Liv Ullmanns Frøken Julie har fått sine anmeldelser i Toronto. Ikke uventet er kritikerne uenige om resultatet. Av de tre kildene vi har hentet utdrag fra er det ett aspekt alle er enige om: filmens utelukkende bruk av interiør-scener gir den et litt klaustrofobisk preg, samt at den fremstår bunden av sitt teater-opphav.
Her følger noen utdrag fra anmeldelsene:
…Ullmann sticks to a Masterpiece Theatre template, stretching out scenes to stultifying lengths and slapping lots of adagio classical pieces on the soundtrack to emphasize the somberness of it all.
Both Chastain and Farrell are resourceful, intelligent actors who can be riveting together moment to moment. But the disconcerting thing about Ullmann’s blandly handsome movie is that neither of these key characters comes fully into focus.
But while Chastain’s ascent into violent anger packs a charge, there’s too little sense of the underlying fatalism that should live deep in the character’s bones. And while Farrell is a tasty bit of rough who would turn the head of any horny lady of the manor, the cold fearfulness and contempt that drive his final choices are undersold.
…the film is confined to the kitchen and servants’ quarters below ground — airless territory where Miss Julie is an uneasy tourist. That choice, plus the decision to leave the Strindberg work intact as strictly a three-character drama, means it never goes far beyond its theatrical origins.
…admiration rather than emotional involvement is the most one feels here.
Compared to what remains the work’s filmic gold standard, Alf Sjoberg’s classic 1951 version, this is a glorified performance record of what might have been a fine stage production, but one that has sadly turned rather tedious in the translation.
But it’s a highly theatrical work, and Ullmann neither underscores that theatricality nor successfully opens up the text as Sjoberg and others have.
But at least four-fifths of the film’s progress remains stuck in the kitchen, creating an inevitable feel of static garrulousness… Ullmann’s feels stagebound, cut off from any exterior reality.
The three thesps are impressive, with Chastain and Farrell delivering fevered performances that might have been knockouts on the boards, but in this respectfully flat approach feel a bit overscaled — you can see their virtuoso technique at work
Do not be deceived by the film’s small scale and cast, because there is so much to take in here.
Part of our disenchantment with Ullmann’s adaptation stems from an unflinching claustrophobia that seems to imprison all freedom, and practically breaks through the celluloid to beat us into submission.
You will squirm, you will physically recoil you will fret in overwhelming anxiety. Much of this is due to Ullmann’s persistent medium shots of the actors, whose performances are a ferocious sight to behold.
All of this is pronounced with the gorgeous aesthetics, Mikhail Krichman’s lighting shining on the actors’ faces like the most expressive brushstrokes in Victorian paintings.
…as undeniable as Jessica Chastain’s towering performance. For if we must single out one of the three, it can only be her. Shaky accent be damned, this is Chastain’s most frightening, mature, and volcanic performance of an already resplendent career. Her Julie will go down as one of her greatest triumphs, but we also have Liv Ullmann to thank for it.
Ullmann’s version of “Miss Julie” is a special breed of cinema; it’s toxic, it’s hypnotic, and passionately translates Strindberg’s genius instinct for enlightening the multi-layered psychological spectrums of human desire for lust and power. It’s unforgettable in every sense of the word.
