Charlotte Gray film review

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CHARLOTTE GRAY

It may be too convenient to suggest that the titular character's surname is well suited to her personality, but the passion that drives Charlotte Gray is all but hidden beneath her stoic and dour façade. So muted are her true thoughts and feelings that Charlotte Gray becomes a difficult film to engage with. Its picturesque locations and strong performances help redress the balance, but with little substance and its languid pace, the scales are heavily tipped against it.

Written by Jeremy Brock, based on the novel by Sebastian Faulks, Charlotte Gray tells the story of a woman who finds love, only to have war cruelly snatch it away. Her quest to find the man whole stole her heart exposes her to the tragedies of war, changing her irrevocably. The film's grand themes and setting are all housed within a small framework, focussing the effects of war on the domestic pain and upheaval it inflicts.

The smart but reserved Gray meets dashing young airman Peter (Rupert Penry-Jones) at a party in London in 1942 and the two begin a passionate affair. When he is shot down over France, she enrols as a British secret agent, offering her French-speaking skills in exchange for an opportunity to go on a mission that might enable her to find him. Given the new identity of Dominique, Gray is parachuted into Nazi occupied France where she is assigned the role of housemaid in the rural home of the grouchy Levade (Michael Gambon). There she becomes involved with the local Resistance, led by Levade's son, the fervent Julien. Their undeclared attraction remains dormant until Gray receives news of Peter's death.

The film's romantic thread, though integral, is not developed fully enough to sustain the action that relies heavily on un-enthralling subplots involving two orphans entrusted to Levade and the exploits of the Resistance. The lack of focus diminishes Charlotte Gray's impact, with the result that although superficially worthy, little remains beneath the surface to leave a lasting impression.

Australian director Gillian Armstrong and fellow countrywoman Blanchett are reteamed here after collaborating on 1997's Oscar And Lucinda, but even their combined talents are unable to infuse sufficient life to raise a pulse. "From this moment on Charlotte Gray is dead," utters her superior as Gray assumes her new identity. Sadly they could be talking of the film.