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As soon as I realised that this, the latest Kate Winslet film in my journey though her career, was not only a Winslet film, and therefore likely to be somewhat depressing, but also dealt with Alzheimer's disease, I must admit I sighed a little. I firmly planted my heels, clenched my jaw and braced myself for a never ending torrent of sadness and despair. As it turns out, Iris isn't as depressing as I'd anticipated, but it's still a long way from being a laugh riot. The lighter moments are mainly courtesy of the flashback scenes regarding a budding relationship, but there are some happier moments in the older scenes as well, particularly towards the start of the film. Iris and John's rambling conversations ("Mae West... my vest! I tore my vest this morning!") are a delight, as is the loving relationship that has formed between these two old friends. Once Iris' illness takes an increasing firmer grip upon her though, the dark places are not shied away from.
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There is some nice editing on display - Iris and John's first sexual encounter and a skinny-dipping adventure cuts to the older John's explosion of frustration at his wife's condition - but at the start of the film I felt there was too much to-ing and fro-ing between the two narratives, with the scenes not being quite long enough to have anything to hang on to. There also wasn't enough correlation between the two time periods, with the only payoff strand being John's initial hesitation and concern at the idea of forming a relationship with Iris. Fortunately the scene lengths increased as the film progressed, which worked better for me.
Penelope Wilton, otherwise known as Shaun's Mum from Shaun of the Dead, plays Janet, a friend of Iris'. She is good, but I've always seen her as being quite similar to my own mother, especially in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, so seeing her topless in the shower was somewhat disconcerting. Ultimately the most distressing aspect though was watching Dench's deterioration, seeing someone who not only loved words, but needed them to enjoy life and was renowned for her exactness with them ("Without words, how do you think?") gradually losing her grip on them, until all she can do is continually repeat the last thing her husband said to her.
I've been fortunate enough to have never experienced someone close to me suffering in a similar way, but my girlfriend informs me that watching a film based on the subject matter, or at least watching this one, cut a little too close to the bone for her liking. Whilst it educated me on the life of a celebrated novelist I had otherwise barely heard of, and with performances that are beyond comparison, I cannot overly recommend this film due to it's depressing storyline and some narrative difficulties.
Choose life 6/10
I would agree with your assessment of the film. It's... alright, I guess. It has its moments, but... meh.
ReplyDeleteI once had a sex dream about Jim Broadbent. I don't know why. I don't find him particularly sexy. My brain is apparently on crack.
"I once had a sex dream about Jim Broadbent" - now that's a sentence I never expected to read. But I'm also kind of curious, are we talking Moulin Rouge Broadbent? Harry Potter? Narnia? Hot Fuzz? Brazil? No, wait, I don't think I want to know. It'd be like me having a Maggie Smith sex dream. It just seems wrong.
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