In a small town in a bucolic patch of Yorkshire countryside, a group of friends is enjoying a dinner party. The only note of strangeness in the convivial, civilized dinner is the moodiness of one young man, who seems taken with his own thoughts.

The next day, the young man returns to the house and greets the owner. He reveals that he had not been invited by her friends to the dinner party—as she had assumed, since she had never seen him before; in fact, he knew no one there and simply bluffed his way into the house. While she is pondering the absurdity of this situation, he pulls a revolver out of his pocket, puts the barrel in his mouth, and pulls the trigger.

These are among the opening scenes of Wetherby, and the film will proceed with a complex examination of how this apparently inexplicable act came to pass. You’ve got to admit, it’s a grabby and intriguing idea; but writer-director David Hare has much more on his mind than some kind of murder mystery.

He’s after bigger fish. As with his play and movie Plenty, Hare’s concerns include the nervous spaces between people and (his favorite theme) the emotional paralysis of English people under the weight of too much civilization. Luckily for Hare, he seems to have a sense of how to make movies (this is his first directed feature), otherwise his tackling of these big issues and themes could have been clunky and awkward.

Even so, he has a tendency toward obviousness in some of his dialogue, as though the audience couldn’t catch what he was getting at otherwise.

But I list these cavils in order to better praise Wetherby, which strikes me as one of the most original films of the year. If everything in the film doesn’t go as smoothly as it might have, it’s nevertheless a scintillating experience.

Hare traces the events surrounding the suicide by going back and forth in time—from the arrival of the young stranger (Tim McInnerny), to the dinner party again, to the present, in which the schoolteacher (Vanessa Redgrave) in whose house he killed himself is trying to sort out the mystery. She is visited by a listless girl (Suzanna Hamilton) who knew the stranger at school, and by a police detective (Stuart Wilson) whose own life is not going so well.

There are also flashbacks to Redgrave’s 20-years-past love affair, which becomes more relevant as the film progresses (she is played in the flashbacks by Joely Richardson, the real-life daughter of Vanessa Redgrave). This failed romance has haunted the character ever since, and given her a common bond with the mysterious stranger: loneliness.

Hare draws all this with a delicate brush, and the film is as good to look at as it is to think about. Vanessa Redgrave is superb; she doesn’t hit a wrong note in the entire performance. Ian Holm, as usual, gives fine support, and Wilson is subtle in the unexpectedly touching role of the police officer.

The most disquieting performance is given by Tim McInnerny, in his first film role. His character, the suicide, is described as having “a blankness—a disfiguring blankness” that sums up his place in the world. McInnerny gives this character, through his acting abilities and through his unusual looks, a disturbing normalcy that sets the eerie tone for the rest of the movie.

First published in the Herald, October 22, 1985

An opening sequence that certainly puts its hooks into you. Hare keeps his hand in with movies, and directed that unsettling adaptation of The Designated Mourner.

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