'Oscar and Lucinda' escapes cliche conventions

By Pavlina Hatoupis

What happens when two gamblers, one obsessive, the other compulsive, get together in 19th-century Australia? A Victorian version of Bonnie and Clyde...but not really. Gillian Armstrong, director of Little Women, has taken on a new challenge: telling the tale of two pathological gamblers who meet and fall in love.

COURTESY YORK SQUARE CINEMA Ralph Fiennes and Cate Blanchette in a contemplative moment in Oscar and Lucinda

Oscar and Lu-cinda fits the mold of a quirky movie about an eccentric couple, a genre long dominated by interesting--yet commercially unsuccessful--films like Benny and Joon, Mad Dog and Glory, and Frankie and Johnny. With this formula, Armstrong must work to gain spectator sympathy for protagonists who do not abide by conventional behavioral standards, and to keep the attention of an audience whose main concern is entertainment. Fortunately, she is more willing to rely on her viewers' attention span than James Cameron usually is. She pulls off her coup surprisingly well, leaving the commercial tritenesss of her previous film far behind.

Peter Carey's novel has a great deal to offer the medium of film, but Armstrong's transformation of the book leaves something to be desired. She manages, however, to keep the movie tight and elegant, without sacrificing too much of the plot's complexity. The visual aspects also help carry the film. Although the cinematography is not particularly innovative, Armstrong's choice of imagery is truly a pleasure for the eye. It is always a treat to see a film that was shot on location and not graphically designed; the shots of the Australian wilderness don't need computer enhancement in order to be visually stunning. And if the striking nature shots do not impress you, think about whether you will ever have another chance to see a glass church sink into an Australian river. In addition to the visual success of the film, Armstrong pays particular attention to her musical arrangements, selecting classical masterpices that provide a perfect complement to her tableaux.

Perhaps what is most refreshing about this film is that it does not succumb to the pressures of Hollywood storytelling. The plot is unpredictable, the dialogue witty and intelligent, and the performances uniformly strong. The audience easily falls for the irresitible charm of Ralph Fiennes and Cate Blanchette in the title roles. Fiennes is disarming as Oscar, a young Anglican priest who equates gambling with the worship of God. Departing from his Peter O'Tooleian picture-perfect personas in Quiz Show and The English Patient, Fiennes transforms himself into an awkward Romeo with a passion for betting.

Yet despite Fiennes's bravura performance, it is newcomer Blanchette who steals the show. Her effervescent awkwardness and girlish honesty gives an original twist to the character of Lucinda, an unconventional heiress. Lucinda could have ended up as a combination of the Scarlett O'Hara and Thelma-and-Louise archetypes, but Blanchette rescues her from just such a Hollywood cliché.

Both Oscar and Lucinda are very real, three-dimensional characters. They have faults, quirks, and messy hair; they are uglier and harder to root for than Jack and Rose of Titanic fame, but their human qualities make them easier to understand. And, fortunately, they don't have to contend with trite, melodramatic dialogue. Those of you who endured the amalgam of market-tested clichés such as "Don't jump!" and the ever-so-dramatic "Iceberg right ahead!" should be able to understand exactly where I'm coming from. (Is it me or does every spoken line in this roll of celluloid sound like a quote from another film?)

In a cinematic climate where films like Titanic are raking in the Oscar nominations, Oscar and Lucinda is a welcome release from Hollywood's tendency to stick to the same old template every time.

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