There’s a whole genre of English manor-house comedies, as though
there were something inherently funny about rich people in a rural
setting. When Americans do this, they come up with Green Acres.
For the English, it’s programs and films like To the Manor Born,
Cold Comfort Farm and Peter’s Friends.
While our British cousins birthed us, they clearly lack our
understanding of the humor inherent in treating a pig like a
citizen.
But they do understand dry, understated comedy. Easy Virtue,
an adaptation of Noel Coward’s play, does a few amusing things with the
genre, but mostly it sticks politely to form and, in the manner of a
good Englishman, neither excels beyond its station nor falls into
disgrace.
The most interesting thing about the film is the music, a collection
of bawdy rock hits redone in the style of the film’s period, the 1920s,
mixed together with some numbers penned by Coward himself. The cast
also occasionally breaks into song, making this a semi-musical. I felt
a little cheated that no full-scale music/dance numbers occurred, but
it seemed like just when that was about to happen, everyone realized
that it would be unseemly. This never stopped Busby Berkeley, but he
was notably un-English.
The story is classic Coward: In a fading but grand country house,
the matronly Mrs. Whittaker (Kristin Scott Thomas) is awaiting the
return of her only son, John (Ben Barnes), who has been off either
gallivanting or carousing or perhaps ambling. Shockingly, he returns
home with a new bride, the Very Modern Larita (Jessica Biel), who is
not only older than him, but also rather American. The scandal!
John’s two sisters are strange products of sheltered country living.
Hilda (Kimberley Nixon) has a punk-rock obsession with news stories of
murder and depravity, which is a forward-thinking attitude to have 50
years in advance of Johnny Rotten. Meanwhile, Marion (Katherine
Parkinson) remains obsessed with her lost love, who supposedly
resembles Fatty Arbuckle or Joseph Stalin.
When Larita arrives, everyone is set atwitter, especially Mrs.
Whittaker, who was rather used to being the only Mrs. Whittaker in the
house, and to giving orders and making tasteless foodstuffs, as is
right and proper. After Larita commandeers the kitchen, converses with
the servants (egad!) and kills the family dog, things go poorly for
her. Her saving grace is that she’s entirely as good-looking as Jessica
Biel. Thus, Mr. Whittaker (Colin Firth), who, unlike his wife, never
had surgery to implant a broomstick up his bumhole, takes a fancy to
her.
From there, things become very predictable, which is, I guess, how
the English like things. Well, predictable and flavorless, but the film
is luckily not the latter. Coward’s wit comes through at times, but not
in the rapid-fire manner of his later plays. There are a few flashes of
verbal brilliance, and Biel is surprisingly good at pulling off the
lines, but there are also stretches without any repartee.
These are filled with some physical comedy, including a knickerless
dance number. (Sadly, it’s not Ms. Biel going knickerless, but at least
knickers are shucked, which is how knickers are best treated during a
cancan.) Things move along smoothly while the scandals mount,
motorcycles roar through a fox hunt, and the servants speak dryly and
with levity. Kris Marshall is the scene-stealer as Furber the butler,
who does that peculiarly English thing wherein the most ordinary
sentence uttered in the most ordinary manner becomes simultaneously a
put-down, a celebration and an example of irony.
If the film has a flaw, it’s that it’s a little too understated,
which is odd, considering that the director, Stephan Elliott, is
best-known for The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
Martin Kenzie’s cinematography is gorgeous but dull. He makes the most
of the English countryside and Biel, the two of which seem to be in a
sort of beauty one-upmanship contest, but most of the shots are
textbook, with standard framing and perfectly even lighting. Pretty and
technically adept, but not arresting.
Still, in spite of not living up to its potential, Easy
Virtue is a smooth ride for its brief 93 minutes. There’s no waste,
and even as everything happens as it seems it must, the film holds
exactly the degree of excitement and interest needed to keep one from
pulling the gold watch from one’s fob, gazing through one’s pince-nez,
and sighing in hopes of a soon-to-come ending. Indeed, not once did I
think of going for my fob. And that, in itself, is an achievement, if
an unprepossessing one. Thus, quite English: The job was done well, but
not so well as to make others feel bad about themselves.
This article appears in Jun 11-17, 2009.