House Of Mirth, The
Edith Wharton's Victorian classic follows our heroine from riches to rags, from mirthful to miserable as she fails to nab a moneyed man.
Gillian Anderson is Lily Bart, a woman of shaky means for who parties are business and the pursuit of marriage has become a constant vocation. She falls in love with Lawrence Seldon (Eric Stoltz), but quickly realizes she can't seriously consider him since he actually works for a living. Still, her efforts to marry for money instead of love are so half-hearted that she sabotages her chances with a wealthy prig and continues her flirting, gambling, cigarette-smoking ways. This in turn, puts her out of favor with her rich aunt and a tragic demise waits in the wings. Bribery, extortion and character assassination rear their scandalous heads as the wrong men make improper plays for the desirable Lily. Intriguing as it may sound, revealing letters that have been tossed into a fire are all that smolders in this film.
Leaving the realm of supernatural phenomenon ("X-Files") for the spookier world of Victorian society, Gillian Anderson plays the ever so wronged, but resolutely brave, Lily. Anderson's self-righteousness and wretched desperation fail to endear her, leaving her tragic, long-suffering Lily somewhat remote. But it's Stoltz's opaque, inert Lawrence who truly irritates. A once-likeable actor, he has begun to play all his roles with a tad too much smugness. Sincere but utterly passive, the character is annoyingly subdued. Laura Linney is refreshingly vital as the dangerous Bertha. Dan Aykroyd fails to impress as a villain in sheep's clothes and Eleanor Bron is a caricature of a stern, sour aunt.
After seeing one too many Merchant Ivory films, one might tire of the convention in which a woman of meager means falls for a poor working man while searching for a rich husband. And for those who haven't seen any, you just might tire of it midway through Terence Davies' languid, dour drama. Davies, ("The Neon Bible," "Distant Voices, Still Lives") doesn't do for Wharton what Martin Scorsese did in "Age of Innocence," namely bring her words to lively, engaging life.
"The House of Mirth" is protracted dreariness in lovely costumes.