THE HOURS II – Meryl Streep, Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore
As a plus, instead of the plasticky makeup Kidman has used in her other roles (including her destitute heroine in the purportedly gritty Cold Mountain), she has an ugly fake nose plastered on her face for this one. Whether the fake nose possessed magical properties, I don’t know, but Kidman — though no Virginia Woolf replica — has never looked as interesting or acted as movingly. With a glance, she is able to convey in heartbreaking fashion Woolf’s yearnings for freedom from her constraining life, while her lowered tones add the appropriate somberness to the precarious psychological state of her character.
Finally, to her belong the two emotional highlights of the film: the first, when Woolf and her niece, while in the midst of a lush forest, focus on the the body of a dead bird, a symbol of the ever-present reality of death; and the second, at the film’s end, when death itself engulfs her in the waters of the River Ouse. (Woolf actually killed herself in 1941, sixteen years after the publication of Mrs. Dalloway. She was 59 years old.)
While those and other scenes in The Hours overflow with beauty and poetry (with the assistance of both Philip Glass’ music and cinematographer Seamus McGarvey’s soft, melancholy hues), neither adapter David Hare nor director Stephen Daldry fully succeeds in patching up several puzzling holes in the narrative. (I haven’t read Michael Cunningham’s book, so I don’t know how many — if any — of those plot holes are found in the novel.)
When Richard kills himself, for instance, I felt no sympathy for him. That was partly because I saw him only as a bitter, sour man, but it was mostly because Richard decides, with what seems like a totally clear head, to jump out the window right in front of Clarissa — and for no apparent reason. (Except that a shell-shocked poet in Mrs. Dalloway also jumps out a window to his death.)
Clarissa’s relationship with her female lover is another major narrative gap. We are never told what made Clarissa search for the companionship of women, considering that her greatest love had been Richard, and that she had been married to another man and had raised a daughter (a poorly cast Claire Danes). True, Mrs. Dalloway was quite probably a lesbian, but this particular connection to the 21st century Clarissa is too tenuous to be convincing.
And I hope that the story does not imply that Richard "became" a gay man because of his mother’s negligence — or worse, because he witnessed her kissing the mouth of her beloved neighbor, Kitty (Toni Collette). The insinuations are there, though, thankfully, no overt rationalizations are forthcoming.
Although sections of The Hours are unsatisfying, the whole packs a major emotional wallop. Life, The Hours implies, may not be ours to live. Our fate has been sealed long before we were born. Perhaps Virginia Woolf’s own tragic fate had already been written by another author, in some past century, in some far away place. A disturbing — and perhaps silly — notion that in no way detracts from the real drama, the magnificent score, or the two first-rate performances The Hours has to offer.
Academy Award Win
Best Actress: Nicole Kidman
8 Academy Award Nominations
Best Picture: Scott Rudin, Robert Fox
Best Direction: Stephen Daldry
Best Supporting Actor: Ed Harris
Best Supporting Actress: Julianne Moore
Best Adapted Screenplay: David Hare
Best Original Score: Philip Glass
Best Editing: Peter Boyle
Best Costume Design: Ann Roth
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Tags: David Hare, Film Reviews, Gay Interest, Lesbian Interest, Meryl Streep, Nicole Kidman, Philip Glass, Seamus McGarvey, Stephen Daldry, The Hours
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