Sunday, January 16th, 2005

BRIGHT YOUNG THINGS

BRIGHT YOUNG THINGS
Written & Directed by Stephen Fry
Based on Evelyn Waugh’s novel Vile Bodies
Reviewed by Laura Martone


Choosing film titles can’t be easy, but sometimes the final pick does little to help a film’s cause. In fact, an accurate moniker often does more to hurt a film, especially one that can be summed up by a few choice words. In the case of Stephen Fry’s directorial debut – an adaptation of Evelyn Waugh’s much-celebrated novel Vile Bodies – it’s too bad that “Much Ado About Nothing” has already been taken. But, somehow, after seeing Bright Young Things, I’m not sure that the Bard would mind much. This gloriously vapid film is, after all, no more than a string of period costumes, vintage cars, madcap happenings, boisterous parties, and phony characters, ultimately amounting to an empty-headed hubbub signifying nothing. 


Still, the current title says all we need to know about this unfortunate waste of time and talent – a film that focuses upon a group of beautiful, young, shallow aristocrats in 1930s London, a social set known to the tabloid press as the “bright young things.” Though Nic Ede’s costumes, Peter King’s hair styles, and Michael Howells’ production design are impeccable, the ensemble of “young things” and the older elitists that must cope with this young, rebellious generation never quite capture our attention, much less our hearts. Ironically, Stephen Fry, who wrote as well as directed the film adaptation, claims to have done his best both to represent society’s neverending obsession with celebrity and to flesh out the book’s superficial characters. While he has, in some respects, handily demonstrated the decadence, eccentricity, and frenzy of the club-hopping, fad-loving youngsters and the relentless curiosity of the scandal-adoring gossip columnists and tabloid paparazzi – all of whom eerily resemble their contemporary counterparts – he has most certainly fallen short of his intention to deepen and justify Waugh’s original characters.


At the center of the disjointed story is Adam Symes (played by newcomer Stephen Campbell Moore), a young, penniless writer who, though part of the inner circle of “bright young things,” serves as the film’s obvious protagonist and the audience’s main link to this dazzling, chaotic world of parties, drugs, wealth, fame, and excess. While watching this film, I was reminded of The Great Gatsby, a literary adaptation that explores a group of gorgeous, yet callous, upper-class socialites on 1920s Long Island, New York. Unlike Nick Carraway, however – the sympathetic narrator of The Great Gatsy and an objective observer of his shallow, new acquaintances and the tragic consequences of their casual lifestyle – Adam is an inconsistent hero, at best. Never quite a fully willing participant in the shenanigans of his pals and never much of an objective observer, he is indeed too wishy-washy to respect or, for that matter, to understand.


Adam spends much of the story trying to secure enough money to marry his girlfriend and fellow “bright young thing,” Nina Blount (played by Emily Mortimer). But, as is bound to happen in a satirical comedy and star-crossed love story, he is soon met with one obstacle after another. First, he watches in horror as a puritanical customs official confiscates the completed manuscript that he has promised to his editor, Lord Monomark (surprisingly played by Dan Aykroyd). Then, he offers his gambling winnings to a drunken major (Jim Broadbent), who has promised to place a long-shot bet on the young man’s behalf and proceeds instead to disappear with the money. Subsequently, he fails in his efforts to borrow money from Nina’s unhinged father (Peter O’Toole) and to secure steady employment, ironically losing his job as a gossip columnist because of Nina’s libelous suggestions. By the time World War II propels Adam into uniform, the prospects of increasing his fortune and thereby marrying the materialistic Nina have grown quite improbable.


In the midst of this roller-coaster love story, the other “bright young things” begin, one by one, to succumb to their self-destructive behavior. But, despite such tragic events as Simon Balcairn’s suicide, Agatha Runcible’s nervous breakdown, Miles’ homosexual scandal, and Ginger Littlejohn’s financial ruin, it’s difficult to care about the misfortune that befalls such shallow, inconsiderate people, especially when they haven’t convinced the audience that they truly care about one another. Of course, the director and the lead actor attribute the characters’ lack of emotion – even in regard to the two main lovers – to a dearth of emotional expression in the novel and, by extension, in the 1930s. Therein lies the problem with many cinematic adaptations of literary works. What seems believable for the readers of a social commentary does not necessarily seem so for the viewers of a film in which the satirical analysis and comic turns – such as the young socialites’ late-night search for “naughty salt” (that is, cocaine) at the Prime Minister’s famous abode and the resulting political fall-out of such scandalous activities – overshadow what should have been the heart of the film: the characters themselves. Not even the luminous, young cast (including Michael Sheen as Miles and Fenella Woolgar as Agatha) nor the veteran thespians (including Stockard Channing as an American evangelist, Julia McKenzie as a kind-hearted landlord, Simon Callow as a deposed foreign king, and Richard E. Grant as a judgmental clergyman) can fill in the missing emotional blanks, no matter how hard they seem to have tried. Their flippant comments and absurd actions often miss their intended mark, feeling more forced than funny, and the ending is both incongruous and unsatisfying.


Ultimately, if you’re in the mood for a richly moving love story amid posh British society, I would skip this film and rent A Room with a View instead – a cinematic adaptation that has fully realized E. M. Forster’s beloved novel and managed to do what this film could not: critique the foibles of the upper classes while developing endearing characters in which the audience can feel very much invested.

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