Foggy with a Chance of Sunshine: A Review of Effie Gray
Written for L.A. Times film critic Kenneth Turan’s class “Writing the Film Review”at USC.
Wrapped in England’s gossamer fogs and framed by stiff Victorian facades, period-drama and biopic, “Effie Gray,” fits like a too tight ball gown. Cinched to suffocate its wearer, the dress looks beautiful, but it is also deeply uncomfortable to try on.
The film, starring Dakota Fanning as its eponymous heroine, focuses on the strained love triangle between famed art critic John Ruskin (Greg Wise), his virginal wife Euphemia “Effie” Gray and Ruskin’s protégé, painter John Everett Millais (Tom Sturridge).
Ruskin and Effie’s courtship begins as a fairytale. When Effie comes of age at 19, the much older and richer Ruskin marries his poor and pure “muse” with haste, yet puts off consummating their union. Their relationship, like a forgotten and neglected timepiece, unwinds gradually to haunting effect, as Effie attempts to win her husband’s heart, find a place within her in-laws’ oppressive household and ultimately escape from her loveless marriage. This trek is long and arduous, at times dragging and drifting like the swoop of a long, full skirt, yet it is also spiked with tension.
Tender moments between Ruskin and Effie are rare, yet pointed, souring quickly or inciting disdain at second glance. When Ruskin reaches out to tuck a reddish lock behind Effie’s ear, it reads first as fondness, later as a correctional adjustment to Effie’s “angelic” look. To Ruskin, Effie is an object to be admired rather than a woman to be fully embraced. This tendency to objectify extends to the film’s characterization of Effie as well. Pale and thin with wavy tresses, Dakota Fanning sometimes looks like a porcelain doll, in more dire instances, a paper one.
No doubt this maquillage is intended to provoke sympathy for poor Effie Gray. Aesthetically, the ethereal Effie hangs about this world, designed by James Merifield, like a piece of victim art. It is a wonder that her spirit isn’t completely snuffed out by it. Even so, Dakota Fanning as Gray embodies a quiet, if conscientious, courage against this bleak backdrop.
Emma Thompson, whose screenplay was challenged with accusations of plagiarism, is a bright, if overly shiny, spot in this dreary land. As Lady Eastlake, Thompson serves as a cheery friend and confidant to the unhappy Effie. Yet Thompson often overplays her warm demeanor, acting more like Mary Poppins, than a worldly guide to domesticity and its intricacies. The subtleties that Thompson ignores in her performance are more strikingly nuanced in the film’s depiction of Effie Gray’s marital turmoil.
Scenes are stretched taut with unspoken words, harsh slights and backhanded compliments. Julie Walters, as Effie’s mother-in-law, never misses an opportunity to cut up Gray with her words, while the negligent Ruskin is equally wounding through his lack of affection.
A calm cruelty emanates from Greg Wise’s Ruskin, who shows more affection for ancient art, than his young wife. While Ruskin is showing Effie a Venetian plaza from atop some scaffolding, he waxes poetic about a cherub ensconced in a stone colonnade. Admiring the figure, he strokes the angel’s cheek, yet misses Effie’s own look of adoration. He seems more enticed by stone than his wife’s rosy complexion, which drains as Ruskin’s neglect increases. He doesn’t notice the bald spots that only grow bigger on his wife’s scalp or her increasingly withdrawn nature. That Ruskin evinces more emotion toward a piece of stone than he does his wife is both hard and heartbreaking to watch.
John Everett Millais’ belated entrance into Effie’s life brings a much-needed respite from the film’s ever-present tension and hopelessness, although Thompson leaves the possibility of their love culminating happily open ended. To some this might disappoint. To others it’s an invitation to Google. Either way, the film finally unfurls to alleviating effect, releasing its tight grip and allowing the viewer to swallow that lump in the throat, take a deep breath and utter a sigh of relief. Against the murky mists, there might just be a silver lining.
