Review of Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) by Lauren B — 08 Jun 2009

2003 was a good year for Scarlett Johansson, handing her two breakout roles that launched her onto the A-list and bringing a solid professional conviction to those startlingly beautiful features. While 'Lost in Translation' gave her a meaty role perfectly suited to her sultry, sophisticated coolness it was 'Girl With a Pearl Earring' that proved she could handle a leading role, all the more impressive given the vastly different context and circumstances.

It's entirely Johansson's picture, the entire atmosphere and credibility ably carried along whilst providing a subtly erotic injection. Firth is a brilliant Vermeer, powerfully restrained and constricted with an artist's inner conflict, but he also steps back from the proceedings to meld into the withdrawn nature of an obsessive at work. Between them sparks a delicious sexual tension, though it's not unpredictacle.

The fact is Johansson and Firth are almost the only things interesting in the picture. Eduardo Serra's extraordinary cinematography vividly mirrors Vermeer's style, that of lush, delicate light creeping over surfaces and picking out tiny, vibrant details, populated with striking, solid colours. But for all this care the film itself remains a distinctly bland thing.

The story might not be melodrama, but it's so stripped of any dramatic weight that the material feels too light to be interesting. Webber's languid direction, whilst sumptuous, is also invisible, letting the images wholly overwhelm what should be a narrative. Talented players like Murphy and Wilkinson, whilst classy and professional, are left out to dry in underused roles. In fact, for the most part the film lovingly hovers around Johansson's creamy visage, seeming to suggest a depth in her feelings, contained within every minute gesture of her person; when really, since Johansson is a more than capable performer, she doesn't need this overt attention.

As a result 'Girl With a Pearl Earring' resembles those endless, turgid, dramatically vacuous literary adaptations that flood British TV, where the direction has to over-emphasise things because the script is so undernourished the cast have not nearly enough to work with. That said, the supporting players are just as innocuous, the kind of RADA-trained toffs that think constant glaring is enough to convey any number of complex emotions. The fact that 17th Century Delft sounds more like Victorian London is another giveaway; surely there should be Dutch accents at the very least? Hearing Johansson's husky New York twang watered down to that frustratingly crystalline poshspeak is both bewildering and unfortunate that her natural smoulder is masked.

With both this tiresomely unimaginative situation and a story that never quite gets cooking, what's left is a fantastic visual treat and positive entries onto Johansson and Firth's CVs, but it's nowhere near as romantic or involving as it could have been. Lightweight stuff for fans only.