Women In Love is one of the strangest movies I've seen in a while, and I've been watching lots of surrealist masterpieces lately. I guess in these movies the strangeness ends up making sense. Whereas in Ken Russell's movie we have stark realism constantly marred by misplaced corny scenes.
For instance, and no doubt owing to the influence of the free love period this movie was made in, we have many scenes of outdoor nakedness, with people rolling around in the grass and making love. It seems Larry Kramer read the novel and only registered the dirty bits (of which there aren't many really). But this is based on a D. H. Lawrence novel, even if it's not the most explicit one; but it doesn't matter: people expect lots of sex from Lawrence and Russell and Kramer were only too happy to oblige.
Left out were most of the philosophical aspects of the novel, but fortunately not its homosexual subtext, one of the most interesting things about the novel. Left are the bohemian aspects of the novel, left are the tense relationships between the Brangwen sister and father; left is the relationship between Gerald Crich and his dying father. The movie is a streamlined adaptation of a five-hundred-page, hardly-visual novel.
No doubt the story sidetracked in favor of pretty pictures. At times one feels Russell is more interested in this as a period piece than as a narrative. With the help of Billy Williams, he shoots coal mines and streets in all their squalor, and nature and bodies in all their beauty. It's great to look at, not necessarily good to watch.
The acting is top notch, and I'm shocked only Glenda Jackson got an Oscar for it. Alan Bates, Oliver Reed (his greatest performance ever?) and Jennie Linden are all amazing in their incoherent but heartfelt roles.
All in all it's a movie worth watching.
For instance, and no doubt owing to the influence of the free love period this movie was made in, we have many scenes of outdoor nakedness, with people rolling around in the grass and making love. It seems Larry Kramer read the novel and only registered the dirty bits (of which there aren't many really). But this is based on a D. H. Lawrence novel, even if it's not the most explicit one; but it doesn't matter: people expect lots of sex from Lawrence and Russell and Kramer were only too happy to oblige.
Left out were most of the philosophical aspects of the novel, but fortunately not its homosexual subtext, one of the most interesting things about the novel. Left are the bohemian aspects of the novel, left are the tense relationships between the Brangwen sister and father; left is the relationship between Gerald Crich and his dying father. The movie is a streamlined adaptation of a five-hundred-page, hardly-visual novel.
No doubt the story sidetracked in favor of pretty pictures. At times one feels Russell is more interested in this as a period piece than as a narrative. With the help of Billy Williams, he shoots coal mines and streets in all their squalor, and nature and bodies in all their beauty. It's great to look at, not necessarily good to watch.
The acting is top notch, and I'm shocked only Glenda Jackson got an Oscar for it. Alan Bates, Oliver Reed (his greatest performance ever?) and Jennie Linden are all amazing in their incoherent but heartfelt roles.
All in all it's a movie worth watching.