Movie Review: Bright Star

"There is a holiness to the hearts affection. You know nothing of that!" John Keats shouts at his friend and writing partner Mr. Brown. That is what I loved most about this movie, its ability to articulate passion and love-sickness. The movie spans the three year love affair between Keats (Ben Whishaw) and Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish).
Bright Star is deeply romantic and slowly paced. It will only appeal to those of us who love romanticism and are fascinated with period movies. It is rich in its portrayal of the early 19th Century; the dress, language, landscape and strict code of etiquette. The movie will remind you of The Age of Innocence (Daniel Day-Lewis, Michelle Pfeiffer, Winona Ryder) but even without a famous cast, Bright Star is infinitely better simply because of the poetry. It is skillfully worked into the film, never feeling forced; an undeniable challenge. The movie was written and directed by Jane Campion who is best known for her Academy Award winning masterpiece, The Piano (Holly Hunter, Sam Neill, Anna Paquin and a miscast Harvey Keitel). Bright Star is not in the same league as The Piano (not by a long shot) but it has a different, quieter appeal that allows it to stand on it's own. Unfortunately, comparisons will be made (just like I did). When a slow moving movie runs for 2 hours the tendency is to say "It should be shorter" or "They should have spent more time editing". Quite frankly, it would not have made any difference. Five, ten, even twenty minutes shorter, it would still feel long. It's the nature of this movie. Liken it to sitting and reading Keats, it is impossible to rush through it.
One more thing: Bright Star makes it clear, 'clothes on' can be more erotic then 'clothes off'.

In case you're interested...
The poem Keats wrote for Fanny:
Bright Star
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 water 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.

Now that is simply very beautiful.