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- <text id=93TT0850>
- <title>
- Sep. 20, 1993: Reviews:Cinema
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
- Sep. 20, 1993 Clinton's Health Plan
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- REVIEWS, Page 82
- Cinema
- Good Fellow in Old New York
- </hdr>
- <body>
- <p>By RICHARD CORLISS
- </p>
- <qt>
- <l>TITLE: The Age Of Innocence</l>
- <l>DIRECTOR: Martin Scorsese</l>
- <l>WRITERS: Jay Cocks And Martin Scorsese</l>
- </qt>
- <p> THE BOTTOM LINE: A gravely beautiful morality play of longing
- and loss.
- </p>
- <p> In the New York society of the 1870s, Newland Archer (Daniel
- Day-Lewis) is a true romantic gentleman. He is romantic because
- he wants to shrug off the opera cape of domestic respectability
- and follow his heart to hell with the Countess Olenska (Michelle
- Pfeiffer). He is a gentleman because, having already declared
- his love to pretty May Welland (Winona Ryder), he is bound to
- behave honorably. He knows that when passion and propriety collide,
- only bitter defeat may rise from the wreckage.
- </p>
- <p> Newland is the hero of Edith Wharton's 1920 novel The Age of
- Innocence, and in his emotional corset he may seem a supporting
- player in life's melodrama, as far from the noisy concerns of
- our day as Polonius. The drawing-room virtues of reticence and
- gentility are considered dead in the Age of Prurience. Yet they
- still govern our lives whenever we check an impulse to explode
- in love or anger--when we don't shout at a reckless motorist,
- or we keep quiet when we mean to proclaim our ardor. If Richard
- Kimble is a hero for our fugitive fantasy egos, Newland Archer
- is the patron saint of our everyday conscience, the coachman
- on our journey as the years dissolve into decades and the decades
- into decay.
- </p>
- <p> Wharton was a poet of repression. Another New Yorker, Martin
- Scorsese, is the bard of belligerence, the ace depictor of raging
- bulls. What could Wharton mean to Scorsese? Everything, it turns
- out: his faithful adaptation of The Age of Innocence (written
- with Jay Cocks, a TIME contributor) is a gravely beautiful fairy
- tale of longing and loss.
- </p>
- <p> The heroine is Ellen Olenska, May's cousin, now separated from
- her European aristocrat husband and thus the subject of purring
- rumor from the town's smooth hypocrites. As the radiantly giddy
- May seems a child to Newland, so he feels like a boy in Ellen's
- presence. The two fall in furtive love. But it is not falling
- so much as tiptoeing in the dark. Once he kisses her slipper;
- later he unbuttons her glove and kisses her wrist, then her
- mouth, which opens more in anguish than in lust. Guilt is the
- barrier between their lips. And both could be underestimating
- sweet May; the child has a will and means of her own.
- </p>
- <p> Scorsese's style is still intelligently abustle: fast dissolves
- of an opera audience, a quiet riot of gold when the blond countess
- receives yellow roses from Newland, a slow-motion vignette of
- working men--the people whose labor subsidizes the idle class.
- Throughout, he shows he can be as attentive to the tiniest twinges
- of the heart as he has been to the gunfire of taxi drivers and
- goodfellas. Here, instead of shouting, people speak softly and
- in code. The movie is 135 thrilling minutes waiting for someone
- to come to the point. And that is the point: a man is at risk
- in this society if he says what he thinks or does what he feels.
- </p>
- <p> The three stars (Day-Lewis superbly stooped by rectitude, Pfeiffer
- so elegant and bruised, Ryder a young Audrey Hepburn in all
- her wide-eyed guile) are swathed in glamorous costumes and period
- decor. The congestion of old masters on a matron's wall suggests
- the confined space in which the story unfolds and the straitened
- notions to which Newland and Ellen must pay homage. The handsomely
- fussy design is meant to dazzle and deaden the viewer's senses--as Newland is seduced by Ellen and suffocated by May.
- </p>
- <p> The story is finally May's triumph, Ellen's rue, Newland's muted
- ruin. For him it is a tragedy, because he has been made aware
- of joys anticipated, delayed, crushed. Frequently he rewrites
- the tryst in his mind: one moment when Ellen might have caressed
- him, another when she could have turned around, smiled and changed
- his life.
- </p>
- <p> Why can't we love without hurting people, without being devoured?
- That is a child's question, of course, and so plaintive because
- it can't be answered. Listening to this urgent whisper against
- the constraints of civilization, you can hear an old Scorsese
- bull snort under its breath. This is the rage of innocence.
- </p>
-
- </body>
- </article>
- </text>
-
-