The Portrait of a Lady (1996)

Jane Campion's The Portrait of a Lady is not a conventional period drama. This is evidenced by the opening scene, set in the present and shot in black and white, in which a group of girls tell each other what they think love is all about. Campion, a sensitive, intelligent director, is not interested in merely adapting Henry James' masterpiece: she is interested in the hearts and the minds of the characters, in the motives behind their actions and in the emotions that trascend the time period and make them akin to us. Though not a huge success when it was released, The Portrait of a Lady is a film that deserves to be revalued and that should be acknowledged for its stunning aesthetic, its impressively accurate depiction of the time period, its rich characterizations and its sharp observation of human desire.

The film follows the story of Isabel Archer (Nicole Kidman), an American girl who lives at her uncle's estate in England. Men are attracted to her delicate beauty, not least her gentle, ill cousin Ralph (Martin Donovan); but she turns them all down, including wealthy Lord Wartburton (Richard E. Grant) and the dashing Caspar Goodwood (Viggo Mortensen). She has no intention of getting married - she wants to travel, to know and see things and to enjoy life as much as she can. Campion and screenwriter Laura Jones depict Isabel's yearning for independence with admiration and respect, but what's especially remarkable is their uncommon attention towards Isabel's sexuality. In a marvelous scene, Isabel dreams of having sex with Ralph, Wartburton and Goodwood. Campion deserves kudos for exploring so tastefully yet so uncompromisingly Isabel's deepest desires; the mesmerizing score from composer Wojciech Kilar captures beautifully Isabel's torment; and Kidman, in one of her most underrated performances, expertly conveys the fire behind Isabel's chilly elegance and pefect composure.

Isabel's plan for indepedence are disrupted by her encounter with Madame Merle (a spectacular Barbara Hershey), a sophisticated, attractive widow who introduces her to Gilbert Osmond (John Malkovich), an American expatriate living in Florence. Malkovich's performance is the movie's weakest asset: he excels at portraying his character's selfishness and casual cruelty and he does bring a twisted but alluring appeal to it, but he makes him so blatantly devious from the very beginning that it's hard to believe such an intelligent woman like Isabel would not see through his façade. If Isabel does not lose our sympathy it's only because of Kidman, who manages to make us understand her actions by conveying the sexual desires that Osmond awakens in her. When he proposes, she accepts: but while her affection is genuine, Osmond is after her money.

The character of Isabel Archer is technically a rather passive one, a powerless victim of a devious scheme. But neither Campion nor Kidman ever allow her to be reduced to that: just as Isabel refuses to be pitied, Kidman's subtle performance never begs for sympathy. As Isabel is forced to come to terms with the true nature of her marriage and secludes herself in an emotional isolation, Kidman brings the character a stubborn dignity, a quiet strength and a painful awareness of the role she herself played in her own downfall. In her final scene with Donovan, where she finally breaks down and admits her unhappiness, Kidman achieves a devastating effect. Speaking of Donovan, not only he is terrific at portraying Ralph's declining health, but he also makes the character the moral and emotional crux of the movie. His tender, delicate and moving work often serves as the audience's surrogate. And a few words must be spent on Hershey, whose portrayal of Madame Merle is a true tour-de-force. Hershey is delightfully manipulative early on, but as the movie progresses Madame Merle becomes one of the most three-dimensional, human villain to ever grace the screen. "You're very unhappy, I know. But I'm more so" she says to Isabel towards the end, and you believe her. She is a woman so consumed by the weight of her guilt, her mistakes and her broken dreams you can't help but pity her. Hershey's devastating performance does not miss any nuance.

The Portrait of a Lady has been deemed as excessively slow, even dull. It is indeed a film that requires a certain amount of patience from its viewer. But Campion's curiosity and attention towards human psyche makes it a rich and rewarding experience. She is not interested in the events per se, she is interested in the complicated, contradictory mechanisms of the mind. Madame Merle lives with the regrets of the dreams she could not fulfill and she is ready to sacrifice Isabel's happiness for her own personal gain. Isabel's dreams have been broken too, but she does not retort to evilness: when she sees that Osmond is trying to force his daughter Pansy (Valentina Cervi) in a loveless marriage with Lord Warburton, Isabel tries to spare the young girl from the horrid fate that she herself has been condemned too. It's a film that deals with the complexity of life, the consequences of the choices we wake, the cruelty of people but also the small acts of empathy and complicity between individuals. The open, ambiguous ending might turn some people off: but in that final shot of Isabel by the door, with Kilar's magnificent score underlying the possibility of hope, Campion perfectly captures the struggle between responsability and escape. And in that moment The Portrait of a Lady achieves true cinematic poetry.

90/100