I was completely involved with Ford's simple but effective "A Single Man". I wasn't familiar with the Isherwood story, but appreciated that the main character, George Falconer, was an English teacher--a way to pay tribute to literature and art in this very artful film.
So many beautiful moments were poignant without becoming precious or pretentious, but perhaps the most memorable was the scene when George encounters a dog like the breed he had once shared with his late partner. That moment, with it's barely concealed grief and the awkward tenderness, had a resonance that is rare in today's popular cinema.
Firth demonstrates immeasurable depth without overarching angst. The main scene with his dear drunk friend, Charley, allow us to see more texture and longing without dissolving into sentimentality. Julianne Moore is practically effervescent as the liquor loosens her libido and threatens to tear the tissue of her long and complex relationship with George. Oh my, but she is so bewitching and sad, sad, sad.
The watery and floating fetal-like images were a bit over the top, but easy to overlook given the overall quality of the narrative, the performances and the stunning sets often accompanied by the oppressive October, 1962 hysteria. That international incident seemed somehow so trivial in the context of George's closeted grief.
So many beautiful moments were poignant without becoming precious or pretentious, but perhaps the most memorable was the scene when George encounters a dog like the breed he had once shared with his late partner. That moment, with it's barely concealed grief and the awkward tenderness, had a resonance that is rare in today's popular cinema.
Firth demonstrates immeasurable depth without overarching angst. The main scene with his dear drunk friend, Charley, allow us to see more texture and longing without dissolving into sentimentality. Julianne Moore is practically effervescent as the liquor loosens her libido and threatens to tear the tissue of her long and complex relationship with George. Oh my, but she is so bewitching and sad, sad, sad.
The watery and floating fetal-like images were a bit over the top, but easy to overlook given the overall quality of the narrative, the performances and the stunning sets often accompanied by the oppressive October, 1962 hysteria. That international incident seemed somehow so trivial in the context of George's closeted grief.