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VENUS
Directed by: Roger Michell.
Written by: Hanif Kureishi.
Produced by: Kevin Loader.
Director of Photography: Haris Zambarloukos.
Edited by: Nicolas Gaster.
Music by: Corinne Bailey Rae & David Arnold.
Released by: Miramax.
Country of Origin: UK. 91 min. Rated: R.
With: Peter O’Toole, Leslie Phillips, Jodie Whittaker, Richard Griffiths, & Vanessa Redgrave.

The last collaboration between screenwriter Hanif Kureishi and director Roger Michell was 2003’s The Mother, a scathing meditation on age, remorse, and the uncomfortable truths within a middle-class family. In light of Venus and some of its similar themes, that film seems like a warm-up for this spectacular film headlined by Peter O’Toole and Jodie Whittaker.

Putting all of his talent and skill on display, O’Toole, in a tailor-made role, plays Maurice, a well-known stage actor whose fame and income has declined with age, but his interest in the female sex has never been stronger. When the relative of his histrionic friend and fellow actor, Ian (Leslie Phillips), arrives in London to be her great-uncle's caretaker, Maurice has a new toy to impress his formidable charms upon. In contrast to Maurice and Ian, teenage Jessie (Whittaker) is contemporary to a hideous extreme. She lives on ramen noodles. She likes tattoos. She wants to be a model. Ian is terrified of his new living companion, but Maurice is amused. And though there is much to criticize about the naïve, sad young woman who has appeared in his friend’s cramped flat, he is gentle (albeit lascivious) with her while running circles around her in wit and acerbic charm.

Somewhat miraculously, she notices. Her nickname Venus comes about when Maurice takes her to the National Gallery and they see The Toilet of Venus, Velázquez’s masterpiece of the goddess reclining on a seat with her back turned to the viewer while an attendant holds a mirror to her. From the viewer’s perspective, we see her face's reflection. Venus’ entranced perspective is directed towards a part of her body that the viewer is left wishing to see. And Jessie is certainly entranced with herself. Recognizing Maurice’s affections, both amorous and lecherous, she exploits the latter with a form of sexual extortion that borders on prostitution. For earrings, she’ll let him kiss her neck three times; for a tattoo, she’ll let him watch her touch herself and even grace him to smell her finger afterwards.

However, it’s clear to both of them that they need each other for more than impotent sexual encounters and morally ambiguous gift giving. It’s obvious to Maurice’s lonely wife, Valerie (Vanessa Redgrave), from whom he has been separated for decades. Without saying a word, she notices a change in him. (And because of Redgrave’s performance, her character never has to say anything to let us know what she’s thinking and feeling.) But it’s subtler with Whittaker’s Jessie/Venus.

It’s a wonderful film all around and deserves more of an audience than it’s likely to get. O’Toole, Phillips, and Redgrave are all at the top of their game, each one able to shift between pitch-perfect humor, decades of remorse, and the loneliness of age all in a heartbeat. Whittaker is clearly an actress to watch. If this – her first feature film role – is any indication, her career could be phenomenal with the right choices.

The only complaint is the choice of music by Corinne Bailey Rae, an up-and-coming British singer/songwriter who creates songs that are both popular and nice – two adjectives that have nothing to do with this movie. It’s startling to hear jubilant girlhood lyrics like “Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song/You go ahead, let your hair down” while an old drunk is trying to squeeze Jessie’s crotch in a limo. (And I mean startling in a “What the hell were they thinking?” way.) Zachary Jones
December 27, 2006