2 years ago

Jane Campion’s Bright Star is a biographical film of the all-too-brief relationship between Romantic poet John Keats and Fanny Brawne. It was, for the most part, downright wonderful.  Some hasty impressions: As John Brown, Keats’ writer friend, patron and mentor, Paul Schneider plays a robust, caddish Scot none to eager to have a woman invade his little frat house of verse. He does his version of a period piece bromance for a large portion of the film, disdaining of the intrusion on their serious work, which consists of sitting idly, mostly, waiting for a visit from the muse. Keats himself, played by Ben Whishaw, is a bit of a cipher.  If not for the power of his words one might be hard pressed to see the attraction, looking and behaving as this flitting, sparrow-like proto-Emo boy, all shaggy hair and stubble.  But Keats isn’t the entire focus, thankfully.  It is Brawne and Brown, and the distinct ways they each love and covet the attention of Keats, which makes a satisfying and complex triangle.  When Brown admits to failing his friend, after Keats is shipped off to Italy for the sake of his health, Schneider shows the depths of the bond of male friendship that were played only superficially before. Abbie Cornish’s Fanny Brawne is exquisitely rendered, her emotional arc so crystal clear that when she does have big explosions of emotion, they feel earned, and not merely just histrionic weeping into a hankie. (The Times likens her skill as an actress to that of Kate Winslet, high praise indeed.) To balance out the words, Campion brings to bear her own striking visual poetry, exhibited in the hues of the costumes and the scrumptious, delicate images of nature.  Some shots were so lush as to seem like skillfully art-directed fashion layouts. The film’s pacing lags at times, leading one to reflect, since the outcome is known, on the cinematic sadism inherent — as in so many of these types of films — in rooting for our lovestruck heroes, doomed as they are. It is the filmmaker’s restraint and maturity that makes the passion of Bright Star burn hot: In the recitations of verse, with Keats and Brawne gazing at each other, or simply the touching one another’s hands, these acts feel almost carnal. And despite the perceived constraints of the period, there is something primal, elemental, about the (mostly chaste) affair between the lovers. Campion has an affinity for the words of Keats, and is not afraid to lend screen time the hearing of those words, though thankfully it never dips into something like a dry lecture on Romantic poetry. Over the closing credits, Whishaw recites “Ode to a Nightingale.”  In the theater where I saw the film, no one stirred from their seats until the poem concluded.

Jane Campion’s Bright Star is a biographical film of the all-too-brief relationship between Romantic poet John Keats and Fanny Brawne. It was, for the most part, downright wonderful.  Some hasty impressions:

  • As John Brown, Keats’ writer friend, patron and mentor, Paul Schneider plays a robust, caddish Scot none to eager to have a woman invade his little frat house of verse. He does his version of a period piece bromance for a large portion of the film, disdaining of the intrusion on their serious work, which consists of sitting idly, mostly, waiting for a visit from the muse.
  • Keats himself, played by Ben Whishaw, is a bit of a cipher.  If not for the power of his words one might be hard pressed to see the attraction, looking and behaving as this flitting, sparrow-like proto-Emo boy, all shaggy hair and stubble.  But Keats isn’t the entire focus, thankfully.  It is Brawne and Brown, and the distinct ways they each love and covet the attention of Keats, which makes a satisfying and complex triangle.  When Brown admits to failing his friend, after Keats is shipped off to Italy for the sake of his health, Schneider shows the depths of the bond of male friendship that were played only superficially before.
  • Abbie Cornish’s Fanny Brawne is exquisitely rendered, her emotional arc so crystal clear that when she does have big explosions of emotion, they feel earned, and not merely just histrionic weeping into a hankie. (The Times likens her skill as an actress to that of Kate Winslet, high praise indeed.)
  • To balance out the words, Campion brings to bear her own striking visual poetry, exhibited in the hues of the costumes and the scrumptious, delicate images of nature.  Some shots were so lush as to seem like skillfully art-directed fashion layouts.
  • The film’s pacing lags at times, leading one to reflect, since the outcome is known, on the cinematic sadism inherent — as in so many of these types of films — in rooting for our lovestruck heroes, doomed as they are.
  • It is the filmmaker’s restraint and maturity that makes the passion of Bright Star burn hot: In the recitations of verse, with Keats and Brawne gazing at each other, or simply the touching one another’s hands, these acts feel almost carnal. And despite the perceived constraints of the period, there is something primal, elemental, about the (mostly chaste) affair between the lovers.
  • Campion has an affinity for the words of Keats, and is not afraid to lend screen time the hearing of those words, though thankfully it never dips into something like a dry lecture on Romantic poetry. Over the closing credits, Whishaw recites “Ode to a Nightingale.”  In the theater where I saw the film, no one stirred from their seats until the poem concluded.