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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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time
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011689
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01168900.077
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1990-09-17
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CINEMA, Page 64Lust Is a Thing with FeathersBy Richard Corliss
DANGEROUS LIAISONS
Directed by Stephen Frears/Screenplay by Christopher Hampton
The old moguls hated movies where people wore powdered wigs
and wrote with feathers. So this film's first images should set the
old bosses spinning in their mausoleums. A gentleman's peruke is
affixed, a lady's bosom powdered. But this gentleman, the Vicomte
de Valmont (John Malkovich), is an icy defiler, and this lady, the
Marquise de Merteuil (Glenn Close), secretes contempt under her
frozen smile. Among the French aristocracy just before the
Revolution, she is the stage manager of affections and deceptions,
he the lickerish snake who literally hisses at his adversaries.
Their cruel games will lead them to peek through keyholes, swipe
bedroom keys, purloin letters, ruin lives. And write with feathers.
Such a lovely couple, these two provocateurs of passion. Her
salon is a school in which girls may unlearn their innocence. And
he is the ideal professor for a young lady's sentimental education.
Just now Valmont has two pupils in mind: a naive, eager teenager
(Uma Thurman) and the beautiful, pious Mme. de Tourvel (Michelle
Pfeiffer), who keeps resisting Val mont's purring declarations of
love. And then, to his astonishment, he realizes that he means
them. In a rake, sincerity is lethal. He who has lived by the word
will die by the sword. And Mme. la Marquise will founder with him.
Their game is over.
Onstage, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Christopher Hampton's
adaptation of the Choderlos de Laclos novel, was elegant and
epicene. Les Lay caught the novel's central conceit -- that sex is
a wicked game, the rankest form of show business -- in a witty
talkathon on Topic A. The movie goes one crucial step further,
allowing the characters to shrug off their finery and display some
redeeming prurient interest. The actresses are all wanly handsome:
ornaments of an era close to exhaustion. Pfeiffer and Thurman make
for luscious bookends in the library of lust. Close sits back and
plays the puppeteer of a dozen destinies, until she realizes that
the job comes with strings attached.
Everyone who watches the late show knows that the antique
French spoke with Oxford accents. Here, though, the aristocrats
speak breadbasket American, while the servants talk with an English
or Irish lilt -- a subtle joke on the imperialism of American
culture. If there is a pitfall in this strategy, it is that
American actors are defter at explosions than at epigrams. They are
not trained, as the English are, to coil themselves in hauteur. So
at times Malkovich plays the evil dandy too diligently; on his brow
you can almost see the fop sweat. Then gradually he learns to trust
the intimacy of Frears' close-up camera style. The lizard eyes
crease with desire; tiny curlicues of smirk rise from the corners
of his mouth; the wispy voice locates the moral malaise at the
heart of Valmont's debauchery. He embodies the cynical wisdom of
this excellent film: life is one big performance art, and sex is
a little death.