'Take This Waltz': review

Rarely does a film slip so frequently, or so drastically, between infuriating and sublime as Sarah Polley's 'Take This Waltz'. It's typified as much by tortured metaphors and on-the-nose production design as it is by moments of heartbreaking honesty and dazzling vision. Several isolated scenes are perfectly judged, by the the cast and by Polley behind the camera, though just as many demand derision - notably an early exchange in which Michelle Williams foreshadows her fear of the uncertainty wrought by ending her marriage by describing her unease of being "in between things" during airport connections. The metaphor itself isn't miserable, but no room is left for interpretation or reflection and it gets worse when the same metaphor is picked up - and again discussed in detail - later on.

Though there are just as many great moments, the best involving Seth Rogen, as Williams' husband, and his myriad of emotional responses to the inevitable end of his marriage, including a tear-jerking reveal concerning a "long-term joke". Comic Sarah Silverman also turns in a credible dramatic performance as Rogen's alcoholic sister, though Williams' handsome extra-marital love interest is certainly the film's weak link, as played by Luke Kirby. But this is, for the most part, a showcase for Williams' significant acting talents and it is she who carries the film for the most part, with the other three principal cast members operating in her orbit.

Perhaps best of all is the judgement free way Polley, who also wrote the screenplay, depicts the end of a marriage where neither party has done anything particularly wrong. It's suggested that Rogen's guileless husband has neglected his wife sexually and that there relationship has became comfortable at the expense of excitement, yet overall the end of his marriage is tragic because it comes without much obvious cause. It's also complicated by the idea that, perhaps, Williams will live to regret her decision at some point in the future. Williams wants to be able to feel that early excitement again with somebody and knows she cannot rekindle that with her husband (however much she tries), but that's it: they still basically love each other. Whether she will ever be as comfortable with Kirby, we shall never know, though it's implied that both options may ultimately lead to the same bitter-sweet place.

Whether or not the decision to leave her husband is worth the gamble is the ultimate question posed by 'Take This Waltz', and happily it isn't anywhere near as flippantly 'Dead Poet's Society' as its title may suggest. Whether or not Williams embraces her impulses and takes life's confusing, emotionally turbulent, uncertain invitation to dance, Polley's film is smart enough, and sensitive enough, to make us question that desire and identify with the character's most prosaic, a-romantic concerns.

'Take This Waltz' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.

'My Week With Marilyn' review:

It begins with a sizzle: Michelle Williams is introduced as Marilyn Monroe during a sultry song and dance routine, watched by our besotted, film-obsessed protagonist Colin (Eddie Redmayne) on a cinema screen, in the company of a dozen or so other lecherous men. It's no exaggeration to say Williams makes love to the camera and the sensitive, indie movie actress convinces totally, becoming the hyper-sexual 1950s bombshell before our eyes. Here Colin's leering does something to suggest not only the appeal of Monroe, the movie star, but also the terms upon which she was judged and the slightly sinister way in which audiences implicitly came to own her. Sadly Simon Curtis' movie goes rapidly, dramatically downhill from there.

'My Week With Marilyn' feels like an overwrought Biography Channel drama operating on an unusually high production budget. The presence of Williams - not to mention Kenneth Branagh, Judi Dench, Dominic Cooper, Toby Jones, Derek Jacobi, Emma Watson and Dougray Scott - is all there is to remind us that this is in fact a piece of Weinstein-produced Oscar bait and not a straight-to-DVD knock-off. The film follows Monroe during the time she spent in England in the summer of 1956, starring opposite Sir Lawrence Olivier (Branagh) in light comedy romp 'The Prince and the Showgirl' - the production of which was apparently run like a Gulag under the stage legend's Stalin-like gaze and (in one bewilderingly pointless scene) the tyranny of a unionised workforce.



Based on the memoirs of the young Colin Clark, the fraught production's lowly third assistant director, the film sees Redmayne's Colin very much as the centre of attention: instantly loved by Monroe and soon indispensable to Olivier. A key mediator in the ensuing war between the two actors, he's the reason the film is completed. It is even implied he prevented the troubled, pill-guzzling sex symbol from committing suicide - six years before her eventual overdose. By the end of this alternately zany and maudlin adventure he's improbably become trusted confident and bestest friend in the world to both stars. Along the way he also finds time to casually reject the affections of Emma Watson's doe-eyed wardrobe assistant and becomes accustomed to receiving knitwear from an appreciative Dame Sybil Thorndike (Dench), for some apparent off-screen kindness that's best left unimagined.

The film is so obsessed with our old Etonian everyman hero Colin that the more interesting figures who surround him are only painted as wafer thin archetypes. Olivier, who Branagh parodies with 'Wild Wild West' levels of restraint, is glimpsed several times in dramatic, slow-zooming close-up reciting Shakespearian verse - just like Olivier must have frequently done in real life. You know... because he was famous for doing Shakespeare.

Meanwhile Williams is a more troubling proposition as Monroe, playing her emotionally withdrawn moments as though she were a fay, mentally deficient cousin of Mickey Mouse. She may have been troubled, depressed and paranoid but Marilyn Monroe was, by most accounts, a very witty woman and not likely a ditzy airhead. Yet here Monroe is shown as barely able to recall who Leonardo Da Vinci is, let alone correctly identify his picture of "the smiling woman". Fair enough if you're going to be casual with historical figures, but this doesn't make sense within the context of a movie in which an early press conference scene has Monroe wowing British journos with her quick-witted charms and clever turn of phrase.



In isolated moments Williams nails the quiet vulnerability of the character, just as she turns the vivacious sexpot persona on and off, yet these feel like separate extreme caricatures rather than parts of a fully formed, if conflicted, whole. As with 'The Life and Death of Peter Sellers' or Andy Kaufman biopic 'Man on the Moon', 'My Week With Marilyn' is content to paint a reductive (and only superficially deep) picture of its complicated subject. Yet the performances, though campy turns rather than real human beings, are at least watchable. What really kills the film is Adrian Hodges' literal-minded screenplay.

A good 'My Week With Marilyn' drinking came would involve taking a shot 1) whenever someone tells you exactly what they're thinking or feeling; 2) whenever a character explains who somebody is or reminds you what has just happened; or 3) when something is said to underline a point already made through the characters' on-screen actions. The writing is needlessly descriptive, always telling rather than showing (or showing and then telling just in case). Dialogue often sounds like scene-setting narration rather than speech, whilst Olivier and Monroe routinely self-analyse in embarrassing cod psychology.

In 'My Week With Marilyn', the film star's life is presented as one long tragedy, hidden from public view behind moments of immense, if superficial, glamour. This, it turns out, is a very effective metaphor for the film itself, which only attains any sort of life when Williams is called upon to perform as a woman giving a performance.

'My Week With Marilyn' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.