Like so much, it all depends on point of
view. Is it the male of the species or is it the female who is beguiled, mind and
body a welter of desire? This simmering drama of sexual repression set during
the American Civil War begins with a delicate balancing act when a wounded
Union soldier is found in the woods and taken into a seminary for Southerner
women to recover. To begin with, the interactions are a delicate balancing act.
There is much to make of the location in
Virginia, knowingly chosen we can be sure. Near a wood where mosses hang from
lofty trees, stands a mansion fronted by a row of massive columns. There’s
plenty for the semiologists to work with here. At the same time, it’s easy to
discern within, the kernel of a contemporary fairy tale warning young men to
stay away from the evil witches in the forest who will consume them then cast them
out. Be careful what you wish for.
Behind the high gates and overgrown garden,
a small group of women and girls, two teachers and five students, have remained
during the long years of war with only each other for company. Now there is a
desirable, willing male in the form of Colin Farrell in their midst. The man
himself, in a waking dream of possibilities that float around him in pale gowns
as they minister to his needs, might think he’s never had such luck.
As they watch over him, drifting in and out
of consciousness, a perfect specimen apart from his wounded leg, desire awakes
in them too in the subdued lighting of candle-lit interiors, the way it was at the
time.
Things get rolling when the headmistress, Martha
Farnsworth (Nicole Kidman) bathes him while he is unconscious, or may be foxing.
Soon he receives visits from a flustered but aroused Edwina (Kirsten Dunst) and
a very saucy Alicia (Elle Fanning) drops by to plant a kiss while he sleeps. Corporal
John McBurney opts for a strategy of divide and conquer.
For some reason, key scenes – like the
moment McBurney propositions Edwina – develop in a rush that wrong-foots the drama
and truncates delicately unfolding tensions. The direction of some crucial
scenes sees the drama lose some of its power. If Coppola was working with
suggestions that she be less indulgent while developing atmosphere, something
she was so good at in The Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation, then she
shouldn’t have taken a blind bit of notice here. When the director was camping
up the gothic with Kidman asking for the anatomy text before she got to work, the
sudden appearance of the book would have been more fun.
I’m probably not the only one to have seen
a Nurse Ratched (One Flew Over the
Cuckoo’s Nest) in Kidman’s Martha Farnsworth.
Clearly accustomed to ruling the roost
where women are concerned, McBurney has just to turn his big brown eyes in the
direction of any of the women, and he could have his way with them. The other
four are too young and thankfully not part of these games. Writer-director Coppola
has veered away from the moment of pre-pubescent sexuality of her film’s 1971
predecessor with Clint Eastwood. The children watch on, pliant and observing
until they become players themselves, in ultimately disconcertingly effective
ways.
It was common human decency that got the
rooster into the hen house in the first place, quickly followed by charity that
decided he could stay until recovered, but it is desire, and with it comes competition,
that quickly takes over as he becomes step-by-step a prisoner. That’s not to
say he isn’t happy to remaining in his conveniently safe haven and wait out the
end of the war, but the pale gowns the women and girls wear signify an
innocence that masks darker feelings beneath.
Over recent months we have watched My Cousin Rachel—did she or didn’t she?—followed
by an indomitable Lady Macbeth and
now The Beguiled. It’s interesting
times we live in.
3.5 Stars
Also published at Jane's blog
