The Hours Review
by Richard A. Zwelling (razwee AT yahoo DOT com)March 5th, 2003
THE HOURS
**** (out of ****)
a film review by
Richard A. Zwelling
Before I go into any in-depth commentary on this movie, I have to comment on the fact that most people who see the trailer and/or read any synopsis of the film will most likely label it as a chick flick without a second thought. This does a great disservice, because the themes of the film extend well beyond gender-related issues, and they will concern anyone, anywhere, at anytime who has had the desire to live life deliberately. That being said, I am excited to say that The Hours is one of the most well-directed, thought-provoking, strongly-acted works of cinema I have seen in years.
I usually view a critic's personal background as something that can taint credibility and destroy necessary objectivity; but in this case, I feel obligated to spill my guts, because it will help to illuminate what this film is truly about. I am a hopeless romantic. I have a soft spot for aesthetics and how they relate to personal expression. No theme intrigues me more than the ability of love and art to set the spirit free and help the individual to reach a higher metaphysical plane.
After watching The Hours, I was in a state of mind I often seek but rarely attain: that of passion and a sense of purpose. After spending my first few weeks in Los Angeles, I have felt overwhelmed, and I had begun to notice that I was forgetting why I was there in the first place. Everything seemed logistical, and I was always planning the next step towards fulfilling whatever obligations were expected of me. But I came here to pursue film. I am passionate about film, and I do film because I have to. For whatever reason, film makes me feel alive, and I came to L.A. for that very reason. Herein lies the true heart and spirit of The Hours. It is about throwing aside guilt, regret, and sorrow and finding the courage to pursue a rewarding life because you have to.
The three central characters all have one thing in common: they are stifled by the lives they lead. One is relentless in her pursuit of freedom from that bondage. By total contrast, the other two repress their feelings of unhappiness and dissatisfaction because they believe they are obligated to remain shackled. Spanning three generations, these characters are inextricably interwoven (although it is not always clear how), and they are each made painfully aware that they are wasting away within lives that were not meant for them.
We begin in 1923. After two suicide attempts and numerous episodes of auditory hallucinations, author Virginia Woolf (Nicole Kidman) has been committed to a carefully monitored and confined life in Richmond, England by her husband (Stephen Dillane). It is here that she begins to tackle the task of writing her fourth novel, which would eventually become Mrs. Dalloway. Plagued by the isolation of her confinement, Woolf longs to return to London where she can feel the passion and excitement of the big city. Her husband, however, takes it upon himself to decide what Virginia's best interests are and has a close watch kept on her throughout the day.
Fast forward a generation to 1951. Here we meet Laura Brown (Julianne Moore), who has begun reading Mrs. Dalloway more that twenty-five years after its publication. From the onset, we see she is a nervous wreck. Despite having a loving husband (John C. Reilly) and a healthy son, it is clear that she has strong underlying tensions about her place as a housewife (this is curiously similar to her role in Far From Heaven).
Fast forward all the way to present-day New York City, where we meet Clarissa Vaughn (Meryl Streep). She lives in a high-rise apartment with her female lover (Allison Janney), who she has been with for ten years, and she tends to the needs of her ex-lover Richard (Ed Harris), who is terminally ill due to AIDS.
After the initial expositions into the lives of each character, we are thrown headfirst into each of their struggles. Distant and unapproachable, Virginia Woolf makes life a living hell for everyone around her. She will not eat or tend to any other basic needs, but instead sits at a desk with pen and paper, mulling over her latest opus. She takes walks through the gardens surrounding the institution, all the while considering how wonderful death would be, as compared to the drudgery of an existence in which she has no say in how she lives. These thoughts, as well as an experience with two children in the garden (in which there is a beautiful, haunting use of symbolism) heavily influence the way Virginia will use death as a theme in her novel.
Laura, meanwhile, lives only to make her husband and son happy. It is her husband's birthday, and she feels obligated to make it very special for him. She cautiously and nervously tells her son that they will make a cake, because if they don't, then his father will not know that they love him. It is clear that she is not cut out to be a housewife, and that she is miserable in the role. She reads Mrs. Dalloway, however, and finds a character of fierce independence who is unwilling to live unless living means the freedom to pursue the feeling of being alive. This finding forces Laura to ask questions about herself that she never dared ask and makes her realize, painfully, that she has never had the courage to pursue her own life.
Clarissa is bound by an undying love for Richard. Even after her separation from him, she has felt a need to visit him, spend time with him, and take care of him. He has just won an award for his recent book, and she decides to work hard to throw a party in his honor. Richard is all too aware of that fact that a good deal of her energy goes into him, and he feels obligated to "stay alive for her". He also knows, however, that Clarissa unhealthily pours all of her concentration into his needs, and that she has very little concern for her own. He makes this clear to her in one scene, and the realization hits her like a ton of bricks.
From here, the characters take their own steps (or missteps) towards a better life. It is best for me not to say much more, as the power of this film comes from seeing the struggles, not just knowing about them. Suffice it to say that the film deals with such diverse themes as sexual repression, death, family, and enlightenment. There is no one way to interpret the film at its end, nor should there be. Indeed, one of the best things about the film is how many different levels it works on.
In terms of direction, Stephen Daldry is incredibly sensitive to the emotional states of the characters. Through subtle blends of close-ups, reaction shots, and depth perspective, he is able to convey the deeper meanings of important scenes and also the inner lives of the characters. Drawing on his extensive background as a minimalist composer, Philip Glass creates a repetitive but emotionally captivating score that effectively enhances the dramatic nature of everything that transpires on screen.
What elevates this movie to the sublime, however, is its acting. I am not a big fan of superlatives and hyperbole, but no number of them can do justice to the quality of the performances. Julianne Moore is heartbreaking to watch, even more so than in Far From Heaven, because Laura's emotional wounds are far more devastating. Meryl Streep is phenomenal in showing Clarissa as superficially chipper and energetic, but so much so that it is impossible not to sense a deep inner pain. I am not a huge Ed Harris fan, but I was stunned by his performance as the bitter, withering Richard. John C. Reilly, Toni Collette, Claire Danes, Stephen Dillane, and Allison Janney also give fine supporting performances.
The highlight of the film, however, is Nicole Kidman. Undergoing prosthetic alterations that render her virtually unrecognizable, she gives one of the finest performances of her long and fruitful career. It is rare to see an actor disappear so completely into a character, and Kidman surrenders herself completely to the world of Virginia Woolf. Every facial gesture, every passing glance, and every inflection of her voice bespeak a passionate, dogged presence that will refuse to live life for less than what it is. In addition, her confrontational scene with her husband towards the later third of the film represents the best acted scene of any film from 2002 I have seen thus far.
Until now, I was willing to bet money that Julianne Moore would win the Oscar for her performance in Far From Heaven, but Kidman's performance is too strong, too showy, and in short, too damn good to be ignored, even by the Academy.
For its brilliant acting, myriad themes, and raw emotional power, The Hours is easily one of the finest films of 2002.
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