A Quiet Passion Screen 95 of 31 reviews

A Quiet Passion


A Quiet Passion Poster
  • When Davies imagines Austin reading the editorial aloud, he makes it an act of malice. But this dour image... also becomes a charge from which Davies has to defend himself... To show that his movie won’t blur under “a mist of tears,” he needs to give flavor, color, liveliness, and energy to the lonely, miserable situations he evokes. The burden of pulling off this tonal maneuver ultimately falls less on Davies than on Nixon, who quickly becomes the movie’s center of light, heat, and power.

  • There’s little more solemn and sanctimonious than the great-person biopic, but Terence Davies’s “A Quiet Passion,” about Emily Dickinson, breaks the mold. The new movie, which stars Cynthia Nixon, lets a radiant, riotous, insolent humor illuminate the self-imposed confines of Dickinson’s family circle and the boundaries of conventional thought and behavior that reinforced her sense of isolation.

  • Davies doesn’t break the rules of biopics (or, for that matter, period pictures) so much as he operates independently of them, neither bowing to the genre’s usual dramatic satisfactions nor really showing much awareness of them. It’s a film made in the image of Dickinson and her poetry, in other words: starkly original, but without much show of fuss.

  • As the movie continues, and certain events that came to define America and its character touch the lives of the Dickinsons, and we hear more of Emily’s work in voiceover, the movie’s style becomes less constricted, more fluid, but still retains an unearthly quality. Just as Dickinson’s poetic mode of personal expression and ear for idiosyncratic metaphor anticipated modernism, so here does Davies’ cinematic style slip certain bonds and achieve an unquiet fluidity. The effect is remarkable.

  • Davies comes to Dickinson as a fanboy, and more. A Quiet Passion is a low bow before an artist he has fashioned into a kind of mirror image of himself. Filmmaker and subject are a match made in heaven that, cohabiting in Davies' delirious head, gives histrionic a good name. Both have spun gold out of stifling habitats... that turned them inward, and gestated rich inner lives they turned into quiveringly sensitive experiments with form.

  • Emily Dickinson’s life looks simple: a plain girl in a comfortable house in pleasant New England. But as a kind of patron saint of the uncertain, those thrown into turmoil by remembering the state of the world — and our own mortality — Emily’s quiet passion is a hard, lingering archetype. And it makes for the right film for a week of hope shot through with grief.

  • In the absence of earthly bliss, A Quiet Passion reaches for the painterly joys of the costume drama and the consoling comedy of the drawing room. A deeply saturated Belgium stands in for New England, and the woods and flowers surrounding the Homestead, the Dicksons’ family home, offer a vibrant palette that contrasts with the poet: toward the end of her life, Dickinson wears only white.

  • The film surveys both the vulnerability and temerity of Emily Dickinson without ever superficially elevating her to a divine status. The film's accomplishment, rather, is in fleshing out the stark context behind her ethereal words.

  • In his sympathetic and intelligent Dickinson biopic, A Quiet Passion, Terence Davies honors his subject by remaining true to this observation from the poet herself: "To live is so startling, it leaves but little room for other occupations." Lucidly portrayed by Cynthia Nixon, Dickinson in Davies's film, even in the writer's more anguished later decades, is ever alert and ablaze, sustained by family, friends, and her own feverish mind.

  • Instead of making Dickinson a martyr, Davies and actor Cynthia Nixon give us not the world-shy mouse of popular imagination but a woman who is sociable, who bobs downstairs like a kangaroo to make a new friend of the spirited Miss Buffam. This Dickinson is alive in her time: profoundly mindful of its politics of gender, religion and secession; responsive to its literature; awake to and disposed to discuss the fact of being overlooked as a writer of verses.

  • The best moments of the film are when Nixon reads Dickinson’s poetry – Davies having contrived a context. ‘I’m Nobody! Who are you?’ is read joyfully to a baby, but usually the poems are narrations over quiet scenes. Either way, her inflections match the beats and meaning of the words, and we see how Dickinson fleetingly ascends from the confines of life into the divinity of poetry.

  • Nixon’s performance is a self-conscious tour de force of buried fury. Dickinson’s essential attitude, as Nixon and Davies take pains to point out, is bitterness, and at the end of her life, as she lies on her deathbed aware of her obscurity and her sacrifice, she asks why the world has become so ugly. The only cinematic comparison is another masterpiece, Naruse’s A Wanderer’s Notebook, about the life and struggle of Fumiko Hayashi, a Japanese writer who, like Dickinson, died in middle-age.

  • Here is a woman who feels the power and pain of language. Once we understand that, we’re better prepared to understand the inward turn of her verse. Unlike her dueling conversations, her poems are skewed and slanted, with unexpected jumps at every line, or dash... The film’s voice-over recitations make the verse even more elusive than on the page, but I don’t know how else Davies could have handled them.

  • It is to Davies' enormous credit, and especially to Cynthia Nixon's (in one of the best performances I've ever seen in a biopic), that A Quiet Passion does not offer up a caricature of the semi-reclusive, depressive 'Belle of Amherst'... When frustrations, unfulfilled desires, and physical illness begin to wear her down, in the film's later stretches, Emily's deterioration feels as powerfully tragic as Lily Bart's fall from social grace in Davies' adaptation of The House of Mirth.

  • The agony of the effort stamped onto Nixon’s face, and the film’s drama is wrapped up in her internal tug-of-war.. For Davies, Dickinson appears as a figure no less valorous than the battlefield dead, and in many ways words outstrip deeds—while the Gettysburg Address, referred to in passing, insists that “the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here,” history has proven this dead wrong.

  • The ordinary objects Davies and DP Florian Hoffmeister film inside the house assume an ethereal presence. In fact, the quotidian has enormous power in Dickinson's writing; it reflects her extreme highs and lows. Her strong personal investment in her own self did not prevent her from taking to heart such controversial ethical issues of the time as slavery and women’s rights.

  • The effect is at first somewhat off-putting; you feel almost as if Mr. Davies were keeping you at an intellectual and emotional remove, like the characters themselves. Yet this distance fades as the characters, with their stiff physical formality and syntactically foreign sentences, grow familiar. In other words, he brings you into Dickinson’s world — interior, exterior — rather than tailoring it to your 21st-century expectations.

  • A shimmering, clear-eyed elegy from one poet to another, it’s every bit as personal as the director’s autobiographical features—Davies contemplates his heroine’s intransigence, her struggle with morality and mortality, and, like Flaubert, whispers “c’est moi.” It’s nothing less than his Gertrud.

  • One great artist engages with another in A Quiet Passion, a bold and brilliant study of the American poet Emily Dickinson by British writer-director Terence Davies. The film is as strange, in its way, as its lead character's inimitable way with words.

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    Film Comment: Michael Koresky
    September 03, 2016 | September/October 2016 Issue (p. 8)

    Far from a conventional biopic, Davies's marvelous film about the life and death of Emily Dickinson takes great care never to overplay the brilliance of its subject, taking her genius as a given. Her poems, unpublished during her lifetime, occasionally float across the soundtrack, premonitions of a posthumous career, recited by Nixon with an internalized wisdom.

  • Among many other things the Davies is an extremely moving and intelligent look at religion—how discussions about grace, destiny, damnation, and the hereafter can be part of a culture’s daily intellectual life, as it seemingly was in the film’s setting, 19th-century Amherst, Massachusetts, and as one rarely sees these days in cinema.

  • Things get claustrophobically bleak in the signature Davies manner, but subtly and movingly so – here’s a director who can make your heart stop just by holding at length on a shot of a bouquet of flowers. Davies habitually films as if his soul depended on it – here as much as ever.

  • Terence Davies, as always mining the past for its reverberating, ailing souls and tragic social repression, finds in Emily Dickinson a subject for rigorous, almost austere inquiry. Conversations on the nature of religious dogma, God's touch and distance, marriage, family, artistic creation and more flush A Quiet Passion with a forceful, spiritual and sparring dialog akin films by Carl Theodor Dreyer.

  • From the opening scene, in which a stern, shrew-faced schoolmistress addresses her matriculating pupils on the importance of faith and the perils of nonconformity, it’s clear we’re in safe hands. The bold, frequently frontal, tableaux-like compositions; the perfectly chosen faces; the carefully nuanced performances; and the occasional but characteristically elegant camera-movements -– all add up to a subtle form of stylisation that is not quite naturalistic but always persuasive and plausible.

  • Davies’s framing is exquisite throughout, but there is one long shot of Emily in bed as the sun sets that will likely remain the most beautiful I’ll see at this year’s Berlinale.

  • The grown Emily (Cynthia Nixon) is followed through her seemingly idyllic family life, in which the relentlessly sharp and funny language generates a shocking number of laughs. It can’t last, of course, but Davies’ film is startling in its empathetic regard for a thorny figure who’s her own worst enemy. (I certainly can’t recall the last film I saw which seems like a very vehement advertisement for celibacy.)

  • Trying to fathom the poet's psyche, he uses her verses to comment on things (such as unrequited romantic love) that, he imagines, shaped her. This works well enough, but some stretches of dialogue, particularly those between the adult Emily (Cynthia Nixon) and a headstrong bluestocking (Catherine Bailey), are so laced with bon mots that they tighten like a corset.

  • If there’s ingenuity to it, it’s the way it simultaneously conveys the feeling of a time when people could be scandalized by a reference or enraptured by a sermon and the fact that life was dull and often cruel. But... it's hampered by being too long and repetitive. As in the sometimes impenetrable Sunset Song, Davies, the most interiorized of English filmmakers, shows his devotion through his fidelity to text, trying portray as much as he can of the poet’s sad but notoriously uneventful life.

  • I'm reserving the right to change my mind about Terence Davies’ Emily Dickinson biopic A Quiet Passion after I get a chance to see it again, because I’m already suspicious that there may be something deeper beneath the deliberately arch line readings and the stagy tenor than I’m willing to give it credit for at the moment. Upon this initial encounter, however, the most I’m willing to grant the film is that it is “of interest.”

  • Some have called Davies’ second (and better) film to be unveiled in the last 12 months the best Whit Stillman film of the year... while others have proclaimed it the best Dreyer film in 52. Both parties make valid points, but such comparisons might suggest this film to be a far more mannered (not to mention dry-er) affair than it actually is. In fact, this unlikely biopic detailing the chaste life of American poet Emily Dickinson is as fresh and queer as any new film to be released this year.

  • Cynthia Nixon spits out Davies’ dialogue as if it were written in the pit of her stomach... The third act of the film is a little weak and it is also where we start to feel its length – clearly not an issue of incompetence, just that the story needs its ending. The slow, painful death and embitterment of someone as remarkable as Dickinson, even on film, is an endurance. One or two not entirely convincing performances of Dickinson’s fits notwithstanding, A Quiet Passion is a fine, reverent film.

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