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Chic Flicks: "Evening"

Abby Rosebrock
July 16, 2007 - 11:36am.
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At least as far as the trailer indicated, director Lajos Koltai’s recent film Evening, based on the novel by Susan Minot about a dying elderly woman fixated on the memory of a brief love affair in her twenties, had all the makings of a brilliant movie. For one thing, it’s a production of Focus Features, the folks who brought us Brokeback Mountain and who have a fairly solid track record for releasing creative, well-written projects. Furthermore, one of its producers is Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours, and the history of cinema has taught us that the involvement of good fiction writers – Wiliam Faulkner and Graham Greene, for example – can be a good sign for the intellectual quality of a film.  

 Most importantly, Koltai’s cast is a dream team of talented actresses at the top of their respective games. Who could have guessed that a movie starring Glenn Close, Toni Collette, Claire Danes, Vanessa Redgrave, Natasha Richardson, and Meryl Streep could be anything less than a revelation? Even the most gifted actor or pair of actors can make the occasional blunder in choosing scripts, but it is difficult to imagine that all six of these women, in addition to Cunningham, could have each read over the screenplay without realizing its inanity. For the screenplay is all that is wrong with the film, and it's wrong enough to utterly wreck the whole thing. 

Redgrave, relegated to her deathbed for most of the film, plays Ann Lord in the final stage of her life. The film alternates monotonously between scenes among Ann and her two daughters (Constance, played by Richardson, Redgrave’s real-life daughter, and Nina, played by Collette), and flashbacks to the adventures of young Ann (Danes). Young Ann falls in love with a man named Harris (Patrick Wilson) at the Newport wedding of her best friend Lila Wittenborn. Mamie Gummer plays the young Lila in these flashback sequences, and perhaps the only enjoyment the film has to offer is the opportunity to marvel at how much she resembles her mother, Streep, who plays the elderly Lila and shows up near the end of the film to visit Ann before she dies. 

No characters are particularly interesting, though Claire Danes has terrifically groomed hair. Stereotypes abound in the flashback segments – the drunken, misunderstood, sexually frustrated New England rich boy (Lila’s brother, Buddy, played by Hugh Dancy); the unhappy bride getting married for security’s sake; the bohemian New York songstress. Redgrave’s daughters, too – the blonde soccer mom Constance (her name entailing unforgivably trite symbolism) and the ne’er-do-well free spirit Nina – are egregiously flat in this regard. 

To describe the film’s structure as “tedious” would be an understatement. And some moments in the movie could be mistaken for farce; my favorite is when Redgrave’s nurse (Eileen Atkins), eschewing her usual cardigan, appears in a fairy godmother costume, a sort of prom dress with white sequins and a tulle wrap, presumably as one of Redgrave’s imaginings. 

Films as poorly made as this one are insulting; insulting films written, produced, and acted by such talented individuals are bewildering. Some journalist with Hollywood connections should ask Cunningham, Streep and the rest of them what on earth they ever saw in the project, why they took it on in the first place. One redeeming feature may be the somewhat comforting central message of the film – that in life, there are no mistakes, or at least that it is more constructive not to consider the possibility that one has made mistakes. But the question of why artists associated with complex and sophisticated projects like The Hours and Little Miss Sunshine would offer up a film with such a packaged and straightforward moral-of-the-story is beyond me. 

If you haven’t already wasted money on Evening, stay home and read or watch The Hours instead. It deals with issues similar to those in Evening – sexuality, illness, death, and estrogen – and offers the same degree of melodrama, but far more creatively, with an incarnation of Virginia Woolf to shake things up a bit. Evening, its plot so dull and conventional it belongs among the ranks of Nicolas Sparks adaptations, offers no such diversion.

 

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