FIRELIGHT

REVIEWED BY CHARITY BISHOP

Our rating: 2 out of 5

Because of: sexual content, adultery

Rated:

Both an offensive and enthralling film, Firelight has a splendid plot but sadly sordid heroes. There's something equally charming and haunting about its picturesque, sobering storyline. The film opens in a darkened room. A young woman, Elisabeth (Sophie Marceau) has come to be interviewed for a less-than-respectable proposition. She's asked to be seated in a chair in front of an older woman, who is speaking for an unseen gentleman behind a dressing-screen. Insisting the man speak to her himself, Elisabeth agrees to the terms. Several weeks later she is abroad and dining in a fine hotel. When she returns to her room, the man (Stephen Dillane) is waiting for her. She doesn't know his name, his rank, or even for what purpose he wants a child. All she knows is that for a high price, she is going to bear him a son or daughter. They spend three nights together, forming a natural bond through intimacy. Then he leaves, never to be seen again.

When the child is born, she is taken away by the nurse without her mother so much as laying eyes on her. But Elisabeth never figured on how much she would love her daughter. Spending hours writing her messages the girl will never read, and painting her pictures in a little journal, she eventually begins the search for her child. It leads her to the wealthy manor house of Charles Godwin, her unnamed former lover, where unknown to the master of the house, she is employed as the girl's governess. Louisa (Dominique Belcourt) is a spoiled, confused little girl who is never scolded or punished, but only praised and admired. She's managed to run off six governesses in the past year and because Elisabeth is foreign, Louisa intends to run her off as well. The house itself is full of sadness. Charles lives there with his surrogate daughter, his wife's sister Constance, and a bedridden invalid wife. 

She was thrown from a horse but failed to die, remaining instead completely incapable of speech, movement, or even conscious thought. In all valid terms, she's dead but her body still lives. When he returns from London and an annual visit toward his abhorred father, Charles is shocked to find his old secret looming up before him. He wants Elisabeth sacked immediately, fearful she might disclose their dark secret, but the laws of propriety demand she have at least a month's notice. Begrudgingly he allows her those few weeks with their daughter. Louisa is almost uncontrollable and Elisabeth is steadfast in her determination to calm the child's watchful soul... even if it means going against the master of the house. But like it or not, several nights of passion have created an undying bond between them... and the spark might ignite again while they dwell under the same roof.

Though one might wonder at the title of this quiet period drama, much discussion revolves around firelight. In the hotel, he says the fire casts more light than one would expect... and does this bother her. Later, she tells an enraptured Louisa that when the lamps are extinguished and the only warmth and light comes from the fire, it's a magical time. You can say and do and think whatever you like because time stands still and doesn't exist; when the lamps come back on, it never happened. It's moments like these which lend true depth and romance to an otherwise offensive film. One cannot help liking these characters and hoping they will be brought together, despite their amoral actions and attachments. In this sense the writer fails, for he seems not to know how to separate the ideals of the characters from their actions. One of Charles' reasons for loathing his father is his many affairs with women, yet he follows in his footsteps by taking Elisabeth as his mistress.

Attempting to help Louisa understand what womanhood is, Elisabeth reminds her that because of her sex, she will not have any rights as an adult. She cannot hold property or work in business, but will either be forced to marry or take up the lonely position as a governess. But whatever men can control, she tells her, they cannot control our minds! The only power women have is to use their minds, to be knowledgeable and literate. This a great little stand up and cheer moment, but begins to fall to pieces when we look at the larger image. Charles doesn't want his daughter to be treated like a plaything... but he doesn't love Elisabeth for her mind, or her talents, or her spunk. He loves her because over three days in France they had an affair. The one truth the film holds is that intimacy is not casual, but leaves a long-lasting mark and creates a bond between two people. Both are haunted by images of their past. "I remember," he confesses to his mostly-dead wife, "I remember too much."

There is also an element of necessity but arguably murder. As you may have guessed, in order for them to be happy, the invalid wife must be dispatched. In an age when medical choices were nonexistent and divorce was unheard of, Charles had no other choice. He turns down the covers, puts out the fire, draws up the sash, and cries as he watches her freeze to death. It's either murder or arguably a mercy. Elisabeth confesses later she had no idea desire was so powerful, to have invaded and ruined so many lives. But when Charles asks her if she regrets any of it, she says no. "No... God help our souls!" There is little or no religion in the film aside from a few remarks, primarily hypocritical when you consider their actions.

The film is well rated, since there are at least four scenes of sexual content, two of them fairly mild and brief, the others considerably longer and more offensive since the camera lingers on Elisabeth's nude breasts. It's implied that Charles swims nude in the lake early each morning; we see him fully (but obscured) through the rippled glass of the house when Elisabeth comes unexpectedly down the passage. She later visits the sight again, apparently watching him though this time the camera stays above the waistline. One very romantic scene is ruined by cutting straight into bed. They conduct an adulterous affair; he often comes to her rooms at night. Louisa finds them asleep together one morning and is distraught. The f-word pops up in dialogue when Charles' father asks if she's sleeping with his son.

This could have been a fantastic movie in the spirit of Jane Eyre had director/writer William Nicholson kept their relationship pure when she arrived as a governess, and avoided explicit sexual content. Both Sophie Marceau and Stephen Dillane have very soulful expressions; their gentle dark eyes and meaningful glances are more expressive than pages of dialogue. The relationship between governess and daughter is also very touching as they learn to trust one another. But adultery and nudity runs this moody gothic film unfortunately aground.