February 14, 2014 by Hope W.
Winter’s Tale — and don’t mistake it for Shakespeare’s play, like my companion did — is an old-fashioned fantasy supernatural romance of a sort that hasn’t been seen in quite a while. (I can’t even recall the last fantasy romance I saw. Enchanted, maybe? But Disney movies are in a category all on their own, so I don’t really count it as that.) There’s a love that transcends time and class boundaries — literally, since Colin Farrell’s lower-class thief Peter Lake somehow finds himself in the modern day after his heiress lover Beverley Penn (Jessica Brown Findlay) dies of consumption a hundred years from the present; there’s good vs. evil, with the latter personified by Russell Crowe’s sinisterly scarred Pearly Soames; and there’re also period costumes.
So it *might* be considered the perfect movie for date night, with a release date that targets the Valentine’s Day crowd — if your idea of “perfect” includes mystical mumbo jumbo about the universe conspiring to do things for you, and human-made beds that turn magical through the power of belief from precocious little girls (but only if it is destiny), etc.
I’m all for fairytales and romance and everything, but this fairytale should have stayed a book. The magical elements weren’t convincing, because, well, they sounded like poppycock. The voiceover narration could have come straight out of the mouths of one of those fairground mystics with their tarot cards, tea leaves, and other assorted gobbledygook.
Also, they set it in our world while making it not really our world at the same time. It felt like a world that half believed in magic, in that it accepted some things readily (e.g. Russell Crowe as a demon), yet was surprised at other forms of magic (re: winged horses), and that doesn’t make sense. (A winged horse, by the way, that the movie doesn’t bother to explain where it came from, or why it took to Colin Farrell’s character.)
The math of the movie didn’t add up well either, because I’m skeptical of Beverley’s little sister — played by a too saccharine sweet Willa Holland for the younger version, and Eva Marie Saint for the older one — living beyond a hundred years and still being as energetic as she looks. The time-lapse was unexplained too: did Peter Lake live for a hundred years, or did he wake up a hundred years later?
Colin Farrell looked like he was sleepwalking through the movie. His hair was irksome in its unkemptness. Russell Crowe was grunting, glaring and chomping at the bit. William Hurt gave a standard, but almost bored performance, while Jennifer Connelly looked surprised to be in the movie. And Will Smith is just a surprise. Jessica Brown Findlay, best known for playing the lovely, spirited and tragically short-lived Lady Sybil on Downton Abbey — a role in which her character in this movie is remarkably similar to — was the only one who looked alive. All of them except Jessica Brown Findlay have worked with Akiva Goldsman before, for whom Winter’s Tale is his first big feature as a director — he’s usually a writer or producer — so I suspect they might have taken on the movie as a favour to him; but really, did they read the script first?
And they MUMBLED their lines, especially Colin Farrell and Russell Crowe with their thick accents. I swear I only caught 50 percent of what they said, and the fact that their lines were mumbo jumbo half the time just made deciphering what they were saying worse.
The Valentine’s Day crowd may help it, but I predict it won’t do well, especially with movie critics chiming in with terrible reviews. It just didn’t feel like a quality production, which is disappointing, because I had been excited about it. The synopsis sounded much better than what it turned out to be.