Actually, I saw these in August, days apart. Yes, I still have August reviews to write. Boy A is on DVD now; In Search of a Midnight Kiss doesn't have a date, but it is in the Netflix system. That was at the 2007 Tribeca Film Festival.
Oh, I have two movies left from August I'll review one of these days. (Maybe by the end of the year?) I also have another Tribeca movie, Run for Your Life, but I plan to incorporate that with a look at another running documentary I saw recently.
1) Boy A (seen Aug. 13, fifth movie seen in August)
Recalling James Bulger, the British toddler murdered by two 10-year-olds in 1993, the fictional drama Boy A raises questions about forgiveness. After several years in prison for a similar crime, Jack (Andrew Garfield) - known in the tabloids as “Boy A” - has been released into a world he doesn’t know, given an identity, job and social worker (Peter Mullan). Director John Crowley, working from Mark O’Rowe’s adaptation, carefully parcels out the specifics of the transgression as we see Jack make his way in society, find a girlfriend (Katie Lyons) but still struggle with his past. Alternately horrifying and heartbreaking, Boy A features of a portrait of vulnerability in Garfield, whose omnipresent hoodie says so much. Not an easy film, but certainly a thought-provoking one.
2) In Search of a Midnight Kiss (seen Aug. 15, sixth movie seen in August)
The latest branch from the Manhattan tree, In Search of a Midnight Kiss wants to be this decade’s Before Sunrise, but the characters aren’t as captivating. It’s the morning of New Year’s Eve in black-and-white Los Angeles, and failed writer Wilson (Scoot McNairy) places an ad on Craigslist, seeking a date for the big night. Along comes Vivian (a Joey Lauren Adams-like Sara Simmonds), one of those sarcastic, neurotic women often found in indie date movies. Writer/director Alex Holdridge takes us, and his sometimes obnoxious, something funny characters, on a talky night before introducing a jolting secret the next morning. Of course, I liked Before Sunset better than its predecessor, so perhaps Wilson and Vivian will be more appealing in 10 years.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Tribeca Trio
Each year at the end of the Tribeca Film Festival, I go through the movie guide again, this time to mark down buzzed-about titles or flicks to seek out if they ever get a release. Fortunately, a half-dozen or so made it to theaters in the past year, even if just for a week. With a 125-word and/or five-sentence limit, I've taken to writing blurb-like reviews.
P.S. Thanks to my Tribeca supervisor Kelly for the second recommendation.
Before the Rains: Before the Rains is an average addition to the Merchant-Ivory canon, boosted by Nandita Das’ performance as lovestruck housekeeper Sajani. As Sajani asks her master and married lover, plantation-owning spice baron Moores (Linus Roache), if he loves her, Das’ body quivers, her eyes a mix of panic and fury. Before the Rains lacks passion when the actress is offscreen, and director Santosh Sivan’s lush cinematography cannot compensate for his deliberate pace. The script, based on a sequence in a 2001 Israeli film, contains a meaty, albeit predictable, tale of adultery, 1930s British/Indian culture clashes, the danger of loaded pistols and issues of loyalty for Moores’ manservant, T.K. (Rahul Bose). In the end, Before the Rains merely echoes another, better Merchant-Ivory production, A Passage to India. (seen on DVD on Nov. 22)
Let the Right One In: The winner for Best Feature at the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival, Sweden’s Let the Right One In is an original surprise: a touching story about acceptance and vampires with two 12-year-old leads. (Well, she's "more or less" 12.) Oskar (Kare Hedebrant) is a social outcast, an awkward target of bullies; Eli (Lena Leandersson) is also a loner, a wide-eyed waif - who happens to be a vampire. Director Tomas Alfredson gives Let the Right One In moody atmosphere, with swirling snowflakes and a lot of darkness that makes shots of red even more vivid, and elicits natural performances from his child actors. Like Pan’s Labyrinth, this isn’t a movie for children because of the graphic blood, but it’s a sweet fable adults can enjoy. (seen on Nov. 21 at the Angelika with vampire lover Brooklyn Jen)
War Child: War Child shares a framework with fellow Tribeca documentary Kassim the Dream - former child soldier, now a success abroad, returns home - only its charismatic center is hip-hop artist Emmanuel Jal. Forced to fight in Sudan’s civil war in the late 1980s, Emmanuel was rescued by a young British woman and taken to Kenya, where he thrived. Director C. Karim Chrobog artfully intersperses talking heads, dynamic concerts, images of genocide, footage of a young Emmanuel in a refugee camp, and Emmanuel today. Chrobog shows Emmanuel’s first trip home in 18 years in a straightforward fashion, marred only by a rush of outside voices at the end. Emmanel himself, his words and his music, make War Child a deserving Audience Award winner at Tribeca. (seen on Nov. 19 at the Village East Cinemas, with Ben in mind)
P.S. Thanks to my Tribeca supervisor Kelly for the second recommendation.
Before the Rains: Before the Rains is an average addition to the Merchant-Ivory canon, boosted by Nandita Das’ performance as lovestruck housekeeper Sajani. As Sajani asks her master and married lover, plantation-owning spice baron Moores (Linus Roache), if he loves her, Das’ body quivers, her eyes a mix of panic and fury. Before the Rains lacks passion when the actress is offscreen, and director Santosh Sivan’s lush cinematography cannot compensate for his deliberate pace. The script, based on a sequence in a 2001 Israeli film, contains a meaty, albeit predictable, tale of adultery, 1930s British/Indian culture clashes, the danger of loaded pistols and issues of loyalty for Moores’ manservant, T.K. (Rahul Bose). In the end, Before the Rains merely echoes another, better Merchant-Ivory production, A Passage to India. (seen on DVD on Nov. 22)
Let the Right One In: The winner for Best Feature at the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival, Sweden’s Let the Right One In is an original surprise: a touching story about acceptance and vampires with two 12-year-old leads. (Well, she's "more or less" 12.) Oskar (Kare Hedebrant) is a social outcast, an awkward target of bullies; Eli (Lena Leandersson) is also a loner, a wide-eyed waif - who happens to be a vampire. Director Tomas Alfredson gives Let the Right One In moody atmosphere, with swirling snowflakes and a lot of darkness that makes shots of red even more vivid, and elicits natural performances from his child actors. Like Pan’s Labyrinth, this isn’t a movie for children because of the graphic blood, but it’s a sweet fable adults can enjoy. (seen on Nov. 21 at the Angelika with vampire lover Brooklyn Jen)
War Child: War Child shares a framework with fellow Tribeca documentary Kassim the Dream - former child soldier, now a success abroad, returns home - only its charismatic center is hip-hop artist Emmanuel Jal. Forced to fight in Sudan’s civil war in the late 1980s, Emmanuel was rescued by a young British woman and taken to Kenya, where he thrived. Director C. Karim Chrobog artfully intersperses talking heads, dynamic concerts, images of genocide, footage of a young Emmanuel in a refugee camp, and Emmanuel today. Chrobog shows Emmanuel’s first trip home in 18 years in a straightforward fashion, marred only by a rush of outside voices at the end. Emmanel himself, his words and his music, make War Child a deserving Audience Award winner at Tribeca. (seen on Nov. 19 at the Village East Cinemas, with Ben in mind)
Disappointment, Part 3
My 100th post of the year!
My mother really liked Changeling. I really did not. (For the record, my father fell closer to my camp.) I so wanted to like it: Mystic River and Million Dollar Baby are two of the best movies I've seen this decade, and I've said more than once that Angelina Jolie was robbed of an Oscar nomination for A Mighty Heart. The storyline grabbed me, the trailers excited me. And yet ... Changeling was the biggest disappointment I've had at the cinema this year.
“Manipulative Oscar bait.”
Those were my first words after seeing Changeling, the kidnapping-turned-psych-ward-turned-serial-killer mystery starring Angelina Jolie in Mother Martyr mode. Changeling has the elements to succeed: director Clint Eastwood on a roll since 2003’s Mystic River, a compelling true story, Jolie coming from a triumphant turn in A Mighty Heart. Perhaps burdened by the weight of expectation, Changeling doesn’t connect.
(“Changeling” means “a child surreptitiously or unintentionally substituted for another.”)
In 1928 Los Angeles, single mother Christine Collins (Jolie) comes home from work one day to discover her young son, Walter, missing. She badgers the police, who basically ignore her until they find her boy several months later - only Christine says it’s not him. The LAPD, fed up with her building accusations, throws her in a psychiatric ward; fortunately, Christine has an ally in radio preacher Brigeleb (John Malkovich, who sounds creepy but is really a good guy). Meanwhile, chilling activities are taking place at a ranch north of town.
Jolie has many scenarios to play and emotions to telegraph, yet she operates in only two modes: hysterical and beatific. She wails and screams “I want my son back” more than a dozen times, often in front of the “new” Walter, which seems cruel. Part of this problem lies with screenwriter J. Michael Straczynski’s repetitive dialogue, but Jolie should’ve varied her line deliveries more. Compare this with her performance in A Mighty Heart, where she found shading and nuance in Mariane Pearl, or with the work of Changeling co-star Amy Ryan in a small but effective role as Christine’s fellow patient.
With Changeling, Eastwood tries to make a Chinatown or an L.A. Confidential for our times. Where the cops were conflicted in L.A. Confidential, here they’re bad-boy caricatures personified by Jeffrey Donovan’s ever-present sneer. Eastwood signals “period” more with his star’s dolled-up face and fashionably cute hat than with the neat archival footage of L.A. streets and scenes of the roller-skating telephone girls. Eastwood, who also scored the film, uses the same three or four mournful piano notes to personify Christine, a very soap-opera move.
About an hour into Changeling, we stop watching the Angelina Jolie Show in favor of another storyline, that of a rancher (a leering Jason Butler Harner) luring young boys to his home and doing awful things. That reveal, more than any Christine moment, rivets one’s attention, thanks to Michael Kelly as the cop who stumbles upon the horror and Eddie Alderson as the teenager who opens the curtains to that vileness. Straczynski and Eastwood spend the second half of
Changeling bringing these tales together, with mixed success. The film goes on about 20 minutes too long, with ending after tacked-on ending.
Changeling declares itself “a true story,” not just “based on a true story;” despite Straczynski’s research and legal vetting, so much of the movie just rings hollow. It’s as if all the principals forgot a crucial part of moviemaking: subtlety.
My mother really liked Changeling. I really did not. (For the record, my father fell closer to my camp.) I so wanted to like it: Mystic River and Million Dollar Baby are two of the best movies I've seen this decade, and I've said more than once that Angelina Jolie was robbed of an Oscar nomination for A Mighty Heart. The storyline grabbed me, the trailers excited me. And yet ... Changeling was the biggest disappointment I've had at the cinema this year.
“Manipulative Oscar bait.”
Those were my first words after seeing Changeling, the kidnapping-turned-psych-ward-turned-serial-killer mystery starring Angelina Jolie in Mother Martyr mode. Changeling has the elements to succeed: director Clint Eastwood on a roll since 2003’s Mystic River, a compelling true story, Jolie coming from a triumphant turn in A Mighty Heart. Perhaps burdened by the weight of expectation, Changeling doesn’t connect.
(“Changeling” means “a child surreptitiously or unintentionally substituted for another.”)
In 1928 Los Angeles, single mother Christine Collins (Jolie) comes home from work one day to discover her young son, Walter, missing. She badgers the police, who basically ignore her until they find her boy several months later - only Christine says it’s not him. The LAPD, fed up with her building accusations, throws her in a psychiatric ward; fortunately, Christine has an ally in radio preacher Brigeleb (John Malkovich, who sounds creepy but is really a good guy). Meanwhile, chilling activities are taking place at a ranch north of town.
Jolie has many scenarios to play and emotions to telegraph, yet she operates in only two modes: hysterical and beatific. She wails and screams “I want my son back” more than a dozen times, often in front of the “new” Walter, which seems cruel. Part of this problem lies with screenwriter J. Michael Straczynski’s repetitive dialogue, but Jolie should’ve varied her line deliveries more. Compare this with her performance in A Mighty Heart, where she found shading and nuance in Mariane Pearl, or with the work of Changeling co-star Amy Ryan in a small but effective role as Christine’s fellow patient.
With Changeling, Eastwood tries to make a Chinatown or an L.A. Confidential for our times. Where the cops were conflicted in L.A. Confidential, here they’re bad-boy caricatures personified by Jeffrey Donovan’s ever-present sneer. Eastwood signals “period” more with his star’s dolled-up face and fashionably cute hat than with the neat archival footage of L.A. streets and scenes of the roller-skating telephone girls. Eastwood, who also scored the film, uses the same three or four mournful piano notes to personify Christine, a very soap-opera move.
About an hour into Changeling, we stop watching the Angelina Jolie Show in favor of another storyline, that of a rancher (a leering Jason Butler Harner) luring young boys to his home and doing awful things. That reveal, more than any Christine moment, rivets one’s attention, thanks to Michael Kelly as the cop who stumbles upon the horror and Eddie Alderson as the teenager who opens the curtains to that vileness. Straczynski and Eastwood spend the second half of
Changeling bringing these tales together, with mixed success. The film goes on about 20 minutes too long, with ending after tacked-on ending.
Changeling declares itself “a true story,” not just “based on a true story;” despite Straczynski’s research and legal vetting, so much of the movie just rings hollow. It’s as if all the principals forgot a crucial part of moviemaking: subtlety.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Where to see a movie
This Jersey City palace is where the awesome All about Eve lovefest took place in April. The New York Times ran this feature Sunday. Glorious. ...
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/19/realestate/19scap.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=loew%27s&st=nyt
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/19/realestate/19scap.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=loew%27s&st=nyt
Friday, November 14, 2008
Disappointment, Part 2
How did I know all was not right with the world at my screening of Zach and Miri Make a Porno? I did not find one line worth writing down in my notebook.
I think most of my friends and family would say my love of Dogma and Chasing Amy remains a mystery to them, even though I posted a 1,000-word opus about the former in April. Maybe it's a Jersey thing (the only one I seem to have adopted), maybe it's the fact almost every guy I've liked and/or dated has been obsessed with Kevin Smith, but I am a Smith cultist. When the reviews for Zach and Miri said Smith was moving into Judd Apatow territory, I cringed but plunked down $8 anyway.
I miss the filth. I think it's time to watch Chasing Amy again.
Kevin Smith has left New Jersey! Unfortunately, that move, to Pittsburgh, produces in an uneasy marriage of f-bombs and generic rom-com in his latest writing/directing effort, Zack and Miri Make a Porno.
Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks play Zack (a schlub) and Miri (naturally, a hottie), broke best friends who make a skin flick for rent money and of course fall in love. Banks charms in her meatiest part to date, a dazzling smile delivering filth as easily as a Smith veteran; Rogen mostly revisits his Knocked Up role. The greatest guffaws come courtesy of Craig Robinson, Zach’s coffee-shop co-worker and “producer” - his awe during “casting” is one of the film’s few downright hysterical moments.
At his best (Chasing Amy, Dogma), Smith delivers a message even at his characters’ mouthiest. Here, as he tries to balance smut and heart, Smith creates an audition tape for the next Kate Hudson flick.
I think most of my friends and family would say my love of Dogma and Chasing Amy remains a mystery to them, even though I posted a 1,000-word opus about the former in April. Maybe it's a Jersey thing (the only one I seem to have adopted), maybe it's the fact almost every guy I've liked and/or dated has been obsessed with Kevin Smith, but I am a Smith cultist. When the reviews for Zach and Miri said Smith was moving into Judd Apatow territory, I cringed but plunked down $8 anyway.
I miss the filth. I think it's time to watch Chasing Amy again.
Kevin Smith has left New Jersey! Unfortunately, that move, to Pittsburgh, produces in an uneasy marriage of f-bombs and generic rom-com in his latest writing/directing effort, Zack and Miri Make a Porno.
Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks play Zack (a schlub) and Miri (naturally, a hottie), broke best friends who make a skin flick for rent money and of course fall in love. Banks charms in her meatiest part to date, a dazzling smile delivering filth as easily as a Smith veteran; Rogen mostly revisits his Knocked Up role. The greatest guffaws come courtesy of Craig Robinson, Zach’s coffee-shop co-worker and “producer” - his awe during “casting” is one of the film’s few downright hysterical moments.
At his best (Chasing Amy, Dogma), Smith delivers a message even at his characters’ mouthiest. Here, as he tries to balance smut and heart, Smith creates an audition tape for the next Kate Hudson flick.
Disappointment, Part 1
I saw three movies in the past seven days and came away frustrated from all of them. Therefore, the next set of reviews, over the next few days, will focus on that trio: Changeling, Zack and Miri Make a Porno and Death Defying Acts. This critique is about the last one.
I couldn't understand how a movie starring A-lister and Academy Award-winner Catherine Zeta Jones, well-liked Aussie star Guy Pearce and rising newcomer Saoirse Ronan could receive no publicity and slip in and out of a New York City theater in just one week this summer. The plot sounded really interesting, and The Illusionist and The Prestige two years earlier indicated a market exists for magician films.
It took me two days to get through a 1-hour-and-40-minute movie. That should tell me something.
Death Defying Acts fails to cast a spell, despite its acclaimed pedigree and intriguing setup. In 1926, Harry Houdini (Guy Pearce) offers $10,000 to anyone who can channel his mother’s last words. Enter (fictional) Scottish con woman Mary McGarvie (Catherine Zeta Jones), who claims psychic powers, and her ragamuffin daughter (Saoirse Ronan). Director Gillian Armstrong unsuccessfully balances mystery and romance and hampers herself with a dull pace. Woeful miscasting of the leads - she’s too glam, he’s inappropriately Noo Yawk brash - only magnifies the movie’s flaws and makes one yearn for a more enchanting magic film, 2006’s The Illusionist.
I couldn't understand how a movie starring A-lister and Academy Award-winner Catherine Zeta Jones, well-liked Aussie star Guy Pearce and rising newcomer Saoirse Ronan could receive no publicity and slip in and out of a New York City theater in just one week this summer. The plot sounded really interesting, and The Illusionist and The Prestige two years earlier indicated a market exists for magician films.
It took me two days to get through a 1-hour-and-40-minute movie. That should tell me something.
Death Defying Acts fails to cast a spell, despite its acclaimed pedigree and intriguing setup. In 1926, Harry Houdini (Guy Pearce) offers $10,000 to anyone who can channel his mother’s last words. Enter (fictional) Scottish con woman Mary McGarvie (Catherine Zeta Jones), who claims psychic powers, and her ragamuffin daughter (Saoirse Ronan). Director Gillian Armstrong unsuccessfully balances mystery and romance and hampers herself with a dull pace. Woeful miscasting of the leads - she’s too glam, he’s inappropriately Noo Yawk brash - only magnifies the movie’s flaws and makes one yearn for a more enchanting magic film, 2006’s The Illusionist.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Fiery Female In Fancy Frocks Can Mean Only One Thing ...
I love British costume dramas, historical reads and Keira Knightley - in other words, The Duchess was tailor-made for me. Alas, life conspired to prevent me from seeing the Sept. 19 release until Nov. 1, when my parents came to take care of me as I was recuperating from my calf injury. I could see The Duchess' shortcomings (I felt as if I received a tasting menu, not a full-course meal, of Georgiana's life), yet I really liked the movie.
Then I read the book on which The Duchess is based. It's great. For better or worse, it also made me realize how much the flick missed. I still recommend the film, thanks in part to my girl Keira, but my passion is a little dented.
Although The Duchess may seem like a biopic of Princess Diana, it is in fact about her great-great-great-great aunt, Georgiana (Keira Knightley). Diana and Georgiana each married remote men they had to share, adored their children, committed themselves to fashion and politics, and received excessive press coverage. The Duchess features an absorbing story and the highlights of British costume drama (clothes, wigs, manors); it works best, though, as an acting showcase for Knightley and Ralph Fiennes as the Duke of Cavendish.
Director Saul Dibb uses Amanda Foreman’s 1998 biography of Georgiana to depict a world of sumptuous costumes and scenery, fiery government affairs and romantic entanglements, which means leaving too much of his subject’s life on the cutting-room floor. In 1774, Cavendish chooses 17-year-old Georgiana as his bride, hoping she quickly will produce a male heir. Instead, she has miscarriages and two daughters, she overshadows him in public, and bitter feelings arise. Both move on to other partners: him to her best friend Bess (Hayley Atwell), her years later to future prime minister (and tea namesake) Charles Grey (Dominic Cooper). The former pairing leads to an unusual arrangement (Georgiana refers to the Duke as “our husband” around Bess), the latter a heartbreaking decision.
Knightley excels at conveying Georgiana’s move from mirth to maudlin. Early on, she’s all divine merriment, recalling the giddiness of Pride and Prejudice as she frolics and flirts. Such early liveliness makes the screams of a woman raped by her husband more disturbing, and circumstances align to snuff the joy out of Georgiana, muting Knightley’s usual vivacity.
Fiennes finds humanity in his monstrous Duke. Thanks to Fiennes’ gawky movements and stiff intonations, we come to view the Duke as an awkward creature, incapable of affection for anything besides his dogs. Perhaps it’s the pressure of duty that makes him so; he gazes enviously on children at play and relaxes only when he’s showing Bess’ sons how to shoot. Fiennes has made villain types compelling in the past (Schindler’s List), and that background aids him in creating shading in the Duke.
Dibb touches upon some of Georgiana’s drinking and betting foibles, depicting her reaching for wine at parties and playing games of chance more than one would expect from a proper lady. Alas, the script, which Dibb co-wrote, truncates Georgiana’s life in favor of a love and lust focus: We never learn the depth of her gambling addiction, nor of her talents as a writer or scientist. It manipulates the facts for dramatic effect, aging the Duke (the real age difference was nine years; 23 separate Knightley and Fiennes), making Grey younger (Georgiana was seven years older than him, not his contemporary), and all but ignoring the American and French revolutions.
That Knightley and Fiennes manage to bring multiple dimensions to their characters despite The Duchess’ shortcomings as a film adaptation is a tribute to their performances. Read the book or see the movie? In the case of The Duchess, do both.
Then I read the book on which The Duchess is based. It's great. For better or worse, it also made me realize how much the flick missed. I still recommend the film, thanks in part to my girl Keira, but my passion is a little dented.
Although The Duchess may seem like a biopic of Princess Diana, it is in fact about her great-great-great-great aunt, Georgiana (Keira Knightley). Diana and Georgiana each married remote men they had to share, adored their children, committed themselves to fashion and politics, and received excessive press coverage. The Duchess features an absorbing story and the highlights of British costume drama (clothes, wigs, manors); it works best, though, as an acting showcase for Knightley and Ralph Fiennes as the Duke of Cavendish.
Director Saul Dibb uses Amanda Foreman’s 1998 biography of Georgiana to depict a world of sumptuous costumes and scenery, fiery government affairs and romantic entanglements, which means leaving too much of his subject’s life on the cutting-room floor. In 1774, Cavendish chooses 17-year-old Georgiana as his bride, hoping she quickly will produce a male heir. Instead, she has miscarriages and two daughters, she overshadows him in public, and bitter feelings arise. Both move on to other partners: him to her best friend Bess (Hayley Atwell), her years later to future prime minister (and tea namesake) Charles Grey (Dominic Cooper). The former pairing leads to an unusual arrangement (Georgiana refers to the Duke as “our husband” around Bess), the latter a heartbreaking decision.
Knightley excels at conveying Georgiana’s move from mirth to maudlin. Early on, she’s all divine merriment, recalling the giddiness of Pride and Prejudice as she frolics and flirts. Such early liveliness makes the screams of a woman raped by her husband more disturbing, and circumstances align to snuff the joy out of Georgiana, muting Knightley’s usual vivacity.
Fiennes finds humanity in his monstrous Duke. Thanks to Fiennes’ gawky movements and stiff intonations, we come to view the Duke as an awkward creature, incapable of affection for anything besides his dogs. Perhaps it’s the pressure of duty that makes him so; he gazes enviously on children at play and relaxes only when he’s showing Bess’ sons how to shoot. Fiennes has made villain types compelling in the past (Schindler’s List), and that background aids him in creating shading in the Duke.
Dibb touches upon some of Georgiana’s drinking and betting foibles, depicting her reaching for wine at parties and playing games of chance more than one would expect from a proper lady. Alas, the script, which Dibb co-wrote, truncates Georgiana’s life in favor of a love and lust focus: We never learn the depth of her gambling addiction, nor of her talents as a writer or scientist. It manipulates the facts for dramatic effect, aging the Duke (the real age difference was nine years; 23 separate Knightley and Fiennes), making Grey younger (Georgiana was seven years older than him, not his contemporary), and all but ignoring the American and French revolutions.
That Knightley and Fiennes manage to bring multiple dimensions to their characters despite The Duchess’ shortcomings as a film adaptation is a tribute to their performances. Read the book or see the movie? In the case of The Duchess, do both.
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