*** SPOILER ALERT *** *** I WISH TO SPOIL THIS MOVIE FOR YOUR OWN PROTECTION *** (You will thank me)
I don't mind slow movies. I don't even mind ones with an inconsequential plot. Like the one about the old guy riding across two states to see his dying brother on a lawnmower. The old guy's on the mower, not the dying brother. But I could believe it. In it, even.
Not this. The 'wealthy landowner' lives in a shoddy timber house in a settlement in the muddiest part of the dankest, jungliest bit of New Zealand and does nothing constructive except chop the odd bit of firewood. He should have stayed in Hampshire and farmed or in Wolverhampton and made chains but nope.
This must be a jolly good piano for despite being left on a stormy beach below the high tide level, it doesn't suffer much. And they leave it there. No case of, "If we have to leave it, why don't we move it up the beach a bit where it's dry?" And later it's hauled through the jungle and tipped over into the mud, but - well, well - all it needs is a wee bit of tuning.
The Ada character is about the most sexually unappetising specimen of femininity imaginable. Not only does she not speak, but she doesn't smile, acknowledge other people or exhibit any of the social graces considered mandatory by any Victorian. When she plays the piano, she plays tedious music in a style that never, ever, ever varies throughout the whole movie until you wish that her new husband would take the damned piano and use it for firewood. Not only that but it is contemporary music. Late 20th century contemporary, that is. It's cheap, tinkly-tinkly-tinkly with the left hand and plink-plonk-plink with the right. 'On-hold' music, really. Clearly, she's too advanced for a bit of Mozart, Handel, Bach or even maybe a bit of Scarlatti.
She sells herself implausibly cheap to the rough guy. The husband under-reacts initially then overreacts. What's that all about then? Why does her beloved daughter who's so devoted to her mother dob her in - twice!? Is the kid really that stoopid?
Weather! Nowhere - except possibly parts of Wales - could sustain rainfall like this. Remember The Ghostwriter? Just dull overcast all the way through. This has rain, rain and more rain. Is this suppose to add significance? It doesn't.
This movie is emperor's new clothes. I think the only reason it was a critical hit was because nobody had the nerve to point out the truth. Perhaps it won because it had a couple of soft-core moments. Some ladies' naughty bits and a flash of man-sausage. And a bit of writhing.
Don't be fooled. This movie really, really is utter rubbish. It's pointless, vacuous, joyless and meaningless. Did I mention boring? You will come out of the theatre less than you went in. Only if you are of a preternaturally credulous turn of mind will you believe in this tripe.
I don't mind slow movies. I don't even mind ones with an inconsequential plot. Like the one about the old guy riding across two states to see his dying brother on a lawnmower. The old guy's on the mower, not the dying brother. But I could believe it. In it, even.
Not this. The 'wealthy landowner' lives in a shoddy timber house in a settlement in the muddiest part of the dankest, jungliest bit of New Zealand and does nothing constructive except chop the odd bit of firewood. He should have stayed in Hampshire and farmed or in Wolverhampton and made chains but nope.
This must be a jolly good piano for despite being left on a stormy beach below the high tide level, it doesn't suffer much. And they leave it there. No case of, "If we have to leave it, why don't we move it up the beach a bit where it's dry?" And later it's hauled through the jungle and tipped over into the mud, but - well, well - all it needs is a wee bit of tuning.
The Ada character is about the most sexually unappetising specimen of femininity imaginable. Not only does she not speak, but she doesn't smile, acknowledge other people or exhibit any of the social graces considered mandatory by any Victorian. When she plays the piano, she plays tedious music in a style that never, ever, ever varies throughout the whole movie until you wish that her new husband would take the damned piano and use it for firewood. Not only that but it is contemporary music. Late 20th century contemporary, that is. It's cheap, tinkly-tinkly-tinkly with the left hand and plink-plonk-plink with the right. 'On-hold' music, really. Clearly, she's too advanced for a bit of Mozart, Handel, Bach or even maybe a bit of Scarlatti.
She sells herself implausibly cheap to the rough guy. The husband under-reacts initially then overreacts. What's that all about then? Why does her beloved daughter who's so devoted to her mother dob her in - twice!? Is the kid really that stoopid?
Weather! Nowhere - except possibly parts of Wales - could sustain rainfall like this. Remember The Ghostwriter? Just dull overcast all the way through. This has rain, rain and more rain. Is this suppose to add significance? It doesn't.
This movie is emperor's new clothes. I think the only reason it was a critical hit was because nobody had the nerve to point out the truth. Perhaps it won because it had a couple of soft-core moments. Some ladies' naughty bits and a flash of man-sausage. And a bit of writhing.
Don't be fooled. This movie really, really is utter rubbish. It's pointless, vacuous, joyless and meaningless. Did I mention boring? You will come out of the theatre less than you went in. Only if you are of a preternaturally credulous turn of mind will you believe in this tripe.