Review: The Governess

A tremendous debut from Sandra Goldbacher, a writer-director to watch. Exotic, mysterious, intense, The Governess is a work of art.

Minnie Driver portrays Rosina, a young Sephardic Jew unrooted by the death of her adored father. Her ambitions of being an actress serve her well when she rechristens herself Mary Blackchurch ("Gentile," she proclaims. "A gentle woman.") and travels to the Isle of Skye, a remote Scottish island that is breathtakingly, coldly beautiful. There she serves as governess to Clementina (Florence Hoath), the bratty daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Cavendish (Tom Wilkinson and Harriet Walter). Mr. Cavendish is a remote figure -- he constantly spends time in his laboratory. Mrs. Cavendish lolls around (Goldbacher never shows the character standing). "I am not like them," Rosina laments in her letters to her younger sister.

Days of dealing with the difficult Clementina ("The child is a rodent in lace petticoats," she writes) soon give way to time spent with the reserved Charles Cavendish who, struck by her intelligence and curiosity, allows her to help him with his project. He's found a way to capture images on film, but can't prevent them from dissolving once they're developed. Their professional relationship soon turns personal. Things are further complicated by the presence of Charles' rebellious son, Henry (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), whose infatuation with Rosina threatens to expose her secret.

The photography angle of the film provides some haunting shots; in particular, a shot of Rosina standing in the center as Clementina whirls around her. Special nods to cinematographer Ashley Rowe, production designer Sarah Greenwood, costume designer Caroline Harris (who outfits Driver in costumes best described as Barbarella meets Jane Eyre), and composer Edward Shearmur, whose insinuating score enhances the exoticism of the film.

The Governess does recall films like Jane Eyre and, especially, Jane Campion's The Piano. The trick, of course, is not to be so similarly themed as to invite comparison. The Governess does invite it but compares well. Rosina is a stronger character than either Jane Eyre, whose meekness belied her intelligence, or Holly Hunter's mute Ada, whose willfulness gives birth to a potent sexuality. In many ways, The Governess is a better film than The Piano if only because it doesn't possess the latter's austere esotericism. Rosina possesses both the intelligence and the passion but also a contemporary unrestraint in her pursuit of knowledge, whether it be in matters of the heart or matters of the brain.

Goldbacher uses color startlingly to juxtapose the two worlds Rosina must juggle. The first half of the film is plush with an amber glow. The reds bleed, the yellows hint of Marrakesh; Driver herself debuts resembling a Moroccan princess. Color has never felt so luxuriant. The Isle of Skye section is hued in stark greys and grave whites. Yet the austerity is beguiling.

Goldbacher draws uniformly letter-perfect performances from her cast. Rhys Meyers is all youthful exuberance; there's a grand rawness about him, almost as if the untamable animal Brando unleashed in A Streetcar Named Desire had melded with the methodical brilliance of Daniel Day-Lewis. Rhys Meyers, whose face in certain angles radiates a pre-Raphaelite beauty and in others resembles nothing less than a car wreck, is one to watch. Wilkinson, best known for The Full Monty and last seen in Wilde, delivers a superb characterization of a man calloused by his own desires. "I do not want my feelings," he rages. "I cannot be consumed by you!"

When I heard the nominations for the 1997 Oscars, I was a bit baffled by Driver's inclusion. Then I remembered the scene. You know the scene: good Will Hunting severing ties with his love, Skylar. Driver made Skylar's crumble ferociously palpable and it is that moment of undistilled greatness that validated her nomination. She has a similar breakdown in The Governess and it is as harrowing to watch as the one from Good Will Hunting. The difference is that Driver has more than one scene to remember her by; she is in every frame of The Governess.

Driver's acting is as pure as acting can get. Often, actresses go by way of Salome except, instead of peeling away seven veils to reach the character's core, they layer veil after veil of fuss until the method becomes madness. Driver's purity is radioactive -- it stings, it burns, it aches. No other actress working today can match her ability to be so painfully, emotionally exposed. Her face resembles no less than an open wound.

The Governess

Directed by: Sandra Goldbacher

Written by: Sandra Goldbacher

Starring: Minnie Driver, Tom Wilkinson, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Harriet Walter, Florence Hoath