Wow, this movie. It is bad and it does not make sense. Because it was so stupid and so carelessly made that I did not learn the characters’ names, I will not use them. It grieves me to bring the names of proper actors into this mess, but I assume they’ve all gotten over it by now.

Pete Postlethwaite and Greta Scacchi live in the country in England in the 17th century. They have a troubled daughter who is obsessed with Andrew Marvell. She’s supposed to be sexually repressed and too artistic for her surroundings but she is in fact alarmingly insane. Into this mix come Ewan McGregor, who is a Dutch garden designer, and Richard E. Grant, who is running some kind of long con. Also the daughter has weird sex dreams about one of the peasant reapers. And some kind of unexplained foreign accent.

This is probably one of those movies where nothing is explained because subtlety is so artistic. At least, that will be the justification for how it is utter nonsensical bilge. Ewan McGregor romps through brambles tearing off his clothes–why? Greta Scacchi is vaguely trampy but not really–why? Pete Postlethwaite is completely brainless–why? Richard E. Grant is overtly Mephistophelean but nobody notices–why? And then there’s a storm, which is deeply, deeply ridiculous.

That’s it. Don’t ever watch this. It is garbage.

Stray notes:

  • We are supposed to feel bad for the daughter because of her frankly mediaeval treatment at the hands of a pietistic quack. And, to be fair, what passed for medicine in the 1600s was terrible, especially when dealing with mental issues. But–she is not just a misunderstood aesthete. She is crazy. It is not cute or sexy.
  • Ewan McGregor wears a terrible wig, and then he takes it off and wears what I desperately hope is another terrible wig, because the 90s were a time when we put truly awful things on Ewan McGregor’s head.
  • Yes, this movie is an object lesson in the perils of Amazon Prime instant streaming.

Director: Philippe Rousselot
Rating: R
Length: 104 min.
Score: 1/5.