Carrington

When love comes, it doesn't always come in a form that allows its fullfillment, as Dora Carrington knows. Her lifelong love of Lytton, a man for whom romantic love only knows a male face, is both a source of great anguish and great joy. Emma Thompson portrays Dora with great sensitivity, depicting her other loves and lovers as genuine yet never enough to supplant her love of Lytton. In our society the love of "one and only" can be an oppressive ideal that few can attain, and Hollywood is its loudest proponent. This movie allows for a well thought out exploration on of the many other faces of true love. Superb acting, direction, editing, costuming, the works. I highly recommend it.

I would like to go back for a moment and dig deeper into the idea of full circle. I caught this idea as I was watching this film, and I thought it was amazing the way the director showed this transition. The first person, outside of Lytton, that Carrington falls for is a man who is only interested in a physical relationship. Although she claims she is not interested in him sexually, it is at this time in Carrington's life, she is interested in a man's mind, not what is under his pants. She breaks off this relationship to live with Lytton, a man who can give her the intellect that she desires. As Carrington grows older, she finds comfort in physical relationships. In fact, the majority of this film is about physical relationships. Carrington is never hesitant to jump into the arms of another man. A part of me thinks that she is constantly trying to find another Lytton out there, but there is another part of me that says that she was just trying to get the physical from men, because she had the perfect man at home (Lytton of course). So after being with a man that only wants to have a physical relationship, she jumps into the arms of a soldier. One that is great with the physical, amazing towards Lytton, and perfect for Carrington. As this comes to a surprising end, we see her jump into a relationship that was purely sexual. There was no interaction between the two except for when they were on his boat having sex.

Carrington experiences the best sex of her life with this man, but it again ... much like the others ... comes to a complete halt when he tells her that he is not really interested in her sexually. Odd, isn't how this films started with Carrington and her first boyfriend. We have come full circle.

If we were to look at this film in a symmetrical angle, we would notice a circle outside with Lytton in the direct center of this circle. The circle would represent Carrington's life. All around the circle would be the men that she has been with, while Lytton would be her stability point. All throughout her encounters with other men she always is able to find comfort with her center figure ... Lytton. If you watch this film closely, you will notice that there is only one point in the movie where Carrington goes outside the circle. It is when she is having a party at her house. Carrington goes outside only to sit down on a stump that happens to be facing the house. She is able to see all the windows in the house, and all of her past lovers with their new ones. Even Lytton with his new boyfriend.

This is the moment that we see Carrington thinking about her life. Seeing what she has been a part of, and watching it somewhat crumble down. This is her only moment outside of the circle that she has built. Lytton is the foundation to this circle, and it is obvious that without Lytton everything around Carrington must crumble as well.

That my friends, is how you build a love story.

Grade: *** out of *****

Viewer, do not believe others when they say this is a Merchant and Ivory knockoff. It has many of the same elements, to be sure, but M-I serves up confections, and here is something more interesting.

Imagine an intelligent screenwriter's first choice: whose story is this and what form must the telling take as a result? This is Carrington's story. She was an introspective painter who never exhibited -- thus we have a meditative, rather longish development. But you'll note that this is not just to revel in any lushness. What's done here is that each scene is a sequence of many small shots, each exquisitely framed, but shown less long than one can absorb. This is how Carrington would see the narrative, and it is a rather clever approach to centering it in her eye, if you can center down and read the pictures.

You also see her bias in many of the decisions related to the mechanics of the plot: her appearance changes little in 17 years; her affairs are always seen, but those of Lytton are not; and we are denied fascinating details (her father's death, the famous gatherings of the intelligently eccentric Bloomsbury Group) that she would have considered unimportant.

As the presentation is visual, Emma Thompson must dramatize physically, and so she does. Some of her character's most awkward moments have Emma in almost caricatured postures, much as one imagines one's self in retrospect as clumsy.

The test of a film is whether it transports you to an unfamiliar place and embeds a strange experience that sticks. The emotional and sexual situation here is bizarre and unfamiliar, but if you just take it as a pretty, competent film with a story, it won't work. If you take is as a film about her world, from her world, there's an additional rewarding dimension.

But go relaxed. The theme here is the existential angst between the fact you can passionately love someone and know that you will NEVER be able to provide some key factor they need, something basic in their life. An unsettling reminder.

"How do you spell ‘intangible'?" Dora Carrington asks of Lytton Strachey midway through this film as she sits writing at her desk. How do you spell intangible, indeed. Carrington tells the story of people who tried, in their own way, and at a time when society did not encourage such experiments, to acknowledge openly what most of us are aware of but still reluctant to discuss: that a great many differences exist between love and desire.

Carrington is one of the great epic romances, but a romance where sexual congress between the two who are passionately in love with each other has nothing whatever to do with the deep wells of feeling they share with each ther. Like The Unbearable Lightness Of Being and Out of Africa, Carrington is a film that dares to examine the difference between desire and love, and looks at an adult subject in an adult way. As opposed to Hollywood's usual matter-of-fact insistence that love is a game with a win/lose dialectic simplistically painted in broad stokes, Carrington traces, rather, the fact that love is indeed a mystery which must be acknowledged and honored for the way that it can bring out the best in both people rather than a way of keeping emotional score.

Emma Thompson is able to bring out the awkward, self-effacing aspects of Dora Carrington all the way down to the pigeon-toed stance the way the real life Carrington apparently stood. With all the impatience of a little girl who wishes that one day she'll wake up and finally find herself to be a sophisticated woman, she worships Lytton for his "cold and wise" attitude, his ability to see straight through the conventions of the time, and adopts him as her emotional mentor.

She's an artist whom everyone in the Bloomsbury set knew, even though she never really considered herself a part of the circle, unlike Lytton, whom everyone swarmed around for his scorched earth policy of anti-Victorian insights and rapier wit. Carrington, it would appear, spent her whole life trying to figure herself out, like any true artist, and Thompson very ably transmits that lost quality throughout the film: even as she gains her confidence socially, sexually and artistically, the motivations of her heart she would never let be pressured, no matter how much physical affection and attention she needed. Which I think is an important distinction to make.

A virgin many years past the point of reason, it is as if Carrington bought in to the sexual revolution of the flapper era between the world wars and the way it tried to repeal the oppressiveness of Victorian morals, learning how to cultivate and appreciate the sensual needs of the body, but deep down realized that a healthy, vigorous sex life with a plethora of partners does not necessarily mean more love, but simply more sex. As Carrington points out in the film, with Lytton she was able to be herself in all her confusion and joy, and without the obligatory pressures of regular sexual performance was able to find in Lytton the only person she ever really felt emotionally comfortable with. Echoing that great line of TS Eliot's in Four Quartets, of a "love beyond desire."

Jonathan Pryce, as Lytton Strachey, has the honor of portraying one of the best screen roles of all-time. Like Rex Harrison's Henry Higgins, or Liza Minnelli's Sally Bowles, his performance as Lytton is so fully realized that his character becomes unprecedented. Incorporating the attitude of, say, a bearded Oscar Wilde, Pryce's Lytton takes no prisoners and is disgusted by what he sees around him: the behaviour of the upper classes he finds himself eventually skirting is embarrassingly inexcusable to his ethically conscientious grounding. English boys are dying, he scowls, for their right to shamelessly frolic on the lawns of garden parties.

When Lytton moves in with Carrington they both want commitment (with a small c), but also personal freedom. This ambiguity toward each other is parallel to their ambiguity toward the concept of fame, which they both courted in a very teasing way, but soon grew to realize that there is a lot more to be said for secure domesticity (no matter how loosely defined) than their behaviorally adventurous artistic peers. Because Carrington is intelligently written, directed, and acted, however, we do not see the behavior of each of them as simply willful and spoiled, but as part of the contradictions they need to stay individuals in a culture, and at a time, where the conventional notions of love and sex were strictly regimented.

Jonathan Pryce plays Lytton with a sort of detachment that is supposed to come from the character's distaste for commitment.

What's most surprising about this epic romance is that given the amount of territory it traverses (seventeen years) at an almost leisurely pace, it clocks in at only a hair over two hours, but when those two hours are over, you certainly feel as if you've been somewhere, seen something, been privy to so many more truths and realizations than you'll see in any other standard film about a romance. What we have here is a paradox: an old-fashioned story about an avant-garde arrangement. An intelligent, thoughtful love story, told with enough care and attention that we really get involved in the passions between the characters, not the algebra surrounding them.

A movie that asks the question, how did it ever get made? Absolutely not a chance that it was made for profit. Once I stopped asking the question, I could enjoy the superior cinematic quality of all the elements that elevate a film to a work of art. I suppose it must have been exhibited in a theater, somewhere, though getting it booked must have been quite an accomplishment for its backers. I caught it on cable which allowed me to sip on a brandy while the film took its time unfolding in a style that I would describe as a splendidly animated coffee table book.

I am moved to comment on Carrington to express my gratitude to its makers.