Get your own Free HomepageOscar Wilde once said: "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about."
Well, the legendary Irish playwright, author and wit is being talked about plenty these days. Ninety-seven years after his death, suddenly it seems everything Wilde is wild again. Among other things, look for an off-Broadway play, a film biography and a new book of Wildean wit.
"Wilde's star is on the rise, and I think that's very much the result of the rise of the gay movement," says Julia Prewitt Brown, author of Cosmopolitan Criticism: Oscar Wilde's Philosophy of Art, due this August from the University Press of Virginia ($30).
"Oscar Wilde was a homosexual, and he was imprisoned for his homosexuality," she says. "It's not surprising that when a political or cultural movement is defining itself, they look for heroes."
Among the wave of Wilde things:
Gross Indecency: The Three Trials of Oscar Wilde, a play focusing on the legal battle over Wilde's affair with the son of the Marquess of Queensberry, opened last week off Broadway.
Oscar Wilde: Diversions and Delights, a biographical play, is on an open-ended run at San Francisco's Stage Door Theater.
Wilde, a film biography starring British comedian Stephen Fry, opens in England next month. Jennifer Ehle (BBC's 'Pride and Prejudice') stars as Wilde's wife. Look for the film stateside next year.
Last week, Christie's of London auctioned some Wilde papers, among them a questionnaire he completed as an Oxford student in which he predicted his "success, fame, or even notoriety." Sale price: A whopping $37,500 (it had been estimated at less than $5,000).
The Importance of Being a Wit (Carroll and Graf, $10.95) newly collects Wilde's witticisms, including such bon mots as, "Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes."
(British --- Biopic --- Color)
A Polygram Filmed Entertainment release (in U.K.) of a Samuelson Prod.
production, in association with Dove Intl., NDF Intl., Pony Canyon, Pandora
Film, Capitol Films and BBC Films, with participation of the Greenlight
Fund, and produced in association with Wall-to-Wall Television. (International
sales: Capitol Films, London/U.S. sales: Dove Intl., L.A.) Produced by
Marc Samuelson, Peter Samuelson. Executive producers. Michiyo Yoshizaki,
Michael Viner, Deborah Raffin, Alan Howden, Alex Graham.
Directed by Brian Gilbert. Screenplay, Julian Mitchell, based on the biography "Oscar Wilde" by Richard Ellman. Camera (prints by Metrocolor London, widescreen), Martin Fuhrer; editor, Michael Bradsell; music, Debbie Wiseman; production design, Maria Djurkovic; art direction, Martyn John; costume design, Nic Ede; sound (Dolby), Jim Greenhorn; line producer, Nick O'Hagan; assistant director, Cordelia Hardy; casting, Sarah Bird. Reviewed at Edinburgh Film Festival, Aug. 21, 1997. (Also in Venice Film Festival.) Running time: 115 min.
Oscar Wilde ..... Stephen Fry
Lord Alfred (Bosie) Douglas ..... Jude Law
Wilde's Mother ..... Vanessa Redgrave
Constance Lloyd ..... Jennifer Ehle
Lady Queensberry ..... Gemma Jones
Lady Mount-Temple ..... Judy Parfitt
Robbie Ross ..... Michael Sheen
Ada ..... Zoe Wanamaker
Marquess of Queensberry ..... Tom Wilkinson
Big, bold and burnished --- "Wilde" is the full monty on Oscar. Toplining British comedian/wit Stephen Fry in a once-in-a-lifetime role as the brilliant, acerbic playwright, and mounted with a care and affection in all departments that squeezes the most from its $ 10 million budget, movie is a tony biopic that manages to combine an upfront portrayal of the scribe's gayness with an often moving examination of his broader emotions and artistic ideals. With a good marketing push and critical backing, this offbeat costumer could reap warm rewards as a midstream item, with its appeal cleverly positioned across the sexual spectrum.
Aside from the considerable presence of Wilde look-alike Fry --- who has admitted in interviews he was probably born for the part --- the movie is the first to go the whole enchilada on Wilde's homosexuality, with reasonably forthright, though far from full-frontal, sex scenes replacing the lingering looks by Peter Finch and Robert Morley, respectively, in the two 1960 versions, "The Trials of Oscar Wilde" and "Oscar Wilde."
Achievement of the current pic, however, is that it is far from just an in-your-face '90s version of the story: Julian Mitchell's script, from the revealing biography by Richard Ellman, equally addresses Wilde's love for his wife and children, the nervousness behind his outward courage as a convention-breaker, as well as his higher, Platonic ideals of beauty and youth.
In that respect, there's something for everyone, especially in the handsome widescreen mounting it gets here.
The signals that this is going to be more than your average Brit costumer are visible from the outset: Pic opens like an Anthony Mann Western in the mining community of Leadville, Colo., in 1882, in the midst of Wilde's yearlong lecture tour of the U.S. and Canada. Incongruous sight of the lumbering writer in the Wild West, where he flirtatiously lectures bare-chested young miners on Socratic ideals, is a marvelous introduction to Fry's sardonic but sad portrait. (As well as being physically very similar to Wilde, Fry is also very close in age to the man he's portraying.)
Invigorated by his Stateside experience, and still not confronting his sexuality, Wilde marries the beautiful and adoring Constance (Jennifer Ehle, from "Pride and Prejudice"), by whom he has two sons. It's only with the arrival of a gay Canadian house guest, Robbie Ross (Michael Sheen), that Wilde opens the dam of his homosexuality: While Constance is putting their sprig to bed upstairs, Robbie calmly drops his pants in front of Oscar in the drawing room.
As Wilde's career blossoms along with his catalog of boyfriends, smart Victorian society starts rumbling with innuendoes about the playwright's proclivities. On the more bohemian reaches, however, Wilde is supported by his Irish mom (Vanessa Redgrave) and broadminded friend Ada (Zoe Wanamaker).
Then, much to the chagrin of Robbie and others, at the triumphant opening-night party of "Lady Windermere's Fan," Wilde is introduced to the upper-crust Alfred (Bosie) Douglas (Jude Law), and falls head over heels for the beauteous, attention-seeking young poet, who insists on publicly parading their affection, as a rebuff both to polite society and to his brutish, homophobic father, the Marquess of Queensberry (Tom Wilkinson).
It's here that Fry's perf really kicks in, beyond spouting Wilde's famously witty bon mots. Behind the man's overweening arrogance lies a real sadness that his affection for the kamikaze-like Bosie, prone to childish tantrums and sexual philandering, is to be the vehicle for his eventual downfall. But Wilde persists in the relationship, even as the gruff Queensberry, hardly a pillar of polite society, becomes more aggressive in his insults and warnings to Wilde to drop Bosie, and Wilde's friends point out that Bosie is sapping his creative energies. The result is a trial and Wilde's imprisonment.
Brian Gilbert, till now only a journeyman director, brings to the picture most of the qualities that were memorably absent in his previous costumer, "Tom & Viv" --- visual fluency, deep-seated emotion and first-rate playing from his cast. Aside from Fry, up-and-coming young actor Law (looking remarkably like John Fraser in the 1960 Finch version) makes an alternately likable and infuriating Bosie. Equally strong, and providing a solid arc of friendship across Oscar's travails, is Sheen as Robbie.
Though she's on the margins of the story for much of the time, Ehle is excellent as Constance, giving quiet substance to a potentially token role. She comes through especially strongly in the pic's most moving scene, a heart-to-heart between Oscar and Constance in Reading Gaol. As the most brutish and outspoken screen Queensberry to date, Wilkinson is also first-rate. Wanamaker, Redgrave and Judy Parfitt contribute solid extended cameos.
Film is handsomely appointed, from Debbie Wiseman's full, supportive orchestral score (with a soupcon of "Basic Instinct" in its main theme), through Nic Ede's lived-in costumes, to Maria Djurkovic's clever production design that gives pic a look way beyond its budget. Martin Fuhrer's autumnal widescreen lensing ensures the movie never has a Brit telepic feel.
Just the part about Wilde:
What we have traditionally done well, we still do. Costume drama and
character acting are superb. A prime example is Wilde (opening in
Britain on October 17), a biopic of Oscar that may even be heading for
an Oscar. Julian Mitchell's screenplay, after Richard Ellman's great biography,
is a skilful blend of Wilde's aphoristic brio and his personal turmoil.
As the lead, Stephen Fry is stronger in the lighter moments than the more
tragic. But what elevates this movie to awards contention is the array
of brilliant supporting performances, especially Jude Law's Bosie, all
caddish beauty and seigneurial contempt, Tom Wilkinson as the Marquess
of Queensberry, giving intelligence as well as fury to the brute, and Jennifer
Ehle's enigmatic, loyal but wounded wife, Constance Wilde.
No sooner had the journalists at last month's Edinburgh Film Festival interviewed the stars of one British picture due out this autumn, the cast of another was wheeled out before them.
Scores of British films, the legacy of the recent revival in the UK film industry, are scheduled to go on screen over the next few weeks. Competition for cinema screens is intense, and the battle to persuade filmgoers to see those films will be even tougher.
The principal weapon with which the producers and distributors of the new wave of British pictures can distinguish their pictures from all the other releases is promotion. Strategies vary widely from project to project, but a common goal is trying to prevent the films from being relegated to the role of quirky cult pictures by attracting a wider audience.
One film that seems tailor-made for the "cult" tag is Face,a gritty thriller set in the London underworld, directed by Antonia Bird, who made the critically-acclaimed Priest. Face stars the hot Scottish actor, Robert Carlyle, with Damon Albarn, lead singer of Blur, in a supporting role.
United International Pictures, its US-owned UK distributor, is convinced that Face can cross over into the mainstream market like Trainspotting and Pulp Fiction. It originally planned to launch the film last Friday, but delayed it for a week to avoid competition from Mike Leigh's Career Girls and the Hollywood hit, My Best Friend's Wedding.
Face will open this Friday at 120 cinemas across the UK, far fewer than the 350-plus screens commandeered for Hollywood blockbusters, but considerably more than the 20 to 30 typical of well-reviewed art films like Priest.
"We've gone for multiplexes and big theatres like the Empire Leicester Square," says Ken Green, UIP's marketing director. "This isn't an art house movie."
The cast of Face went to the Edinburgh Festival to conduct press and television interviews. UIP also arranged previews of the film with Radio 1 and The Sun newspaper to drum up word-of-mouth support. Similarly, it has raised awareness of Face among the target audience of students and under-25s by giving away 500,000 promotional postcards at pop festivals, clubs and concerts throughout the summer.
The producers of Wilde, the film of the life of playwright Oscar Wilde, directed by Brian Gilbert and starring Stephen Fry and Jude Law, are equally anxious to prevent their movie from falling into the "cult" category. But they are going about it very differently. Rather than opting for a wide release, Samuelson Films, which produced Wilde, and PolyGram, its UK distributor, will open it on just 16 screens (12 of which are in London) on October 17. They then plan to extend the picture to more cinemas as favourable reports of it spread.
"This is a word-of-mouth film, and we've got to give people time to read the reviews and start discussing it," says Marc Samuelson, co-producer. "We mustn't move too quickly, it'll need a week or two to percolate."
Samuelson and PolyGram know that Wilde is bound to attract a core audience of Oscar Wilde fans, mostly gay men and literary buffs, but they are convinced that it could have a broader appeal and have tailored the publicity accordingly.
The promotional poster and advertising will feature a simple, monochrome image of Stephen Fry alongside glowing reviews.
"We wanted a clean feel, to suggest that this is a film with a modern message," says Mr Samuelson. "We didn't want anything too fussy, or obviously Victorian."
Wilde made its debut in Edinburgh, before moving on to the Venice Film Festival. The Wilde cast, like the Face team, did dozens of interviews at Edinburgh, but they will also conduct promotional events in five provincial cities, including Manchester and Newcastle, as well as in London. The film should benefit from the publicity generated by Stephen Fry, who has written about his role in the New Yorker, and will shortly publish his autobiography.
Meanwhile, PolyGram intends to spend L3300,000 ($477,000) publicising Wilde, but may invest more if the film takes off. "That's the benefit of having a partner with deep pockets," says Mr Samuelson. "If the response to Wilde is as good as we're hoping, PolyGram can afford to make the most of it."
Occasionally a role comes along that is so suitable for the actor playing it that the result is like witnessing nuclear fusion. Oscar Wilde was a troubled, educated soul of indefatigable wit, an Oxbridge (Oxford) graduate who became a renowned writer and homesexual. Stephen Fry no only shares a certain facial resemblence with Wilde, but is also a product of Oxbridge (Cambridge), is a homosexual and successful writer (his first novel, The Liar, spent two years in the bestseller lists). Best known for his TV appearances and the odd supporting turn in a movie, Fry reaches his professional apotheosis (a favourite word) in this sparkling and moving biography.
In fact, the actor became so comfortable in the role that his ad libs became interchangeable with the witticism of the man he was playing. Indeed, several ended up in the finished film ("every gentleman should have a bath at least once a year," the actor lectured his screen son). All things being equal, Fry should be joining Peter Fonda at next year's Oscar ceremony.
In spite of the actor's towering achievement, it must not detract from the accomplishment of such an outstanding film. Replete with the effervescent wit of one of the greatest playwrights of this century, Wilde (scripted by Julian Mitchell) artfully circumnavigates the pitfalls of screen biography and jettisons the cliches of the genre.
In a cheekily misleading prologue, the film opens in Colorado, 1882, promising all the spectacle of a John Ford western. It is here we learn that the aspiring genius is on a lecture tour of North America. Back in England he marries the well-connected Constance Lloyd (Jennifer Ehle) and earns his literary stripes (and some notoriety) as the author of The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Soon afterwards, his liaison with a young Canadian homosexual and his subsequent infatuation with the handsome and petulant Lord Alfred Douglas (Jude Law) sows the seeds of his ultimate downfall.
Stylish, daring and articulate (and extremely funny), Wilde captures the essence of an extraordinary man and exposes the dichotomy of a society that simultaneously revered and undermined his genius.
by Dan Ridder
from Total Film, 11/97
What's the story? In 1883, Oscar Wilde returns from America to marry and become a father. He writes a play, becomes famous, and confronts his life-long homosexual urges after being seduced by a young lad. He writes another play, becomes more famous, meets Oxford undergrad Lord Alfred Douglas, and is smitten. He writes another play, and becomes impossibly famous. The Marquis of Queensbury, Alfred's dad, finds out about the pair. Things go wrong and the playwright's law-breaking sex life is revealed in court. Wilde doesn't write another play, gets arrested, and becomes infamous.
Wilde is one of those films that only us Brits should ever be allowed to make. It's a costume drama in the finest traditions of the genre, all starched collars and gentle walks in autumnal, leaf-strewn parks - not so much Men in Black as Men in Tweed. It's heavy on the finely-honed verbiage, has complex, believable characters and is thoroughly soaked with chronologically accurate detail. The story takes place in sexual repression, guilt, homosexuality, class structures and good ol' fashioned lust as it flits around from one gorgeously created set-piece to another. The result is a thrilling, entralling and intelligent cinematic re-telling of the great grandmother of celebrity scandals, the century-old equivalent of a modern smeared-across-the-first-six pages gutter press expose. Your typical Merchant Ivory/Austen adaptation it ain't.
Some of the essential elements do remain the same - dapperly-dressed gents, be-corseted, cleavage-thrusting ladies and the inevitable scenes of polite Victorian society spreading bon mots, rumours and plain gossip. This much we have all seen before. But Wilde goes much further than these conventions. For this is a brave, forthright, and sexually honest depiction of homosexuality and Victorian society's abhorrence of it. There are no gentle camera cut-aways or symbolic lightings of cigarettes to hide the rumpy pumpy here. This is an earnest chronicling of one man's descent into a personal hell and the catastrophic effect his actions have on all those around him. Wilde's famous plays are barely referred to throughout - it's the man and his life that are the focus here. For Wilde is both a revenge and tragedy piece rolled into one, and is engrossing in either regard.
The film's great strength, though, is Fry himself. Gone is the trademark arrogant smirk and elitist intellectual superiority of old. The recent emotional trauma in his own life (his now infamous wracked-with-doubt sojourn to Belgium and near-suicide attempt - the lives of Wilde and Fry share some startling similarities) appear to have helped him on screen no end. His superb portrayal of Wilde is at once understated and subtle, creating a dense and complex character torn by extremes of guilt, lust and regret as he brilliantly carries this literary scandal period flick through to the inevitable tear-jerking denouement. Even though you know what's going to happen - always a key problem for biopics of famous people - Fry is so engaging and sympathetic that you can't help being caught up in the tragic events portrayed.
Ably assisting this are the rest of the cast. Youthful Jude Law, as the dashing but cocksure Alfred Douglas, plays the amoral, capricious, pouting pretty boy with frightening ease. Alfred's father, the dastardly Marquis, is just as ably handled by Tom Wilkinson, who seethes, rages and plots with a towering presence. Even the supporting actors - Zoe Wanamaker, Jennifer Ehle and Vanessa Redgrave - offer far more than mere camera fodder.
But this is Fry's movie, nothing more, nothing less. He naturally takes the best lines (he is, after all, playing the witty, literary and tortured genius), and his asymmetrical facial presence on screen is almost up to the standards of De Niro in its sheer charisma. He is the central protagonist in nearly every scene, and respectfully, no one attempts to steal the show from under him. Wilde is both a restrained and yet, paradoxically, passionate and exciting film that cannot possibly fail to move you. Go see.
People have been telling Stephen Fry he looks like Oscar Wilde for years. In Wilde, he gets the chance to prove that he can act like him too. As is to be expected from a man who makes a living by his wit, Fry is a happy and relaxed with his character's trademark quips. But, perhaps more surprisingly, he is equally confident with Oscar's darker moments.
Instead of restricting his interest to Wilde's obsession with Lord Alfred Douglas, a.k.a. Bosie, writer Julian Mitchell (Another Country) and director Brian Gilbert (Tom and Viv) have chosen to look at the writer through the prism of his neglected family. So, in addition to the familiar society darling, we meet Oscar Wilde the loving but failed husband and Oscar Wilde the father, a man who would sit fishing with his infant sons at his side and write them glorious bedtime stories.
Mitchell's most effective ploy is the decision to punctuate the film with extracts from Wilde's The Selfish Giant. Otherwise Gilbert's thoroughness can at times feel slightly pedestrian, as though he is determined to give equal events to the main events of Wilde's life: meeting his wife Constance (Jennifer Ehle); discovering his homosexuality; falling in love with Bosie (Jude Law); confronting Bosie's outraged father The Marquess of Queensberry (Tom Wilkinson); the libel trial; public disgrace and eventual incarceration.
On the whole, this has the air of Sunday teatime costume drama: solid, commendable and wholly predictable. But it is elevated from its TV feel by a fine cast, sumptuous design and some geniunely moving moments. The trail, in particular, is devastating, and one of the most affecting scenes comes toward the end, when Constance visits Oscar in prison and gives him her ultimatum: Bosie or their children.
It is a tribute to Ehle and the filmmakers' sense of fair play that they never make Constance a harridan. She is as faithful as her name implies. The other casting highlights are Law as Bosie and Wilkinson as his bigoted father. Law's Bosie, in particular, is a delight: equal parts gilded seducer, evil-tempered brat and abused child.
Whoever cast Stephen Fry as talented but tortured wit Oscar Wilde is a genius.
Within moments of seeing him as the beautifully-coiffeured Wilde, captivating tough Colorado silver miners with his storytelling, you cannot conceive of anyone else ever playing Oscar.
For a time after Wilde returned from his celebrated tour of North America in 1883, his life seemed charmed. He married the beautiful Constance (Jennifer Ehle) and produced two sons.
His work was successful. Even his growing awareness of his homosexuality initially caused him few difficulties. But then came his friendship with Bosie (Jude Law), the selfish, petulant, mercurial Lord Alfred Douglas.
Plunging into Bosie's twilight world, Wilde neglected his family and awoke the enmity of Bosie's father, the vindictive Lord Queensberry (Tom Wilkinson). The resulting scandal turned Oscar into a social parriah.
One of the most handsome films of the year, Wilde is graced with a beautiful score and oozes great British acting talent such as Vanessa Redgrave, Zoe Wanamaker and Judy Parfitt. But it is really Fry's film. He dominates the proceedings with his commanding presence and superb quips.
It is impossible not to pity him as his world falls apart. The scene with the imprisoned, broken Wilde meeting his wife at Reading Jail is heart-rending.
Here we have a fresh, touching, absorbing, frequently droll and moving film. Despite the costumes, it feels almost contemporary.
Everyone's lasting impression will be of Stephen Fry playing a character whose tormented life partly mirrors his own.
Fry could be nominated for an academy award. Fitting really - an Oscar for an Oscar...
Verdict: Plodding biopic, decently acted, but superficially scripted
Perhaps they should have called it Bosie. Brian Gilbert's film is far more enlightening about Oscar Wilde's boyfriend, Lord Alfred 'Bosie' Douglas (superbly played by Jude Law), than it is about Wilde.
It is at its best when analysing Bosie's dangerous hatred of his father, the repulsive Marquess of Queensberry (played with Hogarthian relish by Tom Wilkinson).
Previous screen versions ascribed Wilde's ill-advised libel suit against Queensberry to hubristic arrogance. The new film sees it more charitably - as Wilde's instinctive response in defence of the young brat he loved passionately.
Stephen Fry is very good when delineating those aspects of Wilde that are similar to himself, especially his old-world civility. Fry is fine at expressing Wilde's initial unease with his bisexuality, and he is one of the few actors around who can convincingly communicate Wilde's intellect.
However, Fry often lumbers when he needs to effervesce, and a lack of commitment to the actor's craft undermines the otherwise touching scene when he expresses remorse to the wife he has shamed (charmingly portrayed by Jennifer Ehle).
It goes on, but there's nothing more on Jennifer. So I have cut it here.
Brian Gilbert's impressive Wilde starts just where you wouldn't explect a biopic of Oscar Wilde to. An Oxford quad, a London club, a West End theatre, Dublin or the dock - all these spell Oscar Wilde. But Leadville, Colorado ? With a bunch of miners hollering and hooting, throwing their hats in the air, giving "a good Colorado welcome" ? Yes, the film starts, with satisfying incongruity, on Wilde's tour of the States in 1881, a cameo that encapsultates what follows. "So beautiful is wrought from suffering," Wilde observes, before quipping about Cellini. And with a few aphorisims he winds over his roughhewn audience. This is the Wilde west.
It is a characteristic opening gambit of a movie that often manages to strike a new path through familiar territory. The gilded Wilde youth - Dublin, Oxford, the Aesthetic movement - is taken, quite literally, as read. We start with Wilde (Stephen Fry) on the point of greatness, but, more importantly, on the point of marriage - to Constance Lloyd (Jennifer Ehle). We see the loving family man, whose life was to be derailed by genius and temptation. Then the famous tragic trajectory unfolds: the love affair with Lord Alfred Douglas (Jude Law); the hounding by Douglas's father, the Marquess of Queensberry (Tom Wilkinson); the show trial, Reading Goal, Paris, penury and death.
In less skilled hands than writer Julian Mitchell's you could imagine this chronology reduced entirely to a succession of bright costumes and quips - a kind of "Illustrated Aphorisms of Oscar Wilde". But Mitchell casts the narrative in terms of Wilde's ideas. Wilde's mother, the poet Speranza (a gamely lilting Vanessa Redgrave), says of The Portrait of Dorian Gray: "It's about the masks we wear as faces and the faces we were as masks." This central Wildean paradox - the sham that is authentic, the reality that is a a fake - governs the film. Wilde's love of paradox grew out of an understanding of the slipperiness of language which was ahead of its time. People are good until they learn how to talk, he once observed. We see Algie, in the film deliver the famous line from The Importance of Being Earnest: "The truth is rarely pure and never simple."
It comes as a surprise, then, to see Fry play such a conventional Wilde. That is not to say he is in the least bit bad: he is touching, droll, clever, articulate, all the things you would expect of Oscar. But there is very little devilry in this Wilde: he's almost irksomely sincere. Nor is there much Irish. Wilde's Irishness was a key factor in his battles with the Establishment. He was the swift-witted outsider running rings round the flat-footed oppressor. Yet Fry is all poise and dandified elan. The witticisms trip off his tongue like a benediction from above, rather than as an attack on the high and mighty.
If Fry leaves a little to be desired as Wilde, Law as "Bosie" Douglas is perfect. I cannot imagine the pouting aristocratic beauty and arrogance that were Bosie - and Wilde's downfall - caught better. Vain, selfish and suavely good-looking, he has the bearing of an emperor and the attention span of a small child. You sense that where Wilde outraged out of a distrust of convention, Bosie outraged out of a contempt for humanity. You realise, ruefully, that Wilde's tragedy was not that he loved recklessly, but that he loved a man unworthy of him. Bosie turns out to be very much his father's son.
And that cruel, crude father is brought brilliantly to life by Wilkinson. His Marquess of Queensberry is no clown or fool: he's a brute with a brain, but one more interested in horses than humanity. The best scene in the film finds Wilde and Queensberry sparring over lunch. And as Wilde's anti-clerical aphorisms connect glancingly with Queensberry's own dogged agnosticism, you can see glints of admiration disturb the pall of disgust on the older man's face: wryness as well as wariness.
The whole film is, in fact, a showcase for British character acting. Ehle does wonderful work with Wilde's aptly named wife, Constance. Standing by her man, she shows shifting feelings of amusement, pain and fear. Zoe Wanamaker, as the other woman who stayed loyal, Ada Leverson, has an impish gaiety. And some superb cameos bring to life the twilight world of Piccadilly rent boys - chirpy, cockney lads with cropped hair and grinning, venal faces. Michael Sheen as Wilde's friend Robbie Ross gives a delicate portrait of a love that doesn't so much dare not speak its name as know that its time is up - eclipsed by the passion for Bosie.
"Every great man nowadays has his disciples, and it is always Judas who writers the biography." Well, if you can't start an essay on Oscar Wilde with a quote, when can you use one ? That's the trouble with Oscar. He was so damned clever and witty, people forgot about the man himself, until Richard Ellman did the Judas thing and gave away the secrets in his biography a few years ago. Ellman's brilliant study became the source for Brian Gilbert's bio-pic, which unfortunately doesn't match it for sparkle or detail.
Oscar himself glittered like a diamante brooch but any film study of him has to strike a balance between Wilde being witty at dinner parties and Wilde the real person, the homosexual lover with feelings and a family. You get jokes ("The young are the only critics with enough experience to judge my work") and you get Wilde at home with his two children and wife Constance coping in a difficult role (played by Jennifer Ehle, coping in a difficult role...).
Gilbert, perhaps wary of creating merely a string of filmic aphorisms, concentrates too heavily on the human side. As Lord Alfred Douglas (perfectly played by Jude Law) says to Oscar on their first meeting: "The more frivolous you seem, the more serious you are." When absolutely serious, Wilde the man would be uproariously light-hearted and there isn't enough of him doing it.
The last time Oscar Wilde flaunted himself on Britain's screens was in 1960. He came in two versions. The first Oscar looked like Robert Morley; the film, called simply Oscar Wilde, was ragged and dull. The rival venture, unveiled five days later, featured an affecting performance from Peter Finch and handsome colour photography. The Trials of Oscar Wilde was the title, and the film survives the years well.
Time has moved on. In terms of public acceptance of homosexuality, 1960 was still the Dark Ages. Now the drawn curtains have been pulled back. In Wilde, for a minute or two, we see Oscar, portrayed by Stephen Fry, enjoying a visit to a male brothel, and snuggling between the sheets with boys. We see him looking on as Lord Alfred Douglas (Jude Law), his beloved Bosie, engages in buggery. Among the glittering repartee, a four-letter word surfaces from time to time. And that is it, after 30 years of sexual liberation?
The film's timidity is not confined to sexual matters. Once the silly "shock" opening of Oscar mingling with Colorado miners in a Western township is tucked away, Brian Gilbert's film keeps to the look and format of many conventional screen biographies. The pressures of domesticity are pitted against the artist's muse and bohemian spirit. Once in a while a famous play opens, and famous names are dropped. In the period London streets a throng always bustles, clothed in mutton-chop whiskers and the best rented finery from Angels and Bermans. Horses clip-clop. Buildings look divine. We could be watching the BBC's latest classic serial, or unused footage from the Merchant Ivory vaults.
Given the credentials of Brian Gilbert and his scriptwriter Julian Mitchell, it may have been unwise to expect anything else. Gilbert's last film was Tom & Viv: feelingly done, but still within the orbit of polite, literary cinema. Mitchell is a master craftsman, expert at adaptation and chronicling past times.
With Fry in the lead, however, hope springs eternal. He is good, no doubt of it, particularly in the quieter moments, alive to the contradictions of Oscar the family man (there are touching scenes with Jennifer Ehle as his wife, Constance). Yet we expect more brilliance from Oscar the wit; more insight, too, into the urges that bind him to the destructive Bosie. Lacking substantial connecting tissue, the scenes of high drama - Bosie being cruel, Oscar suffering Victorian indignities at Reading Gaol - never seem as deeply felt as they should. Wilde is far from a bad film, but it is certainly a missed opportunity.
When Irish-born writer Oscar Wilde returned to London in 1883 after a year-long lecture tour of the United States and Canada, he looked around for a woman to marry and found the ever-loyal Constance Lloyd. She loved him and bore him two sons - but the trouble started when he was seduced by their young Canadian house guest, Robert Ross. The affair forced Wilde to confront his homosexuality and opened the floodgates to a a much more dangerous passion between the playwright and the handsome Lord Alfred Douglas, known as Bosie.
If Wilde had been a late 20th-century man, he could have settled down with his one true love without his homosexuality carrying a high price tag. As it was, Victorian society - personified by Bosie's father, the cantankerous Marquess of Queensbury - snapped its hypocritical fingers and the man whose genius produced works of the calibre of The Importance of Being Earnest was systematically destroyed.
The story has been filmed before, with both Peter Finch and Robert Morley taking the title role. The current tellers are the playwright Julian Mitchell and director Brian Gilbert, who brought us Tom and Viv and here confirms his credentials as a compelling chronicler of turn-of-the-century tragedy. Both do an excellent job, but the film's real coup is the casting of Stephen Fry as Wilde - splendidly debonair and vulnerable as the man who dared to love too much.
The rest of the cast provides fine back up, especially Jude Law as Bosie, the unworthy object of too good a love. Not that Wilde was a saint, but Bosie was never motivated by affection, only the need to avenge himself on his rigidly conventional father. Jennifer Ehle, who starred in Pride and Prejudice, advances her glittering career as Constance, and Vanessa Redgrave emotes diligently as the writer's over-protective mother, Lady Speranza Wilde. Nor should we forget Tom Wilkinson as Lord Queensbury , the ogre who enjoyed lunch with a man he didn't hesitate to destroy.
In the United States the expression "Will it play in Peoria?" means: Will it go down all right in the provinces, in the boonies where people of supposedly limited culture and taste form the audiences?
Oscar Wilde, according to Richard Ellmann's superb, and enduringly definitive biography, actually did play Peoria, Illinois, on 9 March 1882. Ellmann does not record whether or not he "played", but I think it fair to assume that he did. Elsewhere, in the massive treks Wilde took across the hinterland of the US, his lectures on "The House Beautiful" and "The English Renaissance" were rapturously received. My hunch is that Wilde, the film, will play in Peoria as well.
One of the best adventures Oscar had while on the road was a trip to the Matchless Mine, high up in the Rockies near the town of Leadville. H A W Tabor, known as the "Silver King", had invited Wilde after thrilling to the aesthete's vision during a lecture in Denver. Wilde was let down the mine shaft in a bucket. At the bottom two ceremonies were laid on. One was for him to open a new seam with a silver drill; a seam named "The Oscar" in his honour. He commented later - perhaps a case of esprit deseau - "I had hoped that in their grand, simple way they would have offered me shares in `The Oscar', but in their artless, untutored fashion they did not."
In an artful and highly studied fashion the makers of Wilde have used the Leadville incident as their starting point for this moving, and on the whole wellcrafted, biopic of the writer. The titles commence as one would expect: languid music and a series of Aubrey Beardsley drawings and motifs to accompany the fin de siecle typography. Then suddenly the screen opens out to show the wild west, and the majestic sweep of the mountains. The music goes big country, and the camera zooms in on a posse of galloping horsemen before cutting to one gap-toothed miner shouting to another across a gulch: "He's coming!" Then we get Oscar himself, borne up the mountain on a horse, his face between fur coat and slouch hat, languid and immobile.
The title sequence ends with Wilde dismounting in the miners' camp and addressing both audiences from a platform at the head of the shaft. It's a crucial moment for the film and Stephen Fry doesn't disappoint. His carriage is studied, his demeanour still. The voice when it arrives - complements this.
Fry has managed a convincing interpretation of Wilde's speaking style: curiously even and equally stressed, the Oxford tones employed to constrain any possible, wayward "Oirishery". His face, too, is a believable pastiche of Wilde's: the visage curiously concave, the features appearing as if they were a bas-relief, emerging from the bottom of a dish.
Of course the credibility of Fry-asWilde is crucial for this production. Would Fry be able to counter the slur against his acting - that he can only be himself - which propelled him off the London stage two years ago and straight into a mental breakdown?
It's a big problem; as big as Wilde/Fry himself. The congruencies between the two men's characters - both repressed homosexuals, both polymaths, both extro-inverts - only serve to point up the huge differences.
In truth Fry's performance manages to resolve these problems without suspending disbelief: throughout the film I was insistently aware that this was Fry-asWilde, but it didn't altogether matter. In part I suppose this is because if Wilde were alive today, he might well be rather like Fry: a large, erratic talent, strictured - and to some extent banalised - by the media he has chosen to work in. Thus, Fry's Wilde is a confabulation between what we know of both men, as well as an admixture of our own wishful projection.
It's also a moving and sensitive performance. If I didn't cry too much towards the end of the film - when Wilde is being broken both physically and mentally on the notorious treadmill of Reading Gaol - it's because I'd more or less blubbed continually through the first half.
Ellmann said of Wilde that he lived his life twice, at speed. The first time through as a scapegrace, the second as a scapegoat. This is the dictum the makers of Wilde have taken to heart; and tragedy always adumbrates the bright irradiation of Oscar Wilde's successes.
The film adopts a conventional enough time-line, taking us through Wilde's life in the 1880s and 1890s in a systematic way: return from America, marriage to Constance, publication of Dorian Gray, seduction by Robbie Ross, meeting with Bosie, theatrical triumph, rent boys, Queensberry, trials, prison, exile. The script rightly eschews walk-on parts for the obvious contemporaries - "Oh look, there goes that strange vegetarian Mr Shaw . . ." - in favour of creating a believable mise-en-scene around Wilde himself.
Wilde's milieu, right down to the decoration of the Tite Street house and his taste in cufflinks, is exquisitely rendered. Thus at Lady Wilde's famous "afternoons" the light is crepuscular, so as to hide the fact that "Speranza" - as she styled herself - was rapidly balding and reduced to sporting absurd hair pieces. This aspect of the film is somewhat cloying. Watching high-standard British costume drama I invariably think: the past may be another country, but isn't it amazing that you always find the same location crew there. This film is shot lovingly but without any particular dash. One is continually aware of the frame as proscenium arch, enclosing, defining, staging.
Within that arch Wilde has the opportunity to posture, preen and produce some of the most famous of epigrams and witticisms. Nonetheless the script never stoops to filleting the work for the life; throughout we have a sense of proper verisimilitude.
That pathetic, bathetic prolepsis which was Wilde's doom, is given high, sentimental definition by the use of a voiceover of him reading The Happy Prince to his two small sons, Vyvyan and Cyril. The startling parallel between the fairytale allegories and the tragic reality engenders maximum pathos; and correctly sites the tragedy of Wilde's life in the killing of those things that he loved.
The other tremendous force in this film is Jude Law's performance as Bosie. It's a difficult thing to make a vain, narcissistic, vicious, untalented, borderline personality a remotely sympathetic character, but somehow, by sheer force of emotion, Law does it. I predict great things for this ridiculously pretty young man. Reading Ellmann I always feel I would have liked to cull Bosie painlessly with a highcalibre rifle bullet, before he had a chance to drag Wilde down; but watching Wilde I came to realise that both of them would have had to be culled to prevent the inevitable doom.
And then there's the "fine cast of supporting British actors". Jennifer Ehle brings sweet resignation to Constance Wilde; and Vanessa Redgrave is almost typecast as the batty, Republican poetess Speranza. Zoe Wanamaker rises gamely to portraying Ada Leverson, the original "fag hag" and Tom Wilkinson's ridingcrop-equipped Lord Queensberry is beautifully choleric and edgy. But it's Michael Sheen's performance as Robbie Ross, Wilde's youthful seducer-turnedprotector, that shines the most.
In his depiction of Ross, Sheen manages to convey all the disinterested love and ardent respect that Wilde was able to arouse in others. There's that, and there's also the way he manages to deconstruct the obvious stereotype "gay man", at just the time that the Wilde case was crystalising such an image.
But in the end Wilde triumphs because it manages to do what Wilde himself achieved. In the famous plays he portrayed an English society dominated by the vice of hypocrisy. A hundred years later people are still being destroyed and pilloried in this country for publicly stating that the emperor is wearing a spandex jock strap. Wilde gives us a vivid take on this eternal and hateful row, on which the curtain never seems to fall.
In case anyone doesn't know about this column, it's basically a humorous column about Libby's life and the movies she goes to see. Anyway, in this installment, she's gone to watch various movies with her cousin Andrew, who's been depressed "because the downtown branch of Barneys had closed, he'd missed the VH1 Fashion Awards (which are the Kennedy Center Honors for models), and his apartment was rejected for New York magazine's fall design issue, despite the fact that he had completely eliminated color."
The excerpt about Wilde begins a little more than halfway through her column, after they've gone to see Devil's Advocate:
So we went to see a private screening of Wilde, which is this new English movie starring Stephen Fry as Oscar Wilde. Wilde features many yards of Merchant Ivory brocade and fringe, and works very hard to show that Oscar was a loving husband, a devoted dad, and a kind, generous, mild-mannered fellow persecuted by English homophobia - "Oh my Lord," Andrew said. "It's Dandhi." Stephen is great, but he mostly has to just smile graciously and not get too witty; he's like a warmhearted nanny, looking after those rascally rent boys of Picadilly and having carefully posed, dimly lit sex amid lots of deluxe linens and decadent throw pillows.
"Gay people are the hot new martyrs," Andrew explained. "Oscar Wilde is much easier to deal with if he's Mandela in a frock coat. He used to be brilliant and wicked, but now he's noble and tormented, and the audience gets to congratulate itself for being liberal - we can all say, 'We would never let that happen to Ellen.' I bet the real Oscar would've liked Devil's Advocate way more." In Wilde, Oscar's wife just sits around glowing and waiting for Oscar to come home, like Donna Reed in a corset. Jude Law is the best thing in the movie, because he's playing Bosie, Oscar's snitty, spoiled boyfriend - the only character who never has to behave. "Bosie was Oscar's Keanu," Andrew informed me.
Next to Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde remains one of the most performed and quoted of British writers, but his reputation has been largely overshadowed by the scandal that destroyed him. This earnest and detailed biopic from British director Brian Gilbert (Tom And Viv, etc) is a candid, warts and all exploration of Wilde's life. Based on the definitive biography written by Richard Ellmann, Wilde captures the essential dichotomy of the man as it explores the scandals and colourful lifestyle that eventually brought about his downfall. Beautifully adapted by playwright Julian Mitchell (Another Country, etc), the film is an astute mixture of wonderful ironic comedy and pathos. Not only does the film depict him as a happily married man and gentle, compassionate father who preferred to spend a lot of time with his two young sons fishing and writing bed time stories for them, but it also captures his darker side. The film explores the self destructive streak that drew him towards handsome young men for illicit sex, at a time when homosexuality ("the love that dared not speak its name") was illegal.
It was his intense and obsessive relationship with the handsome young Lord Alfred Douglas, aka Bosie, (Jude Law) that finally proved his undoing. Bosie was a selfish prat who manipulated Wilde, and through him sought vengeance on his tyrannical father, the Marquess of Queensberry (Tom Wilkinson), who despised his son's effeminate ways. Wilde unsuccessfully sued the Marquess for libel and was then in turn prosecuted for sodomy. He was imprisoned to two years of hard labour, a sentence that virtually broke his spirit and killed him. His writing lost that sly, sharply satirical comic edge, and Wilde virtually died a slow death in exile.
Free of the censorship constraints that shaped earlier film versions, Gilbert is able to explore the sordid sexual underworld of male brothels and rent boys, and the destructive, tempestuous nature of his relationship with Bosie. Gilbert also explodes the hypocrisy and sexual promiscuity of the Victorian era, and some of the sex scenes are rather explicit and may shock many within the audience. This is quite a deliberate artifice on Gilbert's part to dramatically illustrate just how shocking Wilde's behaviour was to Victorian society, which prided itself on propriety and decency.
Fuelled by a sense of injustice and outrage at the hypocrisy of his persecutors, Wilde is quite a moving and poignant treatment of the obvious moral double standards of Victorian society that brought about his downfall. Gilbert suggests that the flamboyant and controversial Wilde was made a scapegoat because his unconventional ideas threatened their way of life and challenged their own lifestyles. Wilde wasn't only challenging Victorian society through his words, he was challenging them through his deeds. Gilbert has a passion for the subject, and he captures the era beautifully through careful attention to period detail and historical authenticity.
Dominating the film though is the towering performance of comedian, author and actor Stephen Fry, who is perfectly cast as Wilde. Not only does he look the part, but he carries off the role with a certain flair and panache that captures his flamboyant wit and style. This is a dramatic challenge for Fry (whose previous roles have been in light comedy films such as Peter's Friends, etc), but his sensational performance is wonderfully convincing, and he gradually earns the audiences' sympathy. It is the perfect marriage between an actor and a role, and Fry deserves to be nominated for an Oscar.
Law's wonderfully complex and intense performance captures the essence of the handsome but decidedly selfish, shallow and ultimately unlikeable Bosie. Jennifer Ehle (recently seen in Paradise Road) brings a pained dignity to her role as Wilde's long suffering wife Constance, who eventually succumbed to the pressure of the disgrace and changed her name. Vanessa Redgrave makes the most of her few scenes as Wilde's mother, while Wilkinson plays Bosie's domineering father with a brutish authority. Wilde is fascinating stuff, full of insights into both the man and the era.
©Greg King January 1998 Melbourne Australia
"This world contains but two tragedies. The first is not getting what you want, the other is getting it!" This is what the in Dublin born Oscar Wilde claimed. His words are being used in Brian Gilbert's film Wilde. This director made his debut with Not Without my Daughter and already brought the life of the poet T.S. Eliot to the screen in Tom and Viv.
Strangely enough he starts his film in the American state Colorado. For one split second you think you're watching the wrong movie. Who would think that a film-biography of a writer would start in western style?
Apparently Oscar Wilde in 1882 isn't a stranger to the miners of the village Leadville. They even name a newly discovered silver-vein after him. After Wilde's witty speech, we end up in Wilde's family circle in England. They dig up anecdotes about the lectures in America and especially about the difference in language between the US and England. The language excepted, both countries have everything in common, according to Oscar Wilde.
He marries Constance, who bares him two sons. In the meantime, he lets himself being seducted by Ross, a good family friend. He becomes famous as a writer and when he meets Bosie, alias lord Alfred Douglas, he passionately falls in love. Their relationship doesn't remain a secret and Alfred's father sues Wilde for sodomy. In spite of a speech for a love "who dares not speak its name" Wilde is sentenced to two years in prison. He's imprisoned in Reading. Constance hopes that her husband will finally give up Bosie, to whom he writes his famous letter "The Profundis". But even that did not mean the end of the relationship between Wilde and Bosie.
The screenplay, written by Julian Mitchell, is based on Richard Ellman's Wilde biography. Wilde's life has been filmed before with Robert Morley and Peter Finch in the title role. Brian Gilbert pays more attention to Wilde as a husband and father. According to him Wilde isn't just a person who could captivate hundreds of spectators in theatres, but also a person who found great enjoyment in coming up with stories for his children.
On the other side stands Wilde's homosexuality. Director Brian Gilbert has no qualms about this and boldly shows how Wilde watches his Bosie's romping. This along with a few other things didn't please Merlin Holland, Wilde's grandson. He refused to be a technical advisor during the filming. A couple of times, the film isn't historically correct, for example the time of Constance's death. Some critics say the film lacks to show Wilde's Irish temperament, they say he's portrayed too tame. They also wished to have seen more of his literal career.
Whatever specialists may say, "Wilde" is truly captivating! The film makes one wish to start reading Wilde's books. This because Brain Gilbert uses fragments of books, letters that show how good Wilde was with words.
For example Wilde claimed that "people are good until they learn to speak". Wilde proved his eloquence more than once in court. And who could ever forget "every man kills what he loves, the coward with a kiss, the brave with a sword." Those quotes and fragments give the film a nice allure.
Oscar Wilde is played by Stephen Fry, who is made for the part. Fry physically looks like Wilde and calmly portrays a fascinating character. Brian Gilbert also offers space for Fry's colleagues. Jennifer Ehle gratefully accepts this to portray Constance. Vanessa Redgrave (Oscar's mother) and Jude Law (Bosie) also invest their talents. All this has a very nice result!
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