Film criticism 101

Oestrogen TV continued last night -- after Wednesday's rather more violent, less-chick-friendly Internal Affairs (despite the presence of lovely Andy Garcia and smug Richard Gere) -- with Possession, the adaptation of A.S. Byatt's novel. I'd attempted to read this a few months ago, but had given up after finding that the poetry was tedious (as is all poetry if it doesn't rhyme and isn't funny) and that I didn't care about any of the characters. However, the film starred Jeremy Northam -- mmm, Jeremy Northam! -- and I had nothing better to do with my time, so I tuned in.

OK. On reflection, there were three major problems with this film:

1. The usual English cliches. Look! He's on a red London bus! Look! He's been dropped off right next to a red telephone box! Look! An impoverished academic is living in a gorgeous Kensington basement flat belonging to a lovable, wealthy solicitor (although not played by Hugh Grant)!

2. They got academia wrong. All the academics spent their time actually doing research in libraries, rather than filling in government assessment forms and grant applications and trying to teach the rudiments of English to ill-educated, uncaring undergraduates. Professor Blackadder was a lovably eccentric Irishman, instead of a bitter old sod; research assistant Paola was stunningly attractive, instead of mousy. And Gwyneth Paltrow's house and greige clothing were simply unimaginable on an academic salary.

In addition, their research was sloppy. "This is a picture of Christabel's niece." Niece? Surely the film-makers wouldn't introduce a McGuffin in a film like this. Perhaps this "niece" is more important than would first appear. "Christabel disappeared for a year in 1860" -- a year? Hmm, sounds suspiciously like NINE MONTHS! "Nobody knows where she went. There are no clues!" Except for a journal, conveniently written in English by a French companion (uncovered by the pantomime villain of the piece, a rival academic) that detailed all of the events of Christabel's sojourn in France in 1860. Including -- ta-dah! -- the baby! Which was indeed the "niece"! And thus GP's great-great-grandmother! Because it's ALL ABOUT GWYNETH!!! Which leads me nicely to my next point.

3. Gwyneth Paltrow. A long time ago, on our first date, PJ and I bonded over our mutual belief that the only good GP film is one in which she dies. Seven: great film, could have been better if they'd shown her head in the box at the end -- and no, I'm not going to "spoiler" that! Shakespeare in Love: I like to switch it off at the point at which she's drowning in the water, so that I can pretend she stays there, rather than emerging to stride damply across Holkham Beach. Sliding Doors: half-good; gets it right in one story, badly wrong in the other. Possession would have been much better if Aaron Eckhardt had started channeling the spirit of Jack the Ripper and had offed Gwyneth the first time she started with the faux English accent and neck-elongating poses.

On the plus side, Jeremy Northam -- mmmm! -- and Jennifer Ehle were top-class as usual, the English scenery was pretty, and I no longer feel marginally guilty for not finishing the book. Plus, it was so predictable that I had time to make flapjack without missing out on any important plot points.

Phew, glad I got that off my chest!