23-year-old American in 1872 England, orphaned and now residing with wealthy relatives, is preyed upon by a fortune hunter who--despite coming up against a determinedly independent lass with a cynical overview of marriage--breaks down the girl's defenses and takes her as his wife; years later, their marriage on the rocks, the woman upsets her husband's plans by interfering in the love-life of her stepdaughter who is being unsuccessfully wooed by a Lord. Director Jane Campion opens this adaptation of Henry James' novel with a collage of modern women's faces, free and forthright and fulfilled, but then hands us a heroine who is duped, abused, and reduced easily to tears. This is not Nicole Kidman's fault, her performance as Isabel Archer is as good as can be expected. Campion fails to reveal any dimensions of this girl, and Isabel's circling conversations with men have a one-note, droning quality which matches Campion's chilly visual style: colorless. Campion's artistic attributes certainly give select sequences a stunning, eerie romantic flavor, but she doesn't do much with the actors (some of whom, Mary Louise Parker and Shelley Duvall in particular, seem woefully out of place). Kidman is under-lit and posed like a porcelain doll (at one point, her grayish pallor perfectly matches that of a pillar just behind her); yet, while these shots are thoughtfully composed, they call attention to themselves in a negative way for an audience very likely to get fed up with such pretensions (especially in a film which is already methodically paced). Ironically, "The Portrait of a Lady" comes mostly to life when dealing with John Malkovich's cunning hubby; the actor has played roles similar to this in the past, but his relish in bringing out the dark side of this tale can clearly be felt. The picture is literate, but almost in an exasperating way; the tastefulness of it as 'art', and the tactfulness of Laura Jones' screenplay, nearly kills off our interest. ** from ****
Review of The Portrait of a Lady
