How appropriate is it that the last shot of Vanity Fair is an elephant's ass? OK, I know I'm being totally mean, but this wasn't that great of a flick. It was kind of an assy film.
I'll admit the following -- I wasn't seeing this movie for the writing or the acting. I wanted pretty, pretty costumes and pretty, pretty sets. But not even the pretty could save this movie.
I wanted to slap around every single person in this movie. The sympathetic portrayal of Becky Sharp -- who's supposed to be a gold-digging, social climbing bitch -- was a bit annoying. An interview with director Mira Nair indicated that she wanted Reese Witherspoon because of the American pluck that she represented. Bullshit. That's not what we want. We wanted someone who wasn't kind or nice or lurved her husband -- even though she married him for money.
I wanted someone who knew that the Marquess was a skeevy bastard and was smart enough to know how to get what she wanted from him. I wanted someone who knew how to use her money, beauty and wits better than what was seen on the screen.
I didn't get that. I didn't get a nice satire or commentary on how anal the English were in the social scene. I got a scrappy outsider claws her way to the top, realizes that's not what she wanted, loses it all and then rebounds to happiness in the end. Boooorrrrriiiinnnnggg. That's pretty much every single sports movie ever made. Only in this case, it was with empire dresses.
I did however learn one important thing from this movie: Never trust a man with a punk-rocker haircut in a period flick. He will betray you and be a bastard in the end.
Edited to add: Oh and Rhys Ifans was hot to me. Especially with the longer hair and beard. Why Amelia Sedley chose the poncy punk-rocker git over him I'll never figure out. If I was Amelia, I'd have been all over him in a second.