Reteaming with screenwriter Laura Jones (An Angel at My Table) to tackle another literary subject, Jane Campion makes an unruly costume drama out of the 1881 novel by Henry James. That approach is a good match for The Portrait of a Lady’s main character—or at least who she is when we first meet her. A lively young American abroad, Isabel Archer (Nicole Kidman) rebuffs various proposals (Richard E. Grant, Viggo Mortensen, Martin Donovan, all uniquely enticing) because of the “chances” that an independent life might toss her way. This posture holds until she encounters Gilbert Osmond (John Malkovich), a slinky art collector. Malkovich is an issue—fun to watch, but by 1996 he had already established himself as such a screen snake that there’s no room for ambiguity here. The Portrait of a Lady is also limited by the fact that James’ novel literalizes the themes and ideas that usually run under the currents in a Campion film; too often Isabel speaks things that Campion could capture with a close-up of a piece of fabric (or Holly Hunter, in The Piano, communicated in a glance). And yet, Kidman still delivers plenty of subtext, giving a rich performance of delicate looks and telling gestures, while Donovan—as Isabel’s ailing cousin Ralph—is winningly prankish between coughing fits (he’s something of a fading Puck). Meanwhile, Campion’s camera captures the sort of things most costume dramas are too fussy to notice: mirrors and windows that bifurcate Isabel’s distressed face; the bleary darkness of her home with Osmond, where the doors close behind her like those of a tomb; a slide into slow motion when one character smells a flower that has been given to her and another character crucially notices. Even more Campionesque? A prologue featuring contemporary portraits of various women, which emphasizes at the start that while costumes and colloquialisms may have changed, societal expectations haven’t.
(10/12/2021)
