When we talk about great novels that deal with the downfall of a young woman, Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth" does not get mentioned in the same breath with "Madame Bovary," "The Awakening," and "Anna Karenina." Certainly there are substantial differences since Wharton's heroine Lily Bart is not a married woman seeking comfort in an adulterous affair; she is a single woman searching for a husband, playing the game of flirtation, and weighing her options. But in the end her destruction makes her a kindred spirit to Emma Bovary and the others. In fact, because her sins are relatively small and her destruction so complete, Lily Bart is a much more memorable tragic figure.
I came to this film version of "The House of Mirth" with no expectations other than a breakthrough performance by actress Gillian Anderson in the role of Lily. As it dawned upon me that we were watching the complete and total destruction of a human being by the venal society of which she thought she was a permanent member, Anderson's performance took on a truly haunting aspect. The result is as restrained an emotional performance as you have ever seen, reflecting the slower tempo of the times depicted (watch the measured pace of Lily's walk, both in the opening sequence at the train station and when the gilded society walks up the massive staircase to the opera).
Like Lily, we have our expectations of the characters in this gilded society shattered as the story progresses and she begins her descent into hell. The man who comes to her financial assistance, Gus Trenor (Dan Aykroyd), is looking for something in return; the man who would take her as a trophy wife in a loveless marriage, Sim Rosedale (Anthony LaPaglia), is ultimately the only person who will treat her decently; the man she truly loves, Lawrence Selden (Eric Stoltz) is unworthy of her affections; and the man who would treat her the way she truly deserves, George Dorset (Terry Kinney), is married to the instrument of her destruction and therefore beyond her reach. The ultimate irony is that Lily's character has a strength greater than those around her, but it does her no good in the end, when even her personal dignity is not enough to sustain her.
The measured performances throughout this film are superb, but it is Laura Linney as Bertha Dorset who stands out with her ability to inject pure venom into a quick glance or a few well chosen words. Anderson was not exactly robbed of an Oscar nomination for her performance, but if she had received one no one would have blinked an eye. Certainly this role will open up some serious doors for her down the road as she enters the rest of her career after Scully. "The House of Mirth" lacks the spectacle of "Age of Innocence," but I do not want to dock a film rating stars because of how much money they had to put things on the screen. This film starts slowly but then builds up a compelling momentum.
Terence Davies audio commentary is extremely insightful (I especially like his comment on how American actors use their eyes), although he picks his moments, usually at the beginning of scenes. His emphasis is on both the adaptation of Wharton's novel and the actual production of the film. With regard to the former he talks about the decision to combine characters or other alterations, and takes great pleasure in identifying those lines which are his own creation rather than Wharton's. The latter topic evidences how the director solved the problems of an $8 million budget filming in and around Glascow. Davies talks less than half the time during the audio commentary, but what is there is certainly first-rate. He also provides a spirited defense of the deleted scenes, most of which are longer versions of those in the film and which provide additional layers of density to the complex character relationships. Clearly, Davies was a writer-director passionately involved in the creation of his film.