Flak Magazine: Review of The House of Mirth, 03-03-01

An excellent tragedy from start to finish, writer-director Terence Davies' gripping adaptation of Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth" vividly re-creates the stultifying yet beautiful world that was New York high society at the turn of the century. Davies deftly transforms Scotland, where the film was shot, into Manhattan, aided in no small part by lush photography from cinematographer Remi Adefarasin (Elizabeth).

For its rich, sumptuous look alone, House of Mirth is a worthwhile cinematic experience. But even more compelling than that is "X-Files" star Gillian Anderson's portrayal of Lily Bart, the film's doomed protagonist. Anderson embodies Lily's precarious place in society, effortlessly showing how the character's integrity and independence — the very things her peers admire about her — prove her ultimate downfall.

Lily depends upon her wealthy, aged aunt for financial support and, being a young woman of marrying age, is expected to leave her aunt's side for a very wealthy husband as soon as one finds her agreeable. While many men do find her more than agreeable, she shies away from them because her heart belongs to Lawrence Seldon (Eric Stoltz), a lawyer who does fine for himself but doesn't fit the rich-husband mold.

Stoltz and Anderson have great chemistry as lovers who know they can never be together, filling their scenes with sweet melancholy. When Lawrence tells Lily he can only help her by loving her, her desperation is absolutely palpable as she realizes their future can never be anything more than wishful thinking.

Lawrence lives the life Lily wishes she could, something that must also fill her with longing and pain. In essence, they are the same person — both are rather well-off and can enjoy the finer things in life. But because Lawrence is a man, he is not expected to marry and, thus, can have the luxury of loving Lily. Lily, on the other hand, must marry because she's a woman and she cannot marry Lawrence because he is not so rich that he doesn't have to work.

In addition to, or possibly because of, this romantic problem, Lily behaves, as she puts it, "quite stupidly" with what money she has, with a significant gambling debt in addition to a large sum owed to an untrustworthy friend, Gus Trenor (Dan Aykroyd). These two factors begin her social downfall, and are magnified, to say the least, when Lily finds herself at cross-purposes with the powerful and unfaithful Bertha Dorset (Laura Linney).

Linney and Aykroyd serve as the film's villains and do quite a lot with small roles. Aykroyd personifies a milquetoast evil that is almost creepier and more sinister than Linney's calculating, jealous approach to hurting those that prevent her from getting her way.

The film's only real weak spot comes from something that must have been lost translating the book to the screen. Lily's cousin Grace (Jodhi May) plays a somewhat important role in her financial troubles and social downfall and appears to feel bad about the situation, but it's never clear how she feels about Lily or why she behaves the way she does. In a film that does such a good job at character development, bringing out depth in roles that take up eight minutes, tops, it's a shame that a significant character's motivations go unexplained.

But what's even more of a shame is that the entire film was overlooked in the 2000 Oscar nominations, particularly Anderson. It's her film, to its core, and she embodies its message as fully as she does her character. Her Lily is an indictment of turn-of-the-century class and gender expectations, an example of how possessing peerless integrity, beauty, intelligence and independence could be nothing short of tragic for a woman of that time.

— Stephanie Kuenn (smkuenn at gmail dot com)