It's nice to see that, over three decades since the likes of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and Sleuth, stageplays with minimal casts can still be made into workable movies. Closer, adapted by Patrick Marber from his own play, looks at the love lives of four professionals in early contemporary London. Set in amongst the bustle of the metropolis, yet brutal in its intense focus on the individuals involved.
The director Mike Nichols made his debut with the aforementioned Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, and as then he shows a rich lexicon of techniques to bring out the right aspect at the right moment. Every scene seems played for different effect. The photography scene in which Julia Roberts first appears is all about faces – well-lit, unobtrusive backgrounds and close-ups big enough to make us notice eye colour and twitching mouths. The sex chat scene shows Jude Law at first simply sat at his computer, then a little later we see wider shot with clothes strewn around a poky flat, giving us a clue as to his current living arrangements, before finally moving into mean close-ups, mostly played for comical effect. Not only does each scene have the necessary impact and perspective, each one is distinctly memorable in style and setting.
When such a small cast carries the burden of the whole movie upon them, you need a very capable set of performers. Jude Law at first seems a little disappointing in his woodenness, although arguably it's right for his rather weak-willed and stilted character. Julia Roberts is muted but entirely convincing. Natalie Portman is overwhelmingly emotive, silently bearing her character's pains but also believably forceful towards the end. The best performance is perhaps that of Clive Owen. Not a particularly pleasant character that he plays, but Owen somehow manages to make him likable, and almost vulnerable in his slavery to his own libido.
Being adapted from a minimalist stageplay, Closer makes an unconventional movie, but not a bad one. The long, dialogue-based scenes of the theatre remain intact, but the strength and individuality with which they are acted and directed prevents things from ever seeming boring or wordy. Closer is unusual for any narrative in that it rather confusingly leaps forward between scenes, sometimes across several years, without explicit notice. Once you've got the pattern however it becomes very easy to follow. The fact that it tends to tell the story through the eyes of the most despicable characters at their lowest moments forces viewers to consider their own actions rather than take the place of the victims. For all that it is about deception, it is painful in its emotional truth, which makes it fulfilling. It is dark but with a dark wit, which makes it bearable.
The director Mike Nichols made his debut with the aforementioned Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, and as then he shows a rich lexicon of techniques to bring out the right aspect at the right moment. Every scene seems played for different effect. The photography scene in which Julia Roberts first appears is all about faces – well-lit, unobtrusive backgrounds and close-ups big enough to make us notice eye colour and twitching mouths. The sex chat scene shows Jude Law at first simply sat at his computer, then a little later we see wider shot with clothes strewn around a poky flat, giving us a clue as to his current living arrangements, before finally moving into mean close-ups, mostly played for comical effect. Not only does each scene have the necessary impact and perspective, each one is distinctly memorable in style and setting.
When such a small cast carries the burden of the whole movie upon them, you need a very capable set of performers. Jude Law at first seems a little disappointing in his woodenness, although arguably it's right for his rather weak-willed and stilted character. Julia Roberts is muted but entirely convincing. Natalie Portman is overwhelmingly emotive, silently bearing her character's pains but also believably forceful towards the end. The best performance is perhaps that of Clive Owen. Not a particularly pleasant character that he plays, but Owen somehow manages to make him likable, and almost vulnerable in his slavery to his own libido.
Being adapted from a minimalist stageplay, Closer makes an unconventional movie, but not a bad one. The long, dialogue-based scenes of the theatre remain intact, but the strength and individuality with which they are acted and directed prevents things from ever seeming boring or wordy. Closer is unusual for any narrative in that it rather confusingly leaps forward between scenes, sometimes across several years, without explicit notice. Once you've got the pattern however it becomes very easy to follow. The fact that it tends to tell the story through the eyes of the most despicable characters at their lowest moments forces viewers to consider their own actions rather than take the place of the victims. For all that it is about deception, it is painful in its emotional truth, which makes it fulfilling. It is dark but with a dark wit, which makes it bearable.