WETHERBY is a deep look into a basic human question: do we really know others, and, by extension, do we really know ourselves? Vanessa Redgrave (brilliant here, in one of her great performances) plays a middle-aged woman whose fiancé had been killed (murdered, in fact) during his military tour in Asia. The woman is left scarred by the event (we are not told how much she knows about the fiancé's fate) and lives alone, occasionally entertaining friends for dinner, and teaching at a local college. She teaches literature, a discipline that demands interpretation and looking into characters.
One night, a strange young man worms his way into one of her dinner parties, and attempts to seduce her, as a kindred spirit of his own isolation. Some time later, he returns when she's alone, and, in front of her, shoots himself in the head. The suicide drives the woman more deeply into her isolation and it seems also to affect a police detective assigned to the case. When his girlfriend leaves him to return to her husband, he feels a strong sense of identity loss, as though he had defined himself only in terms of his relationship to the girlfriend. These characters, and an intense young woman who had known the suicidal man, are the only ones we get to know (if that's even possible) in this enigmatic film. What are we to make of it? These characters are deeply affected by the actions of others, but they don't seem to have a solid sense of themselves. Perhaps the circumstances of the plot have brought out this painful realization, and they realize they are trapped. We see the detective contemplate his police identity card, then leave his home, one among identical houses in a sterile community. In the end, the woman (Redgrave) chats inconsequentially with a male friend, as they sit in a crowded bar, among strangers. The camera pulls back and we see an image of people trapped in an ultimately meaningless existence. And what of the political discussion that opens the film? It's been said that director-screenwriter David Hare was making observations about the current political situation in the UK, but the film doesn't appear to pursue this idea to any great extent.
It's all very well-acted, and filmed with a grainy, harshly lit look. The only complaint might be about the music: it's overly romantic--doesn't seem to fit the drama--and it's often much too loud.
One night, a strange young man worms his way into one of her dinner parties, and attempts to seduce her, as a kindred spirit of his own isolation. Some time later, he returns when she's alone, and, in front of her, shoots himself in the head. The suicide drives the woman more deeply into her isolation and it seems also to affect a police detective assigned to the case. When his girlfriend leaves him to return to her husband, he feels a strong sense of identity loss, as though he had defined himself only in terms of his relationship to the girlfriend. These characters, and an intense young woman who had known the suicidal man, are the only ones we get to know (if that's even possible) in this enigmatic film. What are we to make of it? These characters are deeply affected by the actions of others, but they don't seem to have a solid sense of themselves. Perhaps the circumstances of the plot have brought out this painful realization, and they realize they are trapped. We see the detective contemplate his police identity card, then leave his home, one among identical houses in a sterile community. In the end, the woman (Redgrave) chats inconsequentially with a male friend, as they sit in a crowded bar, among strangers. The camera pulls back and we see an image of people trapped in an ultimately meaningless existence. And what of the political discussion that opens the film? It's been said that director-screenwriter David Hare was making observations about the current political situation in the UK, but the film doesn't appear to pursue this idea to any great extent.
It's all very well-acted, and filmed with a grainy, harshly lit look. The only complaint might be about the music: it's overly romantic--doesn't seem to fit the drama--and it's often much too loud.