This Oscar Wilde movie - written, directed, and starring Rupert Everett - turned out to be a vacuous vanity production, with no chronology, and no idea, no attempt even, to examine or describe Oscar. This was a portrait of a fairly good actor who should never be allowed to direct, and one who has no narrative sense of the writer's art. Fortunately there were good actors in the background, such as a scene stealing Tom Wilkinson. Colin Firth, Anna Chancellor and Emily Watson provide lessons in how to act to Rupert, which sounds unkind, but this is because the film dwells on Everett narcissistically. It's failure is entirely down to him. It is not a film about the genius it set out to explore. It's all about Rupert dressing up.
Review of The Happy Prince
