I enjoyed the Helena Bonham-Carter version of this film far more. It captured the humor and romance of the story. It had some light in it. It was alive as any story should be. Even with its flaws, as in the rather lethargic portrayal of George by Julian Sands, it still made you feel more than this version.
Now to this newer film... The actors tried, you can see that. But it was as if the characters, scenes, music, and plot points were all pieces from some kit that had been assembled without instructions and with some special touches meant to make it prettier in the eyes of the assembler. The mood was dark, scenes that should have been funny were serious, scenes that were serious were either clumsy or Stygian in their gloominess. Conversations were awkward and forced. Explanations were few and both plot and character development were hasty and scanty as a result. All to make room, no doubt, for the artistic vision of the director or writer, whoever we have to blame. For, as others have said here, we have as our constant companion an older Lucy who is not living life to the fullest as the movie tries hard to discuss at one point, but revisiting places where she did her living. The places are dark, changed, almost black-and-white in their mood. The familiar "indoors in the daytime with the lights switched off" feeling is present. And if the place had been bright and full of people it would still have been poor Lucy remembering how she got her husband who... ah, here's a spoiler for you...
The romantic ending arrives but leaps, mind you, from Lucy running into a pond thinking to save a drowning George (who apparently was just having a nice float face down in a murky pond) straight to a sex scene in Italy which is just long enough to make you cry, "Good grief, they're nude!" before it cuts to the "after" sequence which always involves people laying under white sheets, chuckling to one another. And once they have you in full apprehension of a joyous happy ending (in spite of making no effort to explain the process of it), a quick artsy-craftsy shot of the beautiful sky outside fades, amid strains of wailing operatic soprano, to a shot of a stone dead British soldier lying, face frozen in a last look of horror, on the edge of a trench as the night flashes with bomb blasts. Yes, it's George, who after all that grinning which seemed to be his main job in the film, has fallen prey to the warmongers and left his Lucy to mourn.
If they were thinking to bring poignancy to the story I think they overdid it. There was too much bitter for the sweet to compete. And to save time for such rubbish, they made sure we hardly got to know the characters, and as a result, much of the plot, since their motivations drove the story as is usual with Forster's books.
The only good thing I can say about it is that I don't think there was anything in it that was so good that it was wasted in a bad movie. It all pretty much tanked.
Now to this newer film... The actors tried, you can see that. But it was as if the characters, scenes, music, and plot points were all pieces from some kit that had been assembled without instructions and with some special touches meant to make it prettier in the eyes of the assembler. The mood was dark, scenes that should have been funny were serious, scenes that were serious were either clumsy or Stygian in their gloominess. Conversations were awkward and forced. Explanations were few and both plot and character development were hasty and scanty as a result. All to make room, no doubt, for the artistic vision of the director or writer, whoever we have to blame. For, as others have said here, we have as our constant companion an older Lucy who is not living life to the fullest as the movie tries hard to discuss at one point, but revisiting places where she did her living. The places are dark, changed, almost black-and-white in their mood. The familiar "indoors in the daytime with the lights switched off" feeling is present. And if the place had been bright and full of people it would still have been poor Lucy remembering how she got her husband who... ah, here's a spoiler for you...
The romantic ending arrives but leaps, mind you, from Lucy running into a pond thinking to save a drowning George (who apparently was just having a nice float face down in a murky pond) straight to a sex scene in Italy which is just long enough to make you cry, "Good grief, they're nude!" before it cuts to the "after" sequence which always involves people laying under white sheets, chuckling to one another. And once they have you in full apprehension of a joyous happy ending (in spite of making no effort to explain the process of it), a quick artsy-craftsy shot of the beautiful sky outside fades, amid strains of wailing operatic soprano, to a shot of a stone dead British soldier lying, face frozen in a last look of horror, on the edge of a trench as the night flashes with bomb blasts. Yes, it's George, who after all that grinning which seemed to be his main job in the film, has fallen prey to the warmongers and left his Lucy to mourn.
If they were thinking to bring poignancy to the story I think they overdid it. There was too much bitter for the sweet to compete. And to save time for such rubbish, they made sure we hardly got to know the characters, and as a result, much of the plot, since their motivations drove the story as is usual with Forster's books.
The only good thing I can say about it is that I don't think there was anything in it that was so good that it was wasted in a bad movie. It all pretty much tanked.