"Evening": Love, death and afternoon tea at the yacht club
In the very first shot of "Evening," which is directed by Hungarian cinematographer-turned-filmmaker Lajos Koltai, we see an old woman in a robe standing on the rocky shore of what looks like a rural New England harbor. The water is preternaturally still, so she's able to call out to a much younger woman who lies on the deck of a small sailboat, perhaps asleep. A man whose face we can't see is at the tiller. This looks like, and is, a dream sequence, with an aura of pale golden sunrise. It also looks as if, at any moment, the human figures will swim out of focus and other things will appear, magically suspended in the middle distance. A line of feminine hygiene products, perhaps. Or a tub of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.
Not all viewers will receive the scene that way, I am sure. But in its pursuit of superior craftsmanship and high-minded lyricism, "Evening" constantly risks sliding down the slippery slope into inept sentimentality and self-caricature. With a high-wattage female ensemble cast, dreamboat Rhode Island locations and a respected European director, "Evening" feels like one of those devil's-candy productions that aim to bring artistry to a large audience, specifically a large audience of adult women who don't often go to the movies. Even considering it in that light, I found it miscalculated and overcooked, although Claire Danes' glowing, gawky, oddly appealing performance (she's the one on the sailboat) should announce her arrival as a major star.
"Evening" was adapted from Susan Minot's novel by Minot herself and Michael Cunningham (author of "The Hours"), and I don't quite know what to make of the fact that two distinguished novelists produced this blend of sub-Tennessee Williams period potboiler and quasi-spiritual fairy dust. Maybe if Joyce and Nabokov had written a screenplay together, it would have been "Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood."
I haven't read Minot's book (which has apparently been much simplified for the screen), but it's clearly a tangled weave of memory and mortality, the two enduring themes of modern literature. It's entirely possible that her story, and even this screenplay, could have yielded a better film if it had been less terminally picturesque. I don't know how good Koltai's English is, but he's spent almost his whole career in Europe. The 1950s ruling-class New England setting of "Evening" can mean nothing more to him than houses and landscapes, or perhaps images from other films. I felt like he was desperately reaching for references in almost every shot: Here's a moment from "The French Lieutenant's Woman"; there's one from "Wild Strawberries." (The whole damn thing is overlaid with references to Joseph L. Mankiewicz's "Suddenly, Last Summer," but without much of the trashy allure.)
Actually, the blue-blood Newport, R.I., household where coltish Ann Grant (Danes) alights for the wedding of her friend Lila Wittenborn (Mamie Gummer) is seen only in flashback, although it's a flashback that dominates the picture. In the present tense, Ann is played by Vanessa Redgrave (the old woman on the shore in the margarine commercial), who lies dying in bed, doling out crusty bons mots and visited by visions, which include little twinkling firefly lights and a full-size death fairy with a know-it-all manner, a white gauzy dress and an Irish accent. You think I'm kidding! Seriously, I have no problem with movies that venture into spiritual speculation of whatever variety, but anybody who's actually sat by a dying parent's bedside may find this movie's depiction of death insulting on many levels.
Partway through her ever-so-lovely death, Ann is also visited by her daughters, one of them a goody-two-shoes type named Constance, played by Natasha Richardson (yes, that's Redgrave's real-life daughter), and the other a black sheep named Nina, played by Toni Collette, whose boho-rebel status is indicated by her discreetly two-tone hair. Nina guesses correctly that Mom's mumblings about people named Harris and Buddy, whom they've never heard of, are genuine memories and not just ravings. But only we in the audience can travel back in time with Ann, to that Newport wedding weekend five decades earlier.
Once there, at least we've got Danes, all jaunty angles, bright eyes, horsey teeth and perfect skin, to look at. Ann is meant to be that appealing outsider who strips the veneer off the life of privilege simply by seeing it with fresh eyes, and if that weren't such a profoundly uninteresting concept at this point, Danes' performance might make it work. Ann seems vulnerable and alive in a world of bloodless Ralph Lauren models; she's left-footed and uncertain and you want her to get the hell out of this place. Part of the problem is basic storytelling ineptitude (and you wouldn't describe either Cunningham or Minot as masters of plot): None of the so-called mystery in this memory is remotely mysterious.
Lila's brother Buddy, played by Hugh Dancy as a drawling, swooning upper-class androgyne -- unfortunately for him, 20 years too early for glam rock -- professes to be in love with Ann. But as soon as we see Harris (Patrick Wilson), the caretaker's son turned idealistic young doctor, we know where Buddy's heart really inclines, and where Ann's is headed. As in "Little Children," Wilson seems to believe that furrowing his brow and not smiling will convey his character's seriousness of purpose, when in fact his impressive physique and good posture are doing all his acting for him. (He's the one person in this film who actually resembles a 1950s actor.)
That's all there is, really. An awful lot of pretty clothes, exquisite locations and perfect lighting go into telling the story of a woman who had an ill-advised and not terribly steamy liaison when she was much younger, and learned something (albeit not that much) about the varieties of human sexuality. Hello? For doing that and then kicking the bucket, you get a movie made about you? Those who enjoy "Evening" will be moved by the elegiac mood, the lovely shots one after another, the pileup of actorly details, and the tinkly, moony piano score that always seems about to resolve itself into "My Heart Must Go On." Everything but the story.
There certainly are things to remember about this film: Danes atop the cliffs, head cocked jauntily into the summer wind; Glenn Close, eating the tasteful furniture entire as the etiquette-obsessed Wittenborn matriarch; Meryl Streep, appearing late in the film as the older Lila (played earlier by Gummer, who is Streep's real-life daughter). What I carried away from it, unfortunately for me, was the crunchy, bittersweet flavor of the death fairy's twinkle dust, something like SweeTarts left under the bed for a week.
"Evening" opens June 29 in most major cities, with wider release to follow.
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