The usually reliable Ronald Harwood has somewhat bungled his adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham's minor but pleasant 1937 novel, "Theatre," and director Istvan Szabo never finds the tone or rhythm to smooth over the script's miscalculations. The result is one of those Sunday-matinée movies which may please those who assume that period costumes, a proper cast, and Cole Porter on the soundtrack provide a guarantee of cinematic "quality."
There's not much point in turning Jimmie Langton (played by Michael Gambon) into a ghostly presence who appears at intervals to offer bromides about acting to Julia, and there's no need to change Tom from a Brit to a Yank. (Perhaps someone thought this might increase the movie's appeal to American audiences.) And why change Maugham's title to something so bland and unimaginative? These are minor quibbles, however, compared to the sin of transforming Julia Lambert from a great actress to a fluttery "ham" who camps it up on the stage as if performing in a rowdy music hall. (Her buffoonish upstaging of her young rival in the final reel is downright embarrassing.) If Julia is the best actress of her generation, one shudders to think of the competition!
On the other hand, critics have been needlessly unkind to Shaun Evans. (The N.Y. Times, for example, said that he had the sexual magnetism of a "boiled potato.") Maugham says of Tom: "He was not particularly good-looking, but he had a frank, open face and his shyness was attractive." Evans more or less fits this description but whereas in the novel he grows from awkwardness to presumption, here -- perhaps because he's a Yank -- he's cheeky from the very start which makes him a less interesting character.
Bruce Greenwood is miscast as Lord Charles, (too young, too American), and while Juliet Stevenson doesn't seem quite right as Evie, she still manages to dominate virtually all her scenes with Julia. As for Evans, one can see why Julia is drawn to his eager youthfulness, and he looks good enough with his clothes off -- a state which occurs with such suspicious regularity that one suspects he auditioned for this part in a shower-room -- to prove, no matter what the Times says, that he does indeed possess a cuddly, nonthreatening sexuality.
Rosemary Harris and Rita Tushingham, however, are wasted in a throwaway scene.
As for those who speak of Annette Bening's performance as Oscar-worthy, they should see Esther Gorintin in "Since Otar Left ... "
There's not much point in turning Jimmie Langton (played by Michael Gambon) into a ghostly presence who appears at intervals to offer bromides about acting to Julia, and there's no need to change Tom from a Brit to a Yank. (Perhaps someone thought this might increase the movie's appeal to American audiences.) And why change Maugham's title to something so bland and unimaginative? These are minor quibbles, however, compared to the sin of transforming Julia Lambert from a great actress to a fluttery "ham" who camps it up on the stage as if performing in a rowdy music hall. (Her buffoonish upstaging of her young rival in the final reel is downright embarrassing.) If Julia is the best actress of her generation, one shudders to think of the competition!
On the other hand, critics have been needlessly unkind to Shaun Evans. (The N.Y. Times, for example, said that he had the sexual magnetism of a "boiled potato.") Maugham says of Tom: "He was not particularly good-looking, but he had a frank, open face and his shyness was attractive." Evans more or less fits this description but whereas in the novel he grows from awkwardness to presumption, here -- perhaps because he's a Yank -- he's cheeky from the very start which makes him a less interesting character.
Bruce Greenwood is miscast as Lord Charles, (too young, too American), and while Juliet Stevenson doesn't seem quite right as Evie, she still manages to dominate virtually all her scenes with Julia. As for Evans, one can see why Julia is drawn to his eager youthfulness, and he looks good enough with his clothes off -- a state which occurs with such suspicious regularity that one suspects he auditioned for this part in a shower-room -- to prove, no matter what the Times says, that he does indeed possess a cuddly, nonthreatening sexuality.
Rosemary Harris and Rita Tushingham, however, are wasted in a throwaway scene.
As for those who speak of Annette Bening's performance as Oscar-worthy, they should see Esther Gorintin in "Since Otar Left ... "