Dangerous Liaisons, based on an oft-adapted epistolary novel from the waning days of the French ancien regime, is given as straightforward a treatment by director Stephen Frears as one could give a story with so many twists and turns that it taxes the brain after a while.
Like many other European works, this one is about well-to-do schemers (The Marquise de Merteuil, played by Glenn Close and the Vicomte de Valmont, played by John Malkovich) who have learned from years of social interaction how to micro-manipulate people – whether to protect themselves or to get what they want - with the skill of world-class chess players or scientists with lab rats. After about an hour of these intricate moves it gets a bit difficult to tell who is doing what to whom and why, and since all of the plot developments hinge on the outcome of various seamlessly clever deceptions, the overall effect is somewhat tedious. This sense is reinforced by the style of the film: extreme close-ups for the mostly conversational interactions, alternating with long-shots to establish the grandiose backdrops against which these interactions are occurring, and then back to extreme close-ups. I eventually stopped trying to figure out exactly where each sequence fit into the whole and concentrated on the nuanced performances, splendid period costumes and décor, assuming that all of the details would work themselves out clearly by the end; fortunately, they do – not convincingly, but at least satisfactorily as a kind of psychological fantasy.
The relationship between Valmont and Mme. Tourvel (Michelle Pfeiffer) is problematic. We know that Valmont wants to maneuver the devout Mme. Tourvel into seduction with her complete cooperation, all the better to humiliate her to the core, but I never believed that she could fall in love with – and even be driven to near madness by - Valmont as incarnated by Malkovich. He has a sinister magnetism, largely due to the catlike curl of his lips, but he is also more in the mold of Bela Lugosi-as-Dracula, rather than a virile rake with a well-known string of conquests to his name, and not the type of guy who would attract the likes of Pfeiffer. He projects eroticism from his face and through his voice, which is the result of his actorly skill and also fortunate for this film because his body is unsexy, and wisely camouflaged by long jackets. But back to his character, it is not only hard to believe that Pfeiffer has fallen in love with him, but also that he has fallen in love with her, as he claims. Nothing in his treatment of her suggests anything other than psychological brutality. His performance is characterized by deliberately wooden line readings so strange that it's like Al Franken doing a Saturday Night Live spoof of the film. Uma Thurman, as Malkovich's secondary victim, is perfect as the naïve teenager ripe for the taking. But the real glory is Glenn Close, a fascinating actress who has the Streep-like ability to fully inhabit any character she plays. With her hawklike features, beady eyes and pale skin, she is particularly good at projecting highly intelligent, cold cruelty.
Christopher Hampton's script is dappled with dry, literate wit and cynical wisdom reminiscent of Oscar Wilde. A sword fight (the context of which I will not reveal) is particularly well staged and realistically acted.
The tragedy of Valmont and Merteuil, hinted at in one of Merteuil's own monologues about how she learned to survive in a cutthroat social environment, is perhaps that they have built up such powerful defenses against hurt and humiliation that they have suffocated their ability to love and be loved. And in the end, as a result, all that remains is pain.
Like many other European works, this one is about well-to-do schemers (The Marquise de Merteuil, played by Glenn Close and the Vicomte de Valmont, played by John Malkovich) who have learned from years of social interaction how to micro-manipulate people – whether to protect themselves or to get what they want - with the skill of world-class chess players or scientists with lab rats. After about an hour of these intricate moves it gets a bit difficult to tell who is doing what to whom and why, and since all of the plot developments hinge on the outcome of various seamlessly clever deceptions, the overall effect is somewhat tedious. This sense is reinforced by the style of the film: extreme close-ups for the mostly conversational interactions, alternating with long-shots to establish the grandiose backdrops against which these interactions are occurring, and then back to extreme close-ups. I eventually stopped trying to figure out exactly where each sequence fit into the whole and concentrated on the nuanced performances, splendid period costumes and décor, assuming that all of the details would work themselves out clearly by the end; fortunately, they do – not convincingly, but at least satisfactorily as a kind of psychological fantasy.
The relationship between Valmont and Mme. Tourvel (Michelle Pfeiffer) is problematic. We know that Valmont wants to maneuver the devout Mme. Tourvel into seduction with her complete cooperation, all the better to humiliate her to the core, but I never believed that she could fall in love with – and even be driven to near madness by - Valmont as incarnated by Malkovich. He has a sinister magnetism, largely due to the catlike curl of his lips, but he is also more in the mold of Bela Lugosi-as-Dracula, rather than a virile rake with a well-known string of conquests to his name, and not the type of guy who would attract the likes of Pfeiffer. He projects eroticism from his face and through his voice, which is the result of his actorly skill and also fortunate for this film because his body is unsexy, and wisely camouflaged by long jackets. But back to his character, it is not only hard to believe that Pfeiffer has fallen in love with him, but also that he has fallen in love with her, as he claims. Nothing in his treatment of her suggests anything other than psychological brutality. His performance is characterized by deliberately wooden line readings so strange that it's like Al Franken doing a Saturday Night Live spoof of the film. Uma Thurman, as Malkovich's secondary victim, is perfect as the naïve teenager ripe for the taking. But the real glory is Glenn Close, a fascinating actress who has the Streep-like ability to fully inhabit any character she plays. With her hawklike features, beady eyes and pale skin, she is particularly good at projecting highly intelligent, cold cruelty.
Christopher Hampton's script is dappled with dry, literate wit and cynical wisdom reminiscent of Oscar Wilde. A sword fight (the context of which I will not reveal) is particularly well staged and realistically acted.
The tragedy of Valmont and Merteuil, hinted at in one of Merteuil's own monologues about how she learned to survive in a cutthroat social environment, is perhaps that they have built up such powerful defenses against hurt and humiliation that they have suffocated their ability to love and be loved. And in the end, as a result, all that remains is pain.