hesbol

Rather dull and uninspired biography, even though Gwyneth does a good performance, she's unable to save a biography which probably will make your own life look exciting - Sylvia Plath is portrayed as not much more than a quite ordinary housewife that is cheated on over several years. The affairs of her husband Ted takes its toll, of course, and quite predictably drives her paranoia, but really; this is not film material. Ted Hughes comes across as a lame, rather brutal husband with little understanding of Sylvias troubled mind. Their story is told very straightforward and linear, probably wrong since there is very little story to begin with. A more adventurous structure, with glimpses of childhood, early years, etc might have added much needed lyricism to this lackluster project.

This movie got rave reviews in the Norwegian press, and has also been a huge success with the audience. Initially I thought it was sympathetic, albeit very slow - with good actors and some really nice cinematography - but what was it really all about? The script clearly not very original, a cheapo take on the brilliant Altman epos "Short Cuts". OK - the director is in every right to be inspired by great art. But then I started to notice how much was pick pocketed, from the title (Paris, Texas - hello??)- the running character; and the need for a LOT of cash (Run Lola, run)- the angelic characters (Der Himmel über Berlin) - hmmm... the list just goes on and on. Zero originality here,the borderline between_inspiration_and_simple theft is stepped across too many times. On top of this, the director stresses emotions in a not very subtle fashion. I am tempted to call this genre " feelie ", as opposed to the "feel good"-genre so popular these days. Its not feel good, but darn close. The ending of this movie is almost unbelievably sentimental. No wonder people leave the theatre weeping, but this is a response heavily stressed by and wished for of the direction, something I find deeply disturbing - almost unethical!

This movie just serves to justify my life-long suspicion towards the Norwegian film industry and so-called critics alike.