The script by director Tom Ford, from a novel by Christopher Isherwood, is autobiography squared. It is a slice of Tom Ford's life. It is also a slice of Christopher Isherwood's life. The life depicted -- that of an artsy homosexual intellectual in mid-century Los Angeles -- is interesting enough. What's really good about the film, however, is how skillfully the actors underplay the subtleties of homoerotic desire, love, and loss. Viewers who aren't gay will appreciate the gay experience without feeling put upon. Colin Firth in the lead is really quite good. Julianne Moore, as his straight British friend, is a bit manic, but that seems to be the role that was written for her. The two homosexual relationships depicted are positively glowy by comparison. The sets and costumes, like the music and hairdos, are all period pieces and to die for.
What doesn't work is the story. It is a self-indulgent tear-jerker that goes nowhere good. The moral of the story seems to be, Life's a bitch, and then you die, so -- especially if you are gay -- enjoy it while you can. Deaths occur from time to time to illustrate this not terribly profound point. The result is a movie that is more style than substance.
What doesn't work is the story. It is a self-indulgent tear-jerker that goes nowhere good. The moral of the story seems to be, Life's a bitch, and then you die, so -- especially if you are gay -- enjoy it while you can. Deaths occur from time to time to illustrate this not terribly profound point. The result is a movie that is more style than substance.