There's a certain disarming sweetness to the film. The scenes are lit in amber warmth and Joyce's Dublin fable of lost hopes and living memories is treated with respect. But the acting pool is only adequate.
Amost alone in it's inability to get the movie, this review is a little pathetic; the acting ensemble, far from just adequate, is one of the greatest in recent film history, and the character's very ordinariness is what makes it work so well. The ending is profound moving and almost unbearably full of feeling; the review doesn't even seem to notice it. Shame.
May 25 - 01:32 PM
Desson Howe (not Thomson) may have written the least informed movie review in the history of %u201Ccinema criticism%u201D. Describing Gabriel%u2019s epiphany, one of the foundational examples of the device that Joyce perfected, as a %u201Cmemorable finale, a pleasant sequence of snow flakes falling over Irish countryside%u201D boarders on the illiterate. The soliloquy is neither %u201Cpleasant%u201D nor a %u201Cwarm flourish%u201D, as Howe describes it, but one of the most profound pieces of prose poetry in the language that is stunningly adapted and performed in %u201CThe Dead%u201D. His concluding assessment of the film: %u201CThis was the kind of party that, unless you knew the people very well, you wouldn't go out of your way to attend%u201D is inexplicable.
Jun 3 - 07:33 AM