Stevie

Literate, lovely, sad film about the British poet/writer Stevie Smith with splendid performances by Glenda Jackson as Stevie and Mona Washbourne as the "lion aunt." Stagy, yes, but filled with love and wit and great wisdom.

The narrative follows the adult years of the eccentric poet in her suburban London home she shares with her aunt. Her workaday like is a background to her domestic life with flashbacks of school, a failed love, and death ... a major theme in her writing.

But rather than being gloomy, the film points out the joys of a life even if unfulfilled by husband and children. Jackson enacts many of Stevie's poems as a counterpoint to her own life, and she is quite superb.

Mona Washbourne is excellent and endearing as the aging aunt who really doesn't understand the Bohemian life of her gifted niece. Yet they have a wonderful life together. The domestic scenes of the simple joys of conversation and good sherry are wondrous.

Alec McCowen is the lost suitor. Trevor Howard is the narrator who wanders through the story.

A pity this is not available on DVD. A lovely film for the intelligent viewer.

This film betrays its stage origins at every turn, from the length of time it takes to get going to its asides to camera. Performances are strong throughout, particularly Glenda Jackson as Stevie Smith and Trevor Howard as the mysterious 'The Man', who speaks Smith's poems so brilliantly.

Jackson was a marvellous actress who left many performances on record before her decision to retire and become an MP; watching 'Stevie', you can see hints of her other roles ... and yet, because of make-up, script and setting it is so different to any of the others.

Tightly directed and economically filmed, 'Stevie' is a film which repays watching more than once. It should be more widely available.

I was most fortunate to have seen the original London production of Stevie, which was a landmark experience for me: my first London play, my introduction to the highly individual poetry of Stevie Smith and my one chance to see Glenda Jackson live. As for the film, I cherish my copy of it. While I admit it isn't very cinematic, it is a delight for lovers of the language, as Jackson and Washburn banter, and watching Glenda Jackson work is a delight. Highly recommended.

For a thoughtful, literate, positive essay on the film, see Ed Hirsch in American Poetry Review (Jul/Aug 2000): 32-37: ""It's deeply fitting that the last words of the film are the words of Stevie's final poem ["Come Death (a)," read by Trevor Howard]. They fill the mind, the theater, with their faithful summons, their fatal timely music.""

This is an appallingly boring film. Perhaps it was an interesting stage play...I don't know. But it doesn't work as a film because there is virtually nothing cinematic about it. It remains confined largely within the dimensions of a stage set (there is really only one set, a shabby-genteel apartment where "Stevie" (the real-life poet Stevie Smith) lives with her long-suffering aunt (played by Mona Washbourne). Stevie, you see, has problems---emotional problems, problems with her "muse," problems living with her dependent aunt, problems with lovers (one of them, Trevor Howard, bears the enigmatic name of "The Man.") And Stevie TALKS...all the time, a constant stream of arty, supposedly meaningful, but utterly self-indulgent jabber. Glenda Jackson plays "Stevie,"...she really liked talky parts, it would seem. This one fits her like a glove. She, Howard, Washbourne, and Alec McCowen are four of the finest actors Britain has produced. Yet they wallow in this mess for what seems like days (the film actually only runs a bit over the usual 90 minutes). Steer clear of this deadly dull bio-pic, unless you just can't do without the poetry and posturings of Stevie Smith, or you absolutely must see the entire "oeuvre" of Glenda Jackson, M.P.