Friday, January 22, 2010

BRIGHT STAR



Directed by: Jane Campion
Run time: 119 min

I never heard of anything about John Keats in my life. I am not even a big fan of poetry, I don't even understand it very well. But after watching this movie, I was moved like I never been moved before. Truly John Keats poems are beautiful (for a guy like me who rarely read poetry and hear John Keats poetry being read by Ben Whishaw for the first time in my life, his words are mesmerizing) and so was this film which successfully transform the beauty of poetry into celluloid without over hyped cinematography or some corny dialogue I used to see in dozens of movies with the same theme.

Bright Star is clearly one of 2009's best but underrated, if only more people watch this film, they will get something more of a substance then the generic movies people used to watch nowadays. Jane Campion has managed to deliver a beautiful but heart wrenching love story without trapped inside the web of period drama corny-ism, I believe she deserved an Oscar for this film.

This is the story of the poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw), which depicted with an EMO hair here (I have no idea what EMO hair is, but since my friend call those sort of hairstyle as EMO hairstyle, so I call it EMO hair) is smitten and in love with Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish), the daughter of his landlady. To put the plot simply, they meet, they love, he dies.

As the film goes by Jane Campion take this film slowly but sure, giving the viewer a feeling of beautiful but poetic sadness. Don't ask about production value, this film has a superb recreation of early 19th century lifestyle in England, from clothes to daily life.

This film satisfies my hunger for something beautiful but with substance. By casting unknown performers, their performance are natural and allow the viewer to believe that it is John Keats and Fanny Brawne who fell in love.As for Abbie Cornish, she shine in this film, she is the bright star of Bright Star.

Bright Star
By: John Keats

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

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