The fragile fabric of memory that engages us in the novel is entirely lost in this highly disappointing and ham-fisted adaptation, which mistakes simplification and over-dramatisation for subtle adaptation.
The opening ten minutes glide artistically through the first third of the novel in a strangely muffled and demure fashion which, whilst capturing something of the surreality of Leo's past world, entirely loses the tension and careful character dynamics that the novel develops so fluidly. By the time we come to the sight of Ted's peachy buttocks disappearing into the lake, therefore, we have been handed a rather muddy and crude palette. The basics of the story are there, but we reach them strangely isolated from the charming and sympathetic naivety of Leo's perspective.
We feel entirely too privileged as an audience. This is because, in skipping over the opening exchanges, the film has had to make its narrative rather too obvious. Marian and Ted never attempt to disguise the purpose of their letters, meaning that Leo's eventual discovery of their supposed secret seems empty. Leo's interactions with both, hampered as they are by stale dialogue and half-obscured by a profusion of lens-flares and abstract music, loosen his emotional attachment to the situation, and so we lose our sympathy for his innocence. Consequently, by the time of the cricket match, the action has descended into posturing, empty one-liners, and dirty looks between Hugh and Ted, whilst Joanna Vanderhamm's hilariously half-bleached eyebrows wriggle more and more desperately in an attempt to retrieve some emotional depth.
I didn't reach the end - the damage had already been done.
The opening ten minutes glide artistically through the first third of the novel in a strangely muffled and demure fashion which, whilst capturing something of the surreality of Leo's past world, entirely loses the tension and careful character dynamics that the novel develops so fluidly. By the time we come to the sight of Ted's peachy buttocks disappearing into the lake, therefore, we have been handed a rather muddy and crude palette. The basics of the story are there, but we reach them strangely isolated from the charming and sympathetic naivety of Leo's perspective.
We feel entirely too privileged as an audience. This is because, in skipping over the opening exchanges, the film has had to make its narrative rather too obvious. Marian and Ted never attempt to disguise the purpose of their letters, meaning that Leo's eventual discovery of their supposed secret seems empty. Leo's interactions with both, hampered as they are by stale dialogue and half-obscured by a profusion of lens-flares and abstract music, loosen his emotional attachment to the situation, and so we lose our sympathy for his innocence. Consequently, by the time of the cricket match, the action has descended into posturing, empty one-liners, and dirty looks between Hugh and Ted, whilst Joanna Vanderhamm's hilariously half-bleached eyebrows wriggle more and more desperately in an attempt to retrieve some emotional depth.
I didn't reach the end - the damage had already been done.