The Portrait Of A Lady

Add the astounding Sweetie to the list, as well as the fascinating An Angel at My Table, and we have a director to watch and follow.

One vital difference sets The Portrait Of a Lady well apart from usual mainstream film fare, but less important differences abound between these two very different films.

Firstly The Piano was set in austere, primitive, mud splattered, pioneering New Zealand, in a world where even the presence of a piano was remarkable, whereas you could easily lose a piano amongst the lavish furnishings, knick knacks and buildings in The Portrait Of A Lady.

The Piano was set among the poor whereas The Portrait Of A Lady is played amongst the fabulously idle rich.

It's also an understatement to say that The Piano wasn't particularly strong on dialogue (as well as pianos!) seeing as the main character was mute, whereas The Portrait Of A Lady sports some exquisite verbal jousting indeed.

In addition The Piano just about ignored its male characters, treating them as being not much more than sexual, axe wielding brutes. The Piano wasn't very interested in men at all. But The Portrait Of A Lady, instead of ignoring its male cast members, lavishes upon them all attributes ranging from awful psychological brutality to utter, selfless love.

However most importantly, Jane Campion would appear to have not sacrificed her artistic integrity for commercial reasons as she did in The Piano, and hence this discussion. The Piano was a terrific film but was marred by a wimp ending.

Now I'd bet that in the original script of The Piano poor Holly Hunter was meant to drown with her piano when they fell together off that boat, allowing Campion's hero to indulge in a watery, extravagant death.

Such a conclusion to the tale in The Piano certainly wouldn't have been out of character for Campion, given that Sweetie was hardly bursting forth with light and happiness, - and given the intelligence of Jane Campion.

And now the enigmatic last scene in The Portrait Of A Lady supports Campion's predilection for challenging, thought provoking, non-Hollywood endings for her films. A Piano like, lame duck coda, tacked on to justify a miraculous swim up and away from a tragic death just isn't Jane Campion's preferred style!

But it's also arguable that Holly's death in The Piano would have kept the crowds away to such an extent that the film would have been consigned to its own sort of grave; the nether world of an audience devoid of the masses who like neat up endings; and it wouldn't have garnered over thirty international awards including the Palme d'Or at Cannes and three Academy Awards.

And you could bet that Jane Campion's producers would then have found it very difficult to get the money together to make a sumptuous movie like The Portrait Of A Lady.

So pragmatism, in the form of happy endings, has its uses in the film industry. Innovative filmmakers have to play the game to a certain extent so that they can later make the films they desire to make.

It's patently obvious that Jane Campion truly desired to make The Portrait Of A Lady. Starring Nicole Kidman, John Malkovich, Barbara Hershey, Mary-Louise Parker and Martin Donovan, The Portrait Of A Lady has the stamp of a sure and careful director and has presented consequent superb performances all round.

Mary-Lousie Parker is fascinating as the American friend Henrietta, Barbara Hershey excels as the puzzling Madame Merle and Shelly Duvall is memorable as the eccentric countess Gemini.

John Malkovich reprises the character he played so devastatingly in Dangerous Liaisons, this time seducing Nicole Kidman with the aid of Barbara Hershey, instead of Una Thurman with Glenn Close adding advice.

Malkovich has the nack of being at the same time passionate and dangerous on screen. Sucking on the end of Clint Eastwood's handgun in In The Line Of Fire for example, an unscripted, surprising suck, was really no surprise from John Malkovich.

Lovers of fine furniture, magnificent very old Italian buildings and gardens, supremely effective classical music and gorgeous women's clothing really should make a point of seeing The Portrait Of A Lady. It's no wonder that the film took three years to make, given the detail of sets and framing that each scene received.

In the tradition of other costumed dramas set in that period, most notably the Merchant Ivory films like Howard's end, the grandeur of old European Architecture is highlighted. Campion must have panned down from a magnificent building to her actors at least fifty times in the film, a ploy that became a little predictable, but still who could complain given the beauty of the architecture.

A director of less stature than Jane Campion could be accused of throwing in these magnificent sets gratuitously; and deflecting from the intention of the film, but it must be argued that Henry James's novel of the same name, upon which the film was based, contrast the innocent American abroad against old world European culture. Campion's concentration on architecture therefore mirrored James's intentions.

Still, many will leave The Portrait Of A Lady feeling dissatisfied because this portrait of this lady paints a picture of a woman who professes to be independent but never manages to resolve her problems. She becomes afflicted by the disease that is John Malkovich's Gilbert Osmond but never satisfyingly throws of the fever.

In The Portrait Of A Lady, unlike in The Piano where Holly Hunter escapes the deadly embrace of her husband and avoids drowning, Nicole Kidman's Isabel Archer is still floundering in deep water and perhaps bound to drown.

Lovers of happily ever after endings with every knot tied neatly must be aware Still The Portrait Of A Lady serves up copious portions of great performances, wonderful costumes, superb music, and grand architecture. The Portrait Of A Lady does seem overlong and in a sense incomplete but is sensitively directed and spectacularly filmed.

Nicole Kidman the star, Laura Jones the screenwriter, Stuart Dryburgh the Director Of Photography and Janet Patterson the Production and Costume Designer, as well as Jane Campion the Director are all products of either Australian or New Zealand film industry; further proof if you need it that we in Australia have plenty of which to be proud.