This handsomely mounted costume drama uses that well-oiled gimmick of mirroring present and past love connections to whet the viewer's appetite. Strange then that one is left curiously undernourished by film's end.
One could point out the choppy, unflavorful script and erratic back-and-forth shifts between present and past. This technique worked more efficiently in "The French Lieutenant's Woman" and "The Bridges of Madison County," but, then again, both of these films had Meryl Streep at its emotional core. Sadly, she is not here to lift this one. Contemporary director Neil LaBute, who initially turned heads with his bold, unrelentingly caustic views on love ("In the Company of Men," "Your Friends & Neighbors"), takes on a decidedly different approach, shooting straight for the heart instead of the gut...with mixed results.
The contemporary story pairs up Gwyneth Paltrow and LaBute regular Aaron Eckhart as two literary historians who get caught up with one another as they uncover surprising new information, via a chain of age-old love letters, of a torrid, highly discreet affair between two unlikely Victorian poets, played in flash-back by the charismatic Jeremy Northam and Jennifer Ehle.
With all this potential talent aboard, someone forgot to add the requisite fire and passion to this supposedly fiery, passionate drama. The chemistry between Paltrow and Eckhart is strangely lacking. While Eckhart has a certain scruffy charm, his offbeat, rather jokey approach to this wise-guy character doesn't jell at all with the mood and tone of the piece. Paltrow, brushing up on her "Shakespeare in Love" accent, is slightly better (as well she should -- having proven herself earlier in "Emma"), but, again, her character is given a dull edge and she remains much too placid to ignite the contemporary love story.
Though the classically handsome Northam is the epitome of what a dashing costumed lover should be, and, ditto Ehle, who is reminiscent of Streep here with her serene, delicate, pinched features, their more interesting love story never gets to soar either. Problematic for them is the pace, which is too languid, and the emotional payoffs, which are either diffused or snuffed out. Worse yet, the impact of their story is diluted by the incessant narration (via the reading of the love letters) of the contemporary leads.
A gallant try I should say, and it is visually beautiful, but I think I'll stick to Merchant/Ivory at this time, thank you.
One could point out the choppy, unflavorful script and erratic back-and-forth shifts between present and past. This technique worked more efficiently in "The French Lieutenant's Woman" and "The Bridges of Madison County," but, then again, both of these films had Meryl Streep at its emotional core. Sadly, she is not here to lift this one. Contemporary director Neil LaBute, who initially turned heads with his bold, unrelentingly caustic views on love ("In the Company of Men," "Your Friends & Neighbors"), takes on a decidedly different approach, shooting straight for the heart instead of the gut...with mixed results.
The contemporary story pairs up Gwyneth Paltrow and LaBute regular Aaron Eckhart as two literary historians who get caught up with one another as they uncover surprising new information, via a chain of age-old love letters, of a torrid, highly discreet affair between two unlikely Victorian poets, played in flash-back by the charismatic Jeremy Northam and Jennifer Ehle.
With all this potential talent aboard, someone forgot to add the requisite fire and passion to this supposedly fiery, passionate drama. The chemistry between Paltrow and Eckhart is strangely lacking. While Eckhart has a certain scruffy charm, his offbeat, rather jokey approach to this wise-guy character doesn't jell at all with the mood and tone of the piece. Paltrow, brushing up on her "Shakespeare in Love" accent, is slightly better (as well she should -- having proven herself earlier in "Emma"), but, again, her character is given a dull edge and she remains much too placid to ignite the contemporary love story.
Though the classically handsome Northam is the epitome of what a dashing costumed lover should be, and, ditto Ehle, who is reminiscent of Streep here with her serene, delicate, pinched features, their more interesting love story never gets to soar either. Problematic for them is the pace, which is too languid, and the emotional payoffs, which are either diffused or snuffed out. Worse yet, the impact of their story is diluted by the incessant narration (via the reading of the love letters) of the contemporary leads.
A gallant try I should say, and it is visually beautiful, but I think I'll stick to Merchant/Ivory at this time, thank you.