Colette (2018)
Directed by Wash
Westmoreland
Bleecker Street, 111
minutes, R (nudity, sexuality)
★★
Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette (1873-1954) was a fascinating
individual who pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable. Although she often
scandalized polite society, she became an important force in both French
literature and cultural change. Four books on the adventures, loves, and life
of her alter ego "Claudine" appeared between 1900-03 under her
husband's name, Henry
("Willy) Gauthier-Villars' name before their volcanic marriage
erupted irreparably. Colette—she tended to use just her last name in
public—went on to pen over 30 books under her own byname, the most famous of
which is Gigi (1944), which received
several film treatments. Colette was also a bisexual adventurer who married and
divorced three times, and took numerous lovers, including another fascinating
individual, Mathilde de Morny, known as "Missy," who dressed and
presented as male. How did get away with that? She was also the Marquise de
Balbeuf and Napoleon III's niece.
There's so much material with which to work that Colette has its moments, but for the
most part it is a mediocre treatment of fascinating individuals. The best
performance by far comes from Dominic West as Willy. We meet him as he sweeps
country girl Gabrielle/Colette off her feet and brings her to Paris as his new
wife. We see from the beginning that he is a cad, a bully, an egoist, a sexual
libertine, and a fraud masquerading as an intellectual. He described himself as
a "literary entrepreneur," a nice way of saying that reviews,
commentary, articles, and books largely or entirely written by others appeared
with his name on them. This included Claudine
at School, which was a literary blockbuster, which Colette wrote. West plays
Willy with outsized bombast that befits his character. We understand why women
are attracted to him, as well as why they weary of him. His male friends see
through him, but they tolerate him longer because he is like Ernest Hemingway:
a man's man.
Also fine was Eleanor Tomlinson as Georgie Raoul-Duval, an
American-born socialite married to a French mine owner. She will become the
lover of both Colette and Willy, to the chagrin of each. Tomlinson plays Georgie
as outwardly demure, but inwardly ruthless. Timlinson wears her pale beauty like a thinly dusted mask
that falls by the wayside when she bears her fangs. Fiona Shaw is also fine in
an extended cameo as Sido, Colette's mother.
Denise Gough isn't quite convincing as "Missy."
She's done up to look a bit like a younger Ellen DeGeneres, which isn't quite
the right body type. De Morny was far more manly in presentation and was seldom
as forthcoming with the "girl talk" in which she engages in the film.
The film does get it right in one important sense; she and Colette lived
together after Colette left Willy in 1905, and the two shared a lesbian kiss on
at the Moulin Rouge stage in 1907 that led to rioting in the theatre and put
the kibosh to their ability to share a domicile.
Aiysha Hart plays Polaire, the actress that assumed the
persona of Colette on the French stage. She is fierce, assertive, and
commanding. Would that Keira Knightley had half of her presence in her role as
the actual Colette. I am increasingly of the opinion that Knightley is a poor man's
Natalie Portman. Unlike Portman, Knightley merely looks like she fits into roles that ought to go to actresses with
more gravitas and skill. This to say that Portman would have devoured a role at
which Knightley merely nibbles. Her mannerisms are too modern, as is the
attitude-laden smirk upon her face when she tries to display sarcasm or
contempt. Like this movie, Knightley isn't terrible, just so blandly middle of
the road that she's the thing we remember least from the film.
Let's also give a boo hiss to director Westmoreland for his
suggestion that post-Willy Colette won the renown and acclaim she deserved. She
was indeed a skilled writer, though much of her work would today be classified
as soft porn romance literature. It should have at least warranted mention that
her third marriage was to a Jewish man sixteen years her junior who fled Paris
when it fell to the Nazis in 1940. Colette stayed behind and wrote anti-Semitic
articles. No easy heroine she.
Let's also call out Westmoreland for making a film about a
complex and controversial figure that is limp and lifeless. It is a film of
surfaces without depth, the sort that makes one merely shrug when it's over. A
character such as Colette should make you roar.
Rob Weir
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