Dries Vermeulen
Though D.H. Lawrence's scandal-fueling 1928 novel, which was not legally available in its country of origin until 1960, has been adapted for the screen on many occasions since respectable stick in the mud Marc Allégret made a first attempt as long ago as 1955 with less fire than ice Danielle Darrieux, it wasn't until the equally non-British Pascale Ferran shot a highly literate version with the magnificent Marina Hands critics consensually agreed the book had been done cinematic justice. While a considerable commercial success when theatrically released in the early '80s, Just Jaeckin's much-maligned rendition has rarely been deemed worthy of comment since. Large part of the problem for high-minded reviewers remains the fact that so many involved on both sides of the camera are just so…disreputable ! Rather fitting for a film based on literary material so long slandered as pornographic and since that took three decades to rehabilitate, perhaps the movie might expect a similar fate by now ? Produced by the Cannon Group, effectively Israeli-born schlock-meisters Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus, and directed by the guy who drew huge crowds yet public disdain with such up-market porn as EMMANUELLE and HISTOIRE D'O, it had some major hurdles to overcome if it wanted to become a critic's darling. While the Go-Go Twins, a nickname coined by Michael Winner, probably couldn't care less about such fate, this was clearly more of a concern for Just Jaeckin, craving respect in the wake of top-grossing titillation. Alas, it was not meant to be. Casting Dutch actress Sylvia Kristel, who – like Jaeckin – could not escape the curse of EMMANUELLE, in the lead role didn't help. Though dubbed in plummy British dulcet tones, she's actually quite good playing constricted Constance Chatterley, deeply in love with war-paralyzed husband Clifford (a rather unctuous Shane Briant, who had made an impact in Hammer's DEMONS OF THE MIND and CAPTAIN KRONOS, VAMPIRE HUNTER) but physically yearning for the satisfaction only hunky grounds keeper Oliver Mellors (the late lamented Nicholas Clay) can supply.Movie's actually a lot closer to the book, a "hot property" if ever there was, than those who have never read it assume. An intimately detailed account of romance as product of overwhelming sexual attraction, it didn't exactly need "juicing up" to qualify as source for an overtly erotic film. Initially intended to be made by the outrageous Ken Russell (who wound up doing a disappointingly bland TV version with Joely Richardson and Sean Bean a decade later) with Sarah Miles and Oliver Reed slated to portray the single-minded protagonists, the eventual outcome was quickly written up as a sell-out to crass commercialism by the kind of ivory tower print journalists who are now receiving their just desserts courtesy of the Internet. They did not pay attention to the faithful screenplay provided by Jaeckin, regular Hammer scribe Christopher Wicking and American author Marc Behm, who wrote "The Eye of the Beholder", filmed by Claude Miller (as MORTELLE RANDONNEE) and Stephan Elliott under the original title. They casually overlooked Shirley Russell's sumptuous costumes, dating back to when it was still her husband's project no doubt, and the splendid sets by a then fledgling designer named Anton Furst, who had the last laugh garnering well-deserved kudos for his outstanding work on Neil Jordan's COMPANY OF WOLVES and Tim Burton's BATMAN. Pressed for praise, they were willing to concede that the efforts of cinematographer Robert Fraisse (Oscar-nominated for Jean-Jacques Annaud's THE LOVER) and composer Stanley Myers worthy of minor consideration, though both were thought of as "slumming" it.Okay, this is where I discard all pretense of professionalism and possibly, where part of my respected readership's concerned, take leave of my senses. Having made a convincing case for the defense, I feel, I must admit that I profoundly love this movie for reasons that are entirely personal. Picture if you will, an anxious 14-year old boy struggling with his sexual identity – I have since come out to myself and the world, thank you – being taken by his beloved and now sadly departed mother to see this film at the sort of humongous picture palace pre-dating the multiplex culture we know today. The extremely physical romance unspooling before my gazing eyes filled me with joy and longing as few films have managed since. Stuck in a loveless marriage, for which I don't blame my late father as they proved a poor match from the start by all accounts, my mom relished the vicarious thrill the flicks provided her with. Needless to say, we both adored this one, so much in fact, and I can't believe I'm making this public but you will soon find out I have no shame, that we would call each other "Connie" and "Ollie" ever since until her untimely passing in February 2003.I developed a major crush on Nicholas Clay. He had caused a stirring in my loins playing Lancelot in John Boorman's magnificently overblown Excalibur but now the lid was off entirely. As a starry-eyed gay teen, I vowed to keep myself chaste until we could be together. Oh, my resolve weakened – or was weakened for me – within a couple of weeks or so and I grew into the slut beloved by many to this very day ! So, this movie's all about coming to terms with my growing attraction to members (ha !) of the same sex. It's also about my mother, invariably the most important woman in most gay men's lives. Six and a half years since her death and still not a day goes by that she's not in my thoughts. I love and miss her very much and watching this film – praise the Lord for DVD – makes me feel that little bit closer to her whenever I need to, just like this particularly odd review is my perhaps wrong-headed attempt at a tribute. Go softly into the night, my Queen, and God bless
jaibo
It must have seemed a high concept idea of genius to the producers, Golan and Globus of Cannon films: re-unite the director and star of the soft-porn worldwide hit Emmanuelle for a big screen version of the most famous erotic novel of them all, D H Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover. The film, for a British erotic flick of the time, has relatively high production values and a slew of classy but less well-known British character actors in the supporting roles. Director Jaekin makes his usual painstakingly beautiful but somewhat chocolate box soft focus images, and the whole film glides before the eye very pleasantly.The first part of the film is pretty good as well. The upper class life of the Chatterleys is well delineated, there's some breathtaking tracking shots around the Chatterley mansion and the war sequence is convincing. The first sighting of by Lady Chatterley of Mellors naked and soaping himself by his hut is sexy and ripe. But once the affair begins and the two of them are making love on a regular basis, the film's pace slows down and its dramatic level evens to a flat-line. There's some intriguing cutting between the lovers in each others arms and the crippled Lord Chatterley languishing in his bed, but it's all a bit too tastefully done - Lawrence's earthy eroticism isn't captured, nor is the script wise to have lost his salty filthy dialogue. What you get is a sort of motion picture version of high-class erotic prints.Some of Lawrence's diagnosis of the crippled state of the British aristocratic class after WW1 remains intact, and the film is helped by a very fine performance indeed by Shane Briant as the emasculated Lord. Kristel is never less than watchable as milady, and Nicolas Clay has the looks to suggest Mellors' virility, even though the director never lets him exercise it. The last quarter of the film seems rushed, and a promising sojourn to France only scratches the surface of what might have been a Sirk-like interlude of realisation that the protagonist's class and social circle offers nothing that a virile man can bring her.Best filed under intriguing failures, artistically and (to Cannon Films' chagrin) at the box office.
djensen1
Pretty typical Golan & Globus production with better than average art direction and cinematography. The estate is beautiful--as is Sylvia Kristel--but the adaptation is flat and whole thing feels flabby.A bit of sex goes with the story, of course, and it's done well enough; but it's nothing like Kristel's soft core films. The acting is competent thruout, and the filmmakers take pains to maintain the essence of the English class struggle. But some of the jealousy and social indignation feels contrived.I loved Lord Chatterly's gas-powered wheelchair for zipping around the grounds, altho why he didn't install an elevator in the mansion is a mystery.
moonspinner55
From the makers of "Emmanuelle: The Joys Of A Woman"...not exactly D. H. Lawrence territory, is it? Still in all, this low-budget sexcapade has decent locales and very steamy leads (Sylvia Kristel and Nicholas Clay), neither of whom are shy about appearing in the buff. It is noteworthy that this is one of the few R-rated movies from this period to show the man undressed as well as the woman, and their sex in the forest has animal heat to it. But those looking for an adept cinematic translation of the famous novel will be embarrassed...and perhaps even slightly amused. The weakest link is the editing, which darts around leaving scenes unfinished, such as the finale (which is really just a bushel of footage posing as an ending). However, on a soft-core/harlequin level, "Lady Chatterly's Lover" isn't too bad. **1/2 from ****
