Film Impressions: Effie Grey

The latest fictional account of the doomed relationship between John Ruskin and Effie Gray comes from the pen of no less a respected writer than Emma Thompson. While it tries to be much more sincere and genuine than the last notable attempt – 2009’s extremely fun Desperate Romantics – having just written so much about myths in collective memory, I feel compelled to point out that it is very far from accurate. 

Thompson wants to tell the story of an imprisoned, trapped, innocent young woman oppressed and tortured by her probably paedophilic husband and his overbearing parents. She is effectively imprisoned with nobody to talk to, deprived sexual contact, nearly raped by the only one she opens up to while in Venice, and finally manages to stand up for herself by getting an annulment having seen a better path with Millais. To do this, Thompson excises all the records of Gray being a popular socialite who far from being isolated had numerous people to speak with. She apparently invents the rapey fellow in Venice, and to have a more interesting dynamic in the trip to Scotland with Millais, removes his brother from the narrative altogether. The biggest irony, though, is that in a film marketed as feminist, Thompson reduces Effie from a spirited, powerfully opinionated woman who frequently argued with her husband to a meek, submissive damsel in distress who can do nothing until she goes to find a man to help her.

I also found it a little baffling that for such an interesting life, Thompson’s desire to make a claustrophobic film meant we had two hours building up to the point of Effie’s life where it really gets interesting.

Overall, I rather preferred the version in Desperate Housewives, where Ruskin was buffoonish, Millais was rather wet (and didn’t look more like a dashing Rossetti) and Effie was a little cleverer than them both.

Which isn’t to say there wasn’t much to admire here. The scenery is utterly gorgeous. The cast is brilliant, with Fanning doing a good job as the winsome, heartbroken young Effie, perfectly-pitched controlling-parent performances from Julie Walters and David Suchet, and perfectly-judged cameos from Derek Jacobi, Robbie Coltrane and Emma Thompson herself.

But this was a story that took a historical premise well into a fictional context. Which is fine, but I’m baffled as to why, if that was the intention, the fictional direction chosen wasn’t more entertaining.