The Portrait of a Lady

[Chris Dashiell]

Early in THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY there is an image of a man's finger
tapping on an overturned glass. Inside the glass is imprisoned a bee. This
fleeting shot - it lasts two seconds at most - evokes a great deal of
meaning. The film's heroine, Isabel Archer, is also entrapped - by her
secondary social status as a woman, by the amorous pressure of men, by her
own choices, choices prompted by an admirable imagination and will, but
undermined by her lack of experience. In a wider sense all the women in
the film are trapped in roles, each struggling against the barriers or
resigned to them.
I point out this minor moment in the film in order to praise the
intense artistry of director Jane Campion - for this is by no means a
unique instance. The entire movie is composed in such images - images that
signify a host of themes, images that connect to one another and to the
overall design of the film. Isabel's trailing skirt, for example, is used
in various contexts at different points to emphasize different moments in
her painful journey to adulthoood. And the shots are so beautiful in them-
selves that they resonate at a level above rational discourse - this is a
film of exquisite visual depth, a film in which each shot is a word of a
hidden language, not merely a device to move a story along. The beauty of
Campion's design, and the layers of significance, make THE PORTRAIT OF A
LADY what is commonly called a "difficult" film - meaning only that it
requires our complete attention. Those coming to the theater expecting a
romantic costume drama which they may enjoy passively, will quite likely
walk out, as I saw several people do. The film requires the participation
of an alert and sensitive viewer - it will not telegraph to us what to
think and feel, we must dive beneath the surface. For that reason I
expect, with a pessimism that has become habitual, that it will not be a
great box office success.
*
The Henry James novel also requires attention. Many of its rewards lie
in the rigorous prose of the narration. The climax of the book takes place
in the solitude of Isabel's mind as she stares at a fire and thinks back
on the choices she has made and the reality that only now she sees. Most
adaptations would choose to attempt a reverent reproduction of the novel's
dialogue and events, and if there was an attempt to portray the inner
life, it would perhaps be the disastrous intrusion of a voice-over nar-
rator. Campion boldly discards all reverence and puts the stamp of her own
vision, and her own themes, on the book. Miraculously, this approach
succeeds in illuminating, to a great degree, the vision of James as well.
What Campion has done is to translate the novel's delicate fabric of words
into potent, compact images. She transforms the literary into the cine-
matic. By doing so there are, inevitably, aspects of the novel that are
lost or changed. What is gained, however, is a great deal of power - this
is a wild, disturbing, adventurous work of art, as far from a Masterpiece
Theater adaptation as one could imagine.
*

Isabel Archer is a young American woman visiting her aunt and uncle in
England. She is immediately courted by an English lord, and by a wealthy
American who has followed her to Europe. Her tubercular cousin Ralph also
loves her, but without any hope of winning her heart. But Isabel shuns all
advances - she wants to experience life to the fullest, and rejects at-
tempts to tie her down to a dull, safe existence. She then meets a sophis-
ticated woman named Madame Merle, who seems to her to be the image of the
kind of cultured, independent life she seeks. Madame Merle introduces her
to a friend, Gilbert Osmond, a person with apparent self-possession,
interesting ways of thinking, and impeccable taste, who impresses Isabel
as a man unlike any other she has met. And this is all of the story I will
reveal at this point. It is a story of a woman who is very clever and
spirited, but innocent of the world, and much its power lies in the
unexpected ways she gains experience.
*
Up until now I have not had a good opinion of Nicole Kidman's acting
abilities. Her performance here as Isabel proves that I've been mistaken.
She is magnificent in the role, bringing this difficult, often frustrating
character to life with a blend of sharp intelligence, vulnerability, fear
of the erotic, embitterment, tenderness, and grief. It is a triumph for
her as an actress. In the crucial role of Madame Merle (one of James'
greatest creations) I was expecting someone with a more imposing demeanor
than Barbara Hershey. But she won me over with a performance of great
complexity, the hint of anguish underneath the polished exterior enriching
the portrayal. I am less satisfied with the choice of John Malkovich as
Gilbert Osmond. I would have casted someone more attractive, not so much
physically as mentally - Malkovich doesn't quite attain the air of
assurance or the seductive intellect that makes Osmond so attractive to
Isabel. But it is hard to imagine a finer Ralph Touchette than that of
Martin Donovan, loving yet strangely detached, given up on the possibil-
ities of his life and living vicariously through his cousin. There is also
fine supporting work from Richard E. Grant, Mary-Louise Parker, Shelley
Winters and Shelley Duvall.
*
The screenplay by Laura Jones retains, as far as I can tell, Henry
James' words intact. She wisely chooses key phrases from scenes which
exemplify a meaning or a mood that take entire paragraphs to draw in the
book. The photography (Stuart Dryburgh) is incredibly rich - this should
be seen on a wider screen if possible. The movie's color scheme progresses
from the bright yellows and greens of the opening sequences, to the
glaring contrasts of sun and shadow in the middle section (a scene in the
depths of an ancient Roman villa is a marvel of lighting) to, finally, the
chilly dark blues of the last third of the film. Similarly, the seasonal
settings start at spring and end with the barren landscape of winter. The
visual sense of the film is so striking that it puts everything else out
there to shame. The use of architecture as counterpoint to Isabel's
emotional states, the oblique camera angles that confront and stimulate
the complacent eye - this is the work of a master. And Campion brings a
sense of inward horror, and a charged sexual tension, to the film, that is
not in James at all, but enhances the tale and makes it more vivid. Even
when she goes overboard and tries things that don't work - I'm thinking of
a reverie early on in which Isabel imagines being in bed with her three
suitors, and especially of a black-and-white fantasy collage in the middle
that is supposed to convey her struggle and surrender to an obsession with
Osmond while she travels around the world - even then, they are the mis-
takes of brilliance, and I admire the audacity of the attempt.
Campion has consistently made films in which the protagonists are
women, and in which the dramatic focus is entirely on the lives, struggles
and inner states of women - not as adjuncts to the stories of men. This
singleness of purpose is admirable. Some might wonder at the relevance of
a Henry James novel from the 1880's to the concerns of women. As if to
head off this objection, the film's opening credits feature a group of
modern day women lounging about together in a sort of dreamlike Arcadia.
Campion means the film to be about the way young women come to terms with
love and sexuality - the thrill and the mystery, and the dangers and
contradictions women face as well. Finally the title of the film appears
sketched on a woman's hand, and we then find ourselves looking at Isabel's
eyes. We are in the story. It is a highly unconventional way to begin the
film, and I was amazed that it worked, that Campion's direct appeal to the
audience helped set the stage for the tale to follow.
If you have not either read the book or seen the film, I advise you to
read no further, but to go ahead and do one or the other, or both. With an
intricate story like this, I can't discuss it further without giving
things away. See THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. Allow yourself to be challenged
by a profound and, yes, difficult film.

***SPOILERS BELOW***

As I said before, some things are lost in the transition from book to
film. Chief among them is a sense of how Isabel is gradually seduced by
Gilbert Osmond. In the novel, the reader is drawn into the web along with
Isabel, even though we know more about Osmond than she does. In the film,
Osmond seems a despicable wretch from the beginning, and part of the fault
of this, once again, lies with Malkovich. But I also think that we do not
see enough interaction between Osmond and Isabel prior to his profession
of love in the villa. I suppose Campion had to guard against making the
film too long, but without a sufficient motivation for Isabel to be drawn
to Osmond, the ensuing events don't have quite the force that they might.
In the case of Madame Merle, there is a mystery to her motives that the
film does not choose to explore, and that is why she lures Isabel into
Osmond's trap. I think the key lies in the revelation that she is the
mother of Osmond's daughter Pansy. In pulling Isabel into the abyss, is
she perhaps trying to provide her daughter, whom she cannot acknowledge as
hers, with a stepmother who will take care of her - and moreover, a step-
mother with money who may be able to smooth the way for a good marriage?
At the end when she says to Isabel, "I know that you are unhappy, but I am
more so," it seems to me that this is the tragedy that is meant - Madame
Merle has done evil things, and become evil, all in order to save her
daughter. The movie only hints at this, with the little doll she is hold-
ing at the convent. And perhaps it can only be hinted at.
There is one aspect involving Ralph that is submerged - that is, that
in engineering Isabel's inheritance of riches, he has helped caused her
ruin. In the book he says so, in the film he does not, and I don't know
why. Campion has added something to the final scene between Isabel and
Ralph as well - in the movie Isabel, overcome with emotion, lies down with
Ralph on his deathbed and kisses him as she weeps. In this case the change
does no harm, and is in fact very moving (Kidman is great here) because
up until now we have only seen Isabel holding herself back.
Finally, at the very end, Campion has chosen to leave Isabel's decision
up in the air. After she flees once again from Goodwood, whose straight-
forward erotic appeal has always appeared to her as a threat, we are left
with her in freeze frame, locked out from the warmth of the Touchette
house and looking out into the distance with wonder, or perhaps puzzle-
ment, in her eyes. I can respect this decision, but I like James' ending
better. Isabel must return to Rome, to Osmond, if only to try to save
Pansy from him, and ultimately to untangle herself from the terrible web
she has herself helped create. It would, of course, be extremely difficult
in those days, almost unthinkable, for a woman to run away from her hus-
band, but in the context of the story it seems too easy for her to run for
her freedom into the arms of Goodwood. And Isabel Archer never takes the
easy way.
Well, if you've got this far you certainly are an intrepid reader, and
I thank you for it. What should be clear, if nothing else, is that this
film made a strong impression on me, stronger than the usual good or well-
made film. There is an uncompromising artistic integrity here that excites
me. The style seems jagged rather than smooth, designed to incite us
rather than pacify us. And I miss this quality in most of what I see these
days. THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY has been composed, not merely shot - the film
has a unity of style of content and yet is full of life. There is an
animating intelligence that is evident in every scene, and it engages the
eye, the mind and the heart. If perhaps I overpraise, then, it is because
Campion helps me believe in cinema, and right now I am very grateful to
believe.

Dashiell