Dosed up on a heady cocktail of paracetamol, Polar Krush and sugar-strong Pepsi, a beleaguered News Hour correspondent was dispatched to watch The Reader, Kate Winslet’s successful scoop for a Golden Globe. The situation at the cinema was confused, with our ticket server, the emo bastard child of Matt Lucas and Barbra Streisand, being called away mid-pour from the Polar Krush machine by an important personal phone call.
Perhaps it was about the confusing state of Ms Winslet’s deserved award nominations; quite why she got the Globe for ‘Best Supporting Actress’ is unclear – she is the only woman really in The Reader and, although the story is not told through her eyes, she doesn’t ‘support’ anyone in an acting sense (the Bafta and Oscar nominations rectify this), although you could argue the case from a narrative point of view. Her character, an older woman who seduces a much younger boy in post-war Germany, stands very much alone.
I say this, and only this about the plot, as much of the publicity and reviews (with some honourable exceptions) give away too much and while this doesn’t spoil the film entirely, the film’s structure is loose enough to make you wish you’d had more time to spend reeling with surprise. Presumably the marketeers’ idea was that they needed to give away the premise to get people through the door to a film that screams arty Oscar magnet, but is more ordinary than it appears. Certainly, compared to last year’s big Oscar films – No Country For Old Men, There Will Be Blood – it’s very linear. The Reader shares a cinematographer, Roger Deakins (although there’s no credit on imdb), with No Country, and some of the later shots, mindblowing in their powerful simplicity (notably in the New York apartment) remind you of this. Elsewhere in the film’s 124 minutes, Ralph Fiennes, as the older, wrecked version of that seduced boy (brilliantly played by David Kross) has the occasional spark of comedy; his voice has the odd moment of rebellion, turning against him with vaudeville pizazz during the dinner with his daughter.
Effective in short jolts, The Reader isn’t quite more than the sum of its parts – but leaves you thinking, if only to figure out what most of the characters are repressing.
News hour, with Jerry Caesar 