The buzz is clearly humming loudly on Tom Ford’s deeply engaging, visually exquisite and emotionally rich “A Single Man,” and with good reason. If there was an Oscar category for first feature-film, the fashion magnate (Gucci director) turned filmmaker would easily be a shoo-in.
For now the director will have to be content with The Weinstein Company going whole hog during Oscar season (step aside campaigns for “Inglourious,” “The Road,” “Nowhere Boy,” and possibly even “Nine,” which is being rumored as a potential film bumped into 2010), “A Single Man,” is their real Oscar meal ticket and it’ll be interesting to see if/when these other pictures get neglected by the reportedly cash-strapped company; seriously, if “Nine,” is bumped this is essentially telling us Ford’s picture is way better.
The expressive, immaculately shot and impeccably well-groomed film — it’s not Tom Ford for nothing, the costuming, set design and camera work is the utter beauty of detail and precision — stars Colin Firth as George, an English professor who desperately struggles to get on with life in early ’60s Los Angeles after the sudden death of his life partner, Jim (Matthew Goode). Julianne Moore plays Charlotte, George’s booze-sozzled, pill-popping depressed neighbor, best friend and even ex-lover from his younger, confused days in London when he thought he might be straight (or like many closeted young men, tried to be straight).
One could go on all day about the stylishness and aesthetics of the striking and tragic picture — a lyrical and allusive quality sometimes reminiscent of “The Diving Bell & The Butterfly” — but in many ways that would do a huge disservice to the wonderful actors, the incredible performances Ford coaches out of everyone (Firth has never been this commanding and spectacular) and the deep emotional gravitas seemingly effortlessly channeled by the director. It is an adapted story from a Christopher Isherwood novel, but it bleeds genuine anguish from loss and quietly devastated sadness like it’s the most personal work of Ford’s career so far. Perhaps these emotions and feelings are all too universal and this is why the picture is such a bold knock-out.
Firth’s George lives in his pallid, ashen world of depression and mourning, the blood from his cheeks seemingly evaporated with the death of his longtime love. The teacher attempts to sleepwalk through the day, lecturing like a hollow, sullen ghost in his classes, but all he can do is barely manage, sometimes with the aid of alcohol.
While not flashback-burdened, the past is used as a framing device for George to reminisce and daydream about his lover, yet every instance feels genuine with white-hot verisimilitude and of course always looks like a dream sequence- lovely. Firth’s vacant and steely facade belies the quivering heartache that lies underneath and the way he subtly conveys his soul-crushing hurt is masterful — his deeply felt yet near subterranean heartbreak is heartbreaking and devastating.
Ford has worked with the world’s greatest photographers — Richard Avedon, Steven Meisel, Helmut Newton, Herb Ritts — and it shows. The texture-rich lensing by Spanish cinematographer Eduard Grau is incredible, deftly using color, contour and well-defined camera arrangement, which further underscores the somber, but never dour tenor.
Polish composer Abel Korzeniowski’s score must also be given high plaudits. It’s gorgeous, heartrending and hopefully already has easily given him a surefire Oscar nomination for Best Score. We (I) have never really cared for Colin Firth before, he always seemed able and serviceable, but nothing more, but Oscar and awards surely await his near future, because he is terrific in every moment onscreen.
Homophobes shouldn’t worry either, though Ford does capture the chiseled male form in flawless and admirable beauty, the ultimately life-affirming picture is largely chaste and benign in terms of sex scenes. What he does express elegantly and hungrily is masculine red-hot desire and lust, and it is really something to watch.
While the closeted themes might draw some comparisons to Julian Schnabel’s “Before Night Falls,” and there are some vague similarities, “A Single Man,” is largely its own film with its own distinct voice. The identity issues, however, are never about conflict. George, while closeted, only does so out of the concern for the fear and intolerance of others, but he is acutely aware of who he is. What really comes into play is the question: who are you and what is the further meaning of life when your one true love is gone? Is life worth living? So in the end, “A Single Man,” is a forlorn love story, but it never misses a second in male-to-male adoring translation. The melancholy and despair is universal, heartfelt and incisive.
At the end of the day if you’ve ever deeply longed for someone, straight, gay or otherwise, “A Single Man,” should prove to be penetrating and immensely moving. It’s an extraordinary first film and a thing of beauty. [A]
