Colette
As reported by Dollyforme
The very lovely Keira Knightley stars in this excellent movie set in Paris, France in a by-gone era. The story of the female artist whose talent is exploited by a male partner who takes credit for her work is getting a little cliché. Already this year we’ve had the painfully flat Mary Shelley, with Elle Fanning as the titular tortured soul taken advantage of by notorious philanderer Percy Shelley. I don’t know about you but to me, nothing says “unsanctioned reanimation” like casting Dakota Fanning’s little sister.
Colette has similar elements but it’s smart enough to make its main characters more than cardboard-figures.
A country girl with dreams of a more exciting life, Colette (Keira Knightley) jumps at the chance to marry Henry Gauthier-Villars (Dominic West, McNulty on The Wire), a much older writer and publisher.
Perpetually broke and always up for a good time (gee I wonder if there’s a connection?), Henry — better known by his pen name, Willy — notices his wife can write. Through encouragement and less wholesome methods (like locking her up until she delivers a chapter), Willy shapes Colette’s output into a semi-autobiographical novel, Claudine at School. The erotic coming-of-age story becomes the talk of the town after it’s published under Willy’s name. Hey, it’s 1900 — no one would buy a novel by a female, right?
Three more “Claudine” books follow, each more successful than the one before. Colette demands some of the credit but her husband refuses to share. Think of a Hollywood producer churning out sequels to his single box office success and you’ll have an idea of Willy’s mindset.
As unbalanced as the relationship sounds, co-writer/director Wash Westmoreland (Still Alice) digs a little deeper. Sure, Willy is a reprobate but his editorial instincts are unimpeachable. Colette may be married to a cad, but she’s hardly a victim (she’s granted nearly the same liberties her husband takes) and she’s constantly absorbing information. There’s never hate between them, just an unspoken arrangement that lasts longer than it should have.
Once again, Wash Westmoreland and Richard Glatzer, the writing/directing team that brought us The Last of Robin Hood, find delight in giving audiences a biographical glimpse into the lives of a publicly scandalous pair — in this case, ghostwriter, androgynous fashion plate, and all-around feminist icon Colette (Keira Knightley) and her willfully puffed up husband Willy (Dominic West).
To paraphrase the arrogant blighter, “Bad cinema is like dentistry; you have to stay in your seat until the damn thing is over.” Happily, there’s no pain to be gained from watching this sumptuously designed and mounted romance. Cinematographer Giles Nuttgens’ use of highly-reflective surfaces is a revelation, and Thomas Adès’ lush score hits a melodramatic high note. The level of wit being what it is, I found the movie to be quite funny at times.
It crossed my mind that here is Keira Knightley starring in another corset movie. Unlike previous efforts though, there’s little naiveté in Colette: she’s doing the best she can with the cards she’s dealt. Even Dominic West — particularly good at playing jerks — finds a more playful gear as the charmingly deceitful Willy.
Impeccably written and acted, the movie transcends the message of female emancipation to deliver actual entertainment. What else could you ask for? Worth a rental – two very big thumbs up!
