American Fable is ambitious, maybe too much so sometimes, but there's an intense pleasure in the boldness of the film's style.
Last year in Mike Leigh’s rather difficult biopic “Mr. Turner,” the nineteenth century art critic John Ruskin was portrayed by Joshua McGuire as an inane little ninny of a man, a self-satisfied bird pecking away at Timothy Spall’s grunting painter J.M.W. Turner. And now Ruskin is being raked over the coals again in a very different and far more elaborate way in “Effie Gray,” a handsomely designed period film with a screenplay by Emma Thompson that seeks to dramatize Ruskin’s unhappy marriage to a younger woman as a kind of feminist fairy tale.
As Ruskin, Thompson’s real-life husband Greg Wise looks exactly like surviving photographs of the man he is playing: handsome, gloomy, lofty, and a little blank and bland. His handsome blandness is a trap with which he captures the innocent Effie (Dakota Fanning), whisking her away from her parents in Scotland and depositing her into his family home in London, where he is controlled by his tyrannical father (David Suchet) and mother (Julie Walters), who insists on giving her grown son a bath after his long voyage. This movie is too tasteful to actually show you Mrs. Ruskin bathing her adult son and what that might look and feel like, and so we are left wondering, with Effie, just what is wrong with her marriage from the start.
On their first night together in the house, Effie comes into their bedroom and expectantly takes off her nightgown. Wise makes it clear that Ruskin has never seen a nude female body before in the flesh, and he also makes it clear that Ruskin is repelled by what he sees, and also fearful. After that key disconnection, “Effie Gray” shows us scene after scene of Ruskin coldly rejecting his wife in every way possible until she grows ill with neglect, losing her hair and retreating into closed-off misery. Fanning plays the part of Effie on a single stunned note of frozen longing, and this is not enough to sustain all of these repetitive rejection scenes. The wise and sympathetic Lady Eastlake (Emma Thompson) notices Effie’s plight, as does the ambitious young painter Everett Millais (Tom Sturridge), who owes his success to Ruskin’s championing of his paintings, but there is little they can do about it at first.
This should be a dramatic situation, like a variation on Hitchcock’s “Rebecca” (1940). The unconsummated marriage between Ruskin and Gray has served as material for many prior books and plays, but the material here never coheres because Thompson is so intent on making Effie a sympathetic heroine that she makes Ruskin into such a villain that he might as well be twirling his mustache toward the end. Why did Ruskin reject his wife and refuse to sleep with her? Was he too much of a puritan for intercourse? Had his parents stifled him to the point of total sexual repression? Was he gay? Or was he a never-active pedophile who could not be attracted to a mature female? This last option looks like it is the most likely, from a modern perspective.