Stevie

As another reviewer has said, this film is talky. Talky like a good Shakespeare play is talky, in my opinion. Glenda Jackson reading Stevie Smith's poetry on screen. Works for me. The film contains "four of the finest actors Britain has produced", says a reviewer. You don't suppose such high caliber actors know what is good material and what is not worth their time, do you? This film is a treasure. No CGI special effects, but you won't miss them. It is just an exploration of a poets life. A wonderful life, well lived. A wonderful film, well acted. Glenda Jackson as Stevie takes the viewer on a journey through the life of poet, Stevie Smith. Glenda breaths life into the incidents of Stevie's life with her great skill as an actress. And Mona Washbourne as Stevie's "Lion" Aunt, is no less that just perfect.

Anyone interested in Stevie Smith, or with a taste for literary films, can't fail to appreciate the beauty of this little movie.The atmosphere created by the film is intimate & bookish, and Jackson's well-honed performance (she created the role in the stage play) conveys Stevie's vulnerability & brilliance wonderfully.

This is an appallingly boring film. Perhaps it was an interesting stage play...I don't know. But it doesn't work as a film because there is virtually nothing cinematic about it. It remains confined largely within the dimensions of a stage set (there is really only one set, a shabby-genteel apartment where "Stevie" (the real-life poet Stevie Smith) lives with her long-suffering aunt (played by Mona Washbourne). Stevie, you see, has problems---emotional problems, problems with her "muse," problems living with her dependent aunt, problems with lovers (one of them, Trevor Howard, bears the enigmatic name of "The Man.") And Stevie TALKS...all the time, a constant stream of arty, supposedly meaningful, but utterly self-indulgent jabber. Glenda Jackson plays "Stevie,"...she really liked talky parts, it would seem. This one fits her like a glove. She, Howard, Washbourne, and Alec McCowen are four of the finest actors Britain has produced. Yet they wallow in this mess for what seems like days (the film actually only runs a bit over the usual 90 minutes). Steer clear of this deadly dull bio-pic, unless you just can't do without the poetry and posturings of Stevie Smith, or you absolutely must see the entire "oeuvre" of Glenda Jackson, M.P.

This is a wonderful film. It is not perfect; not many man-made artifacts are. However, if you have seen any film of Stevie Smith, you will realise how well Glenda Jackson captures her spirit, and especially her appearance. The claustrophobic scenes (mostly in the living-room of her very ordinary house) enhance this impression. The music and the interspersed commentary by Trevor Howard detach us from the story so we can be objective. Yes, it is sad; anyone who reads Smith's poetry knows it is sad, macabre and eccentric. The only real drawback is Mona Washbourne's portrayal of the aunt, not apparently true to life. Shame, as she is the warmest of the characters in the film. I only wish they would release it on dvd as video does not do it justice.

There could never be a great film about Stevie Smith; the poet is simply too small, silly and self-absorbed, like her work - just the kind of poetry that seems to win awards, as hers did twice.

But smallness is the strength of this film, and its economy has been praised by many. Most of the action (mainly talk, in fact) takes place in one modest suburban front parlour, between Stevie and her deeply unpoetic Yorkshire aunt, played by Mona Washbourne, who comes a little too close to caricature, and does not quite measure up to Glenda Jackson, Trevor Howard or Alec McCowen, who comprise the rest of the minimal cast. Even at that, the two males are only allowed on-board as fringe-characters, McCowen as the hopeful young suitor Freddy, doomed to disappointment, and Howard as a mystery figure, known only as The Man, presumably an ex-lover, who recites a few of her poems with deep sincerity.

These poems display little virtue (rather like a poor man's Edith Sitwell), but they reveal an unusually deep preoccupation with death, alongside a confused and childish protest against middle-class values, as deeply embedded in the aunt's character. Her coining of the phrase 'Not waving but drowning' may yet survive as her epitaph.

Jackson carries full conviction as Stevie, having to act the same person from schooldays onwards, so we don't always know what age and stage we're at. She talks as though she's still in her teens when she visits Berlin with a German boyfriend at the beginning of the Nazi era, by which time Stevie would have been into her thirties.

Meanwhile she treats death as another character in the story, apparently welcoming the certainty of his arrival, and Howard reports that she died, unable to speak, but circling one word on a sheet of paper. The word was 'Death'.