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October 3, 2009

Bright Star (2009)

I must admit from the outset, dear readers, that I need to see Jane Campion's Bright Star again before I come to any definite terms with it. I saw it under the sway of a celestial luminary all my own, and, through no fault of the film, my thoughts strayed from it on those occasions when it failed to find harmony with what odes coursed through my veins. In short, I was distracted. It happens.

But when that harmonization occurred - when Campion's filmmaking jumped ahead of the implicit lyricism of her subject - my slackened gaze was pulled taught. One scene in particular lingers in my head, as muscular in its execution as it is overwhelmingly delicate. One scene, broken into three shots; a single exchange conveyed through two parallel narratives. The first, a wide shot, depicts Fanny and John Keats standing together, amidst the hustle and bustle of their house. They're off to to one the side of the frame, circumstantially placed. A stolen moment, . We're invited to consider the transaction taking place between them as if we were one of the family members coming and going, in and out and up and down the stairs, scarcely noting what scarcely seems an extraordinary moment. Fanny is giving him a key. He takes it. A practicality. This is one version of the story.

But interspersed within this is a second narrative, in which the same story is told, this time in close up. The first shot: Fanny reaches behind her head and carefully lifts the chain from around her neck, pulling this little iron key up from the collar of her frock.

The second: a corresponding close up of Keats' outstretched hand, as the key descends into his palm and his fingers clasp around it.

This exchange is the same as the one in the wide tableaux - but there, it was a means to an end (unlocking something) whereas when relegated to the intimacy of a shorter lens, it becomes an end unto itself. What was a transaction becomes a covenant. She's giving him the key, willingly, pulling it from her breast. He takes it. There's nothing to mistake here and, in a love story as chaste as this, this gesture's mixture of selflessness and sensuality is enough to make one swoon. If one isn't swooning already.

Posted by David Lowery at October 3, 2009 3:37 AM