Monday Movies: On a Pedestal of Infamy
The chief pleasure of Jane Eyre is Mia Wasikowska. In The Kids Are All Right she mixed a child’s wonder with that of a detective, and the same awestruck intelligence churns behind her eyes here. She slips in and out of brogue a little bit but it makes sense given the character’s patchwork upbringing. Michael Fassbender vaguely resembles Kevin Kline and Jamie Bell vaguely resembles Jesse Eisenberg.
To Jane, truth is everything; the movie sets that up a little too subtly in the childhood scene when Jane is accused of deceitfulness, such that it doesn’t ring in the theme as strongly as needed when she and Rochester begin to get their various ejaculations on. The screenplay and director do a very nice job with their dialogue, which at times approaches the rhythm of Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant. The camera work feels a little too contemporary, combining a super-shallow depth of field and a bland prettiness that recalls International Delight creamer commercials from about ten years ago.
You wouldn’t know from this production that the source text had been the subject of a foundation of feminist literary criticism or an acclaimed postcolonial revision. But you might get the sense that it had withered under the attention.
Like Jane, did you “open [your] inward ear to a tale that was never ended–a tale [someone’s] imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that [you] desired and had not in [your] actual existence?” And how’d you like the tale, and what was it rated?
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