back

Miami Herald
A society stifles in haunting 'Mirth'
3 (out of 4) stars
By Sara Wildberger
The Miami Herald Published: Friday, January 19, 2001

The House of Mirth, based on Edith Wharton's novel, isn't mirthful in any way, falling somewhere between melodrama and tragedy. It's the story of Lily Bart, a turn-of-the-century New York socialite who is getting older, poorer and more vulnerable, if no less beautiful. Her balking at the life laid out for her -- make a good marriage for money and join ranks to keep society alive -- is starting to be seen as less capricious and more suspicious by that society. And the wives don't like to have a single woman running around loose, either. She'll have to pay.

And pay she does -- through some stock-market speculation (that should ring true to audiences), misunderstandings, the jealousy of others. The plot consists of a series of doors closed (a rich man she has her eye on is scared away by a rival's rumors) and windows opened (a rich friend's husband offers to invest some money for her). But every chance of escape or rescue seems to lead into more danger and compromise.

Gillian Anderson, with parasols, cigarettes and one cocked eyebrow, allows Lily nothing in common with her X-Files character, Scully, save intelligence. She's somewhat arch, dreamy, even seductive; after being stuck in a longtime role that consists mostly of reflecting another character's obsessions, she's refreshing as a woman who has desires of her own.

Lily's real love is Seldon (Eric Stoltz) a poor but genteel lawyer, himself no stranger to society affairs. Neither can put aside pride long enough to come together for more than verbal sparring and an occasional, extraordinary kiss that says more than any blatant sex scene. His presence is always announced with an insinuating curl of cigarette smoke, as if to point out the imminent combustion between them. They're really two of a kind -- handsome, desirable, rare -- and everyone in their society wants a piece of them and won't forgive them for not giving it up on demand. But as a man, Seldon is allowed some freedom to say no.

It's a world where being cut off by a certain crowd is as painful as being physically cut, and Anderson makes you feel it. One of the things that makes Lily such a compelling and heartbreaking character is that she accepts shunning, insults and setbacks with neither defensiveness, declarations of vengeance nor meek optimism, but with a kind of lightness, grace and good humor that's almost heroic. It's as if she's trying to smooth the surfaces even for those who attack her.

Her attackers are some real sharks, led by a brittle, rumor-mongering Laura Linney (frustrated because Seldon won't always come when he's called). Dan Aykroyd plays a plump philandering husband who pouts like a baby when he doesn't get what he wants, but is much more dangerous. Jodhi May plays Lily's simpering cousin, who wields unbending moral superiority as a weapon. Best of all is Anthony LaPaglia as the nouveau riche social climber, Sim Rosedale. He's natural, honest and even comes to be kind; you can see why Lily might consider marrying him.

While Martin Scorsese tackled Wharton's The Age of Innocence by elucidating long lists of precise surface appearances and countering that with a subversive narrative, Davies' historical research is more subdued. Exteriors have an unreal, painterly look, interiors are nearly always stifling, and the principles aren't wearing costumes but clothes. While House of Mirth is well done as a period piece, it has such an eerie contemporary resonance that you nearly forget about the horses and corsets and lamplight.

THE END

back