a review by Jeffrey Overstreet
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James Ivory is a director preoccupied with period decorum. Fortunately, he also appreciates good literature, and thus many of his sumptuous period piece films are based on classic novels. The richer the story, the more enthralling the film; the thinner the plot, the clearer it becomes that his real interests lie in costumes, style, cuisine, and custom.
Based on Diane Johnson’s 1997 bestseller, Le Divorce is as densely populated as Ivory’s classic adaptation of another decorous novel-E.M. Forster’s A Room With a View. The story works similarly. As Room played with British and Italian mores, this story highlights the differences between American and French culture. But where Room‘s circus of libertine and repressed characters orbited the impressionable and innocent Lucy (Helena Bonham Carter), Le Divorce is far less focused.
Our heroine, Isabel (Kate Hudson) is a fool and seems to have learned very little by the story’s end. Where Lucy was a woman of taste and conviction, Isabel’s affections apply only to the surface of things; she does not think deeply enough to make good decisions, and seems to escape the consequences of her choices in a way that suggests irresponsible storytelling. She flits into and out of affairs with all the premeditation of shopping for scarves. A simple shift of focus to her sister Roxy (Naomi Watts) might have avoided what becomes a flippant treatment of hearts, minds, and relationships. The story ends up an indulgent lark, an affirmation of self-serving romantic spontaneity without any emphasis on conscience, responsibility, or respect for others.
The curtain opens on Isabel’s journey to spend time with her Paris-dwelling, pregnant sister, an aspiring poet. Arriving simultaneously with the sudden and unexplained departure of Roxy’s husband (Melvil Pompaud), Isabel is just in time to catch her sister as she falls into despair. But she does not stick around to take care of her. In the blink of an eye, she is tumbling in the sheets with the first handsome boy she meets, even as she is drawn in by the sexual allure of a 55-year-old French senator named Edgar (Thierry Lhermitte), the uncle of Roxy’s errant husband. While Edgar distracts Isabel, Roxy is left in a lonely and despairing plunge. Soon, we are shifting between Isabel’s flighty, reckless, infuriatingly shallow antics (which Ivory films with affection and sensual delight), quick admiring close-ups of exquisite French cuisine, and reminders of Roxy’s disintegration as she learns love is anything but a trifle.
As usual, Ivory has a delightfully eclectic cast. The strongest performances come from the two leads and Lhermitte.
Watts is the most “real” of them all… portraying a deeply wounded, sincere, honest person who is capable of learning lessons and growing. I believed she existed. In fact, I wanted to take her to lunch and try to help her through her ordeal. Above all, I wanted to hear her poetry. In this role, Watts has convinced me that she is a treasure, a gift to the screen, a talent that, if she chooses the right projects, could be one of the greats.
Kate Hudson is perfectly cast for her part – whether that is a compliment or not, I do not know. But she is convincingly shallow, flirtatious, loose, and seems comfortable in the part of a promiscuous little fool. (I doubt, though, that she will ever be as radiant and as heartbreaking a case as she was in Almost Famous.)
Lhermitte walks with just the regal character, the for-the-cameras dignity, and the arrogance of a smooth-talking seducer that the part demands. When one character says that an affair with him is like “making love to a god”, the exaggeration fits. You can completely believe that impressionable girls would line up to be his latest Lolita.
The rest of the cast are all impressive, but their characters are slightly exaggerated, as though they would fit more comfortably in the elevated reality of Room With a View, where characterizations toed the line of Coen Brothers country. Roxy and Isabel have a brother named Roger who acts more like an anxiety-driven manager of the family belongings; Thomas Lennon takes a note from David Hyde Pierce, becoming a comically solemn and jittery sort of Niles. Sam Waterston is a goofy, affable father figure for the family, the sort who doesn’t think twice about snapping tourist shots with his nifty digital camera while dining with dignified gusts. Stockard Channing is an inspired match for him-the First Lady of The West Wing holding hands with TV’s reigning prosecutor. Glenn Close plays a role that serves the function Judy Dench did in Room With a View-the expert on foreign culture, guiding the young pilgrim through her first experience, warning her about the pitfalls of romance, and yet suggesting with a wink that these warnings are mere formalities.
Further convoluting the story, the matter of who gets what after Roxy’s divorce becomes a distracting and rather disconnected subplot. When both parties begin grappling for ownership of some fine art that Roxy brought into the marriage, art dealers show up and begin an investigation on the origin of the painting. This might have worked if the film had found some sort of thematic connection between the value of art and the value of true love-the very dynamic at the heart of Ivory’s The Golden Bowl. But instead it devolves into details about the art world and culminates-of course-in a suspenseful auction. While this tangent gives juicy supporting roles to Stephen Fry and Bebe Neuwirth, it adds little to the film’s exploration of love.
Most damaging to the film is a subplot that casts Matthew Modine as the jealous husband of the woman who stole Roxy’s man. Modine, one of the most underused actors in Hollywood, always seems cast in the wrong roles. He could play complex, charming leading characters. Instead he keeps getting shallow, furrowed-brow cuckolds. Here, he’s not a far cry from the semi-psychotic jealous husband he played in Altman’s Short Cuts. He carries that last act of the film off into fantasy land with a contrived and ridiculous twist, as if he has come in from the theatre next door to hijack this higher cultural artifact and force it into summer movie mode.
Aside from its indecisive tone, the tragic thing about Le Divorce remains its focus on the wrong character. The title implies that the central thread belongs to Roxy. And, as played by Watts, that story should have been central. As the story went on, it became clear that she was not entirely a victim… that she is learning a crucial truth. At one point, Isabel says to her, “Remember what you used to tell me… all of that about individuality and freedom in love.” Roxy, her voice breaking, confesses, “Those were just words. Just empty words. The truth is that in true love there is no freedom at all.”
Here is the idea that could have made the film daring and remarkable. Freedom is the goal of the rebel. But love casts off the luxury of rebellion. Love casts off the fear of committing to someone unconditionally. Marriage is sacred because it is a commitment. A promise. Which, by definition, is a willful limitation. When such a commitment is mutual-the ideal of marriage-a new sort of freedom becomes possible for the two engaged in the union, a freedom unavailable to those who engage in “love” based on self-interest and conditions. Two are stronger than one, can accomplish more, can enjoy more. They have the advantage of two minds. But yes, the freedom of a singular entity is lost. Most who have been married for many years will tell you the freedom of total individuality was a small price to pay for the freedoms found in marriage.
But we live in a society… and increasingly, a world, that worships the self and glorifies the individual to the point where the individual’s options are limited to those he or she can experience in isolation. Any of the joys of fidelity or commitment are lost, due to the idolization of the “whim.” And it is that lie to which Isabel is a slave. Thus, she cheapens her sexuality by brushing off the breakup with her inappropriate suitor, saying “Well, we had a good time, didn’t we?” It becomes all about consumption, all about the selfish desires and what we “got out of it” instead of what we gave. No higher road is acknowledged… except in Isabel’s tellingly offhand remark that there are a “lot of stupid girls like me” out there. Sadly, there are indeed.
Thus, at the end when we should be thinking about love and the lessons of maturity, we are left with Isabel shrugging off her latest big mistake and charging headlong into who-knows-what, while the film’s best chance of an exemplary relationship remains in the background. For Roxy, there might actually be the hope of true love in Le Marriage.