they have on the portrait...although there's more CGI involved than I might care fir (naturally), I enjoyed the sense that the portrait was constantly breathing, groaning, its maggoty sighs disturbing Dorian's rest. And I also like the full spectrum of realization--how pleasure can be undercut and then (increasingly) shored up by pain, especially once he understands that nothing he does to himself is permanent. Basil (Ben Chaplin) is presented as explicitly queer from the get-go, which makes sense; Dorian becomes increasingly access-all-areas as things progress, though I was sad that the Herbert West-ish guy from the novel who knows how to make bodies disappear completely doesn't turn up. And I'm not entirely sure that watching two other people make out is always a gateway drug that leads naturally from sex shows to snuff shows, but hey: Gilded Age immediately post-dates Victorian Age, so steam-powered sex makes sense of a sort. And again, this becomes part of Dorian showing his age, once he finds himself stranded amongst free love-practicing young people who've grown up in the shadow of the bombs. Everything's so damn overt with them, so damn easy. Get off my lawn!
One way or the other, it's a fun film, and far better than you've probably been led to believe. And now I'm going to re-read the Wilde, so that's always good.;)
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Date: 2011-02-25 01:26 pm (UTC)Talons stuck with me from childhood too. I loved everything about it. Watching it now, it seems overlong to me, with those last two episodes especially interminable, but overall there's a magic to it. And Deep Roy, who played all the Oompa Loompas in Tim Burton's remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, as Mr. Sin!