Bright Star

City Paper Grade: B+

by Molly Eichel

LIGHT BRIGHT: Abbie Cornish is stunning as Fanny Brawne, the paramour of romantic poet John Keats, in Jane Campion's Bright Star.

[ City Paper Grade: B+ ]

On paper, it all seems like a rote costume-drama exercise: the penniless artist, the love that can never be consummated, the fabulous outfits. Yet Jane Campion's best film since The Piano is much more than that. Bright Star tells the doomed love story of 19th-century romantic poet John Keats (a delicate Ben Whishaw) and bitingly witty fashionista-next-door Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish).

During his short life, Keats was largely dismissed as marginal, but Brawne recognizes his spark of genius even if she doesn't understand it, just as Keats recognizes something similar in Brawne. "I'm attracted to you without knowing why," he says. But they can never marry — Keats is poor and has few prospects for employment. His benefactor and best friend, Charles Brown (David Gordon Green regular Paul Schneider), whose antagonistic exchanges with Brawne have their own sexual spark, warns against their affair. Marrying Brawne will only lead to life fueled by keeping her comfortable rather than focusing on the nobler conceit of poetry, Brown cautions.

Cornish is fantastic as Brawne, imbuing her with power and poise without downplaying her faults — she's vain, shallow and headstrong. Brawne's little sister, Toots (Edie Martin), along with Schneider's Brown, bring levity often missing from heavy costume dramas. (After Brawne thinks Keats has abandoned her, Toots runs down to their mother and tells her that Brawne wants a knife. When questioned why, Toots casually replies, "So she can kill herself.")

Campion's script thrives on Keats' words — especially in the scene where Brawne and Keats recite his "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" — but is also often bogged down by them: She's able to show us how they are in love, but skips over why. As in most of her films, Bright Star bursts at the seams with unrepentant female sexuality; Campion is one of the few directors — regardless of gender — who can demonstrate such a thing onscreen without using the easy vehicle of repression. Brawne and Keats are free to love — and love they do.