Well, what a surprise. I went into the cinema to see A Single Man expecting a stylish film, beautiful to watch but with Mr Darcy supported by Tony from Skins in the lead roles, not much in terms of substance. Yet I found myself completely mesmerised by the film and unexpectedly touched by the acting.
The plot centres around university lecturer George, a meticulously neat, beautifully suited middle aged man living in an awe inspiring house in LA in the 60s. George is gay, has just lost his partner of 16 years (Jim) in a car accident and is struggling to deal with his grief, despite a perfectly ordered exterior. The film is not a gay film and calling it that pigeonholes it unnecessarily. It does have a gay context but if it's crusading for gay rights then it's doing it with subtlety.
One of the only scenes where you feel a point is being obviously made is when George is told he can't go to his lost love’s funeral because the family don't know about him and/or don’t want him there. I almost couldn't believe I was watching the same actor who threw girl punches at Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones - the anger, hurt, fear, denial and devastation that Firth squeezed into just a couple of minutes of acting unexpectedly blew me away. And the simplicity of the expression of that situation did more to make me understand the isolation and frustration that must be a daily part of being a gay man then and (hopefully less so) now than any of those films that tread a more obvious path.
The film follows George through the day as he prepares meticulously to kill himself, as if it were something that everyone does at the end of a sunny LA day. Flashbacks to the past, to happy times with Jim and to George’s reaction to finding out about the death are all woven in, unobtrusively adding flesh and bruises to the film’s well-crafted bones. Although Colin Firth's character’s terminal course always seems fastidiously set, you can see his hesitation and fear in the moments where the grief lifts and the character - and the screen - are suddenly alive with colour. It’s such an obvious but powerful technique to express those pinholes of light that filter through depression, that I’m surprised I haven’t seen it used more.
In the end this film is really about dealing with grief and loss. It's a beautifully set, wonderfully produced snapshot of a heartbreak that has been tackled many times before by many a director but perhaps not quite with this much sensitivity or style. I was genuinely surprised by the way this film made me feel and how completely the message came across without the fashion or the sexuality taking over. I’m already a huge Tom Ford fan and was prepared to forgive this as a vanity project because I knew it would be pretty to watch but I vastly underestimated the talent involved and I’d be disappointed it there wasn’t more of this to come.
The plot centres around university lecturer George, a meticulously neat, beautifully suited middle aged man living in an awe inspiring house in LA in the 60s. George is gay, has just lost his partner of 16 years (Jim) in a car accident and is struggling to deal with his grief, despite a perfectly ordered exterior. The film is not a gay film and calling it that pigeonholes it unnecessarily. It does have a gay context but if it's crusading for gay rights then it's doing it with subtlety.
One of the only scenes where you feel a point is being obviously made is when George is told he can't go to his lost love’s funeral because the family don't know about him and/or don’t want him there. I almost couldn't believe I was watching the same actor who threw girl punches at Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones - the anger, hurt, fear, denial and devastation that Firth squeezed into just a couple of minutes of acting unexpectedly blew me away. And the simplicity of the expression of that situation did more to make me understand the isolation and frustration that must be a daily part of being a gay man then and (hopefully less so) now than any of those films that tread a more obvious path.
The film follows George through the day as he prepares meticulously to kill himself, as if it were something that everyone does at the end of a sunny LA day. Flashbacks to the past, to happy times with Jim and to George’s reaction to finding out about the death are all woven in, unobtrusively adding flesh and bruises to the film’s well-crafted bones. Although Colin Firth's character’s terminal course always seems fastidiously set, you can see his hesitation and fear in the moments where the grief lifts and the character - and the screen - are suddenly alive with colour. It’s such an obvious but powerful technique to express those pinholes of light that filter through depression, that I’m surprised I haven’t seen it used more.
In the end this film is really about dealing with grief and loss. It's a beautifully set, wonderfully produced snapshot of a heartbreak that has been tackled many times before by many a director but perhaps not quite with this much sensitivity or style. I was genuinely surprised by the way this film made me feel and how completely the message came across without the fashion or the sexuality taking over. I’m already a huge Tom Ford fan and was prepared to forgive this as a vanity project because I knew it would be pretty to watch but I vastly underestimated the talent involved and I’d be disappointed it there wasn’t more of this to come.
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