I'm too practically minded to not observe that it's surely the flaws of the picture that first catch our attention. The editing is rather curt and brusque; the sound design is noticeably uneven, sometimes all but blowing out one's speakers and at others quite soft. Worse is gawky pacing that on the one hand will not let any scene or story beat manifest, breathe, and resolve naturally, let alone carry the weight or impact that they should, and that on the other hand is lax about plot development - even as the narrative is quite terrible at communicating time. (How long was Giovanni in seclusion after he first returned home? How long were he and Annabella meeting in secret before he confided to another about her condition? The movie doesn't tell us, and these aren't the only examples.) Pair all this with a distinct declination of clarity or abject plot in some moments, lending certain airy art film sensibilities to this period piece, and the result is invariably going to be a feature in which both film-making and storytelling is much less than pristine. Whatever else is true of ''Tis a pity she's a whore,' in some capacity it's already operating at a disadvantage.
That's the bad news. The good news is that in many other ways this is very well done. The involvement of cinematographer Vittorio Storaro and composer Ennio Morricone is nothing to sneeze at; Storaro's keen eye makes for some wonderfully fetching visions, if not always true across the board, while Morricone's themes are unquestionably enticing as they greet our ears. The production design is simply outstanding, a real treat for the eyes as it adorns lovely filming locations, with art direction only half a step behind. Much the same can also be said of the costume design, and the hair and makeup work. I think this is also a great credit for chief stars Charlotte Rampling and Oliver Tobias, both giving strong, spirited, nuanced performances to bring ill-fated siblings Annabella and Giovanni to life. And I quite like Giuseppe Patroni Griffi's direction, orchestrating scenes with welcome, focused mindfulness in recognition that the film draws on a stage play as source material. In light of the terrific sets, furthermore, Griffi demonstrates splendid shot composition in some instances that's especially gratifying as a viewer.
Meanwhile, I'm actually quite fond of the adapted screenplay concocted between Griffi and co-writers Alfio Valdarnini and Carlo Carunchio. It's certainly not without its faults, above all with tawdry imprecision when it comes to plot development and the passage of time. Even for this, though, and the subsequent diminishing of the drama, the dialogue is rich and flavorful, echoing the flowery language of a seventeenth-century playwright, and the scene writing is quite robust and pleasingly detailed in building the feature bit by bit. Conveyance of the narrative and its full gravity is less than ideal, somewhat like a warped facsimile in which the fidelity of the image is lost, yet still sufficient to imperfectly impart the tale at hand. To that point, it's worth observing that the plot is rife with horrid misogyny in its last act (when Something Is Wrong, a woman is always to blame, dontcha know) and despicable, antiquated values and social attitudes, on top of the already extremely taboo subject of incest. I do admire the low-key approach taken to that topic, however - not celebratory, not condemnatory, but simply depicting it as a reality of the complexities of humans, whatever a society may think of it.
All told it wouldn't have taken much to correct those issues that trouble this title. I think it's quite good, yet for where it goes wrong, the severity of the drama is weakened, passing less meaningfully in consequence. This is especially unfortunate given the last several minutes that go so stridently dark, dire beats that as they present therefore almost feel out of place. Were the pacing more judicious, and moments more drawn out to accentuate their import, surely the final cut would have been altogether great and thusly gain more renown in the annals of cinematic history. As it stands, the full force of John Ford's play, including not least the central relationship, feels like it's been shortchanged. Please don't misunderstand, however: for all that is, truly, done well, ''Tis a pityi she's a whore' remains well worth checking out, an absorbing viewing experience that solidly keeps one engaged through all the ups and downs. Whether one is specifically a fan of someone involved, an avid reader of English literature, or just an ardent cinephile, this earns a firm recommendation. Only, would that my enthusiasm for it weren't tempered by discrete deficiencies.
That's the bad news. The good news is that in many other ways this is very well done. The involvement of cinematographer Vittorio Storaro and composer Ennio Morricone is nothing to sneeze at; Storaro's keen eye makes for some wonderfully fetching visions, if not always true across the board, while Morricone's themes are unquestionably enticing as they greet our ears. The production design is simply outstanding, a real treat for the eyes as it adorns lovely filming locations, with art direction only half a step behind. Much the same can also be said of the costume design, and the hair and makeup work. I think this is also a great credit for chief stars Charlotte Rampling and Oliver Tobias, both giving strong, spirited, nuanced performances to bring ill-fated siblings Annabella and Giovanni to life. And I quite like Giuseppe Patroni Griffi's direction, orchestrating scenes with welcome, focused mindfulness in recognition that the film draws on a stage play as source material. In light of the terrific sets, furthermore, Griffi demonstrates splendid shot composition in some instances that's especially gratifying as a viewer.
Meanwhile, I'm actually quite fond of the adapted screenplay concocted between Griffi and co-writers Alfio Valdarnini and Carlo Carunchio. It's certainly not without its faults, above all with tawdry imprecision when it comes to plot development and the passage of time. Even for this, though, and the subsequent diminishing of the drama, the dialogue is rich and flavorful, echoing the flowery language of a seventeenth-century playwright, and the scene writing is quite robust and pleasingly detailed in building the feature bit by bit. Conveyance of the narrative and its full gravity is less than ideal, somewhat like a warped facsimile in which the fidelity of the image is lost, yet still sufficient to imperfectly impart the tale at hand. To that point, it's worth observing that the plot is rife with horrid misogyny in its last act (when Something Is Wrong, a woman is always to blame, dontcha know) and despicable, antiquated values and social attitudes, on top of the already extremely taboo subject of incest. I do admire the low-key approach taken to that topic, however - not celebratory, not condemnatory, but simply depicting it as a reality of the complexities of humans, whatever a society may think of it.
All told it wouldn't have taken much to correct those issues that trouble this title. I think it's quite good, yet for where it goes wrong, the severity of the drama is weakened, passing less meaningfully in consequence. This is especially unfortunate given the last several minutes that go so stridently dark, dire beats that as they present therefore almost feel out of place. Were the pacing more judicious, and moments more drawn out to accentuate their import, surely the final cut would have been altogether great and thusly gain more renown in the annals of cinematic history. As it stands, the full force of John Ford's play, including not least the central relationship, feels like it's been shortchanged. Please don't misunderstand, however: for all that is, truly, done well, ''Tis a pityi she's a whore' remains well worth checking out, an absorbing viewing experience that solidly keeps one engaged through all the ups and downs. Whether one is specifically a fan of someone involved, an avid reader of English literature, or just an ardent cinephile, this earns a firm recommendation. Only, would that my enthusiasm for it weren't tempered by discrete deficiencies.