Nothing outside of Saffron Burrows and Peter Mullan exists while watching this film. I sadly missed it in the theatre, but rented it just recently. The intensity of the interplay between Julie & Jean, and the play of chemistry between Saffron & Peter, completely absorbs. No room, no telephone, no kitten getting into things, no knock on the door. A physical sex scene that feels like a mental rape. A servant Aristocrat and an Aristocratic servant: how far does a social role penetrate our being? The air of the film brims with violence, loathing, mutual envy and lust but...no gun, no breast. The emotional manipulations between the characters manipulate the viewer's emotions much more than any weapon or nudity could. The performance of Saffron Burrows is absolutely astounding. One moment you loathe Julie, the next you just want to comfort her. Peter Mullan works in perfect tune with Burrows and even when the characters onscreen are at odds, there is perfect harmony within the player's performances. Through the film you feel as though you can see through layers and layers of this character Julie and at the end are left numb, but awe-stuck. Thank You Mike Figgis, Saffron Burrows, Peter Mullan and Maria Doyle Kennedy! (now, to pick up kitten's fun. . . )
Review of Miss Julie
