I've often crossed paths with Oscar Wilde. The novel and a few film versions of The Picture Of Dorian Gray. The playscript (illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley) of Salome, Steven Berkoff's bizarre almost slow-motion stage version at the National Theatre, and good ol' Ken Russell's barking Salome's Last Dance (made as part of a bet that Ken could deliver a film for under a million pounds - he lost)
Last night I goggled at Stephen Fry's portrayal of Oscar in a film that played against expectations in part. The wife watched the opening and groaned 'Not a Western!' After watching Oscar eye up a few sweaty buff, stripped to the waist miners in the US of A, it's back to England for a whirlwind romance, marriage and two children.
The film is structured around Wilde's children's story The Selfish Giant, which comments upon proceedings.
When Brian Clough/Tony Blair/David Frost/the leader of the Lycans Michael Sheen turns up, it's not long before our Irish playwright is introduced to the wonderful world of homosexuality. He loves his wife and children, but his pursuit of youth and beauty leads him to pleasures forbidden by the normal world. In addition to Sheen, he lays beside Ioan...Ioann...you know Hornblower (sorry) and then a prominent member of the aristocracy Jude Law - where his problems really begin.
Two wildly (stop it!) successful plays (do West End theatregoers still call Author! Author! on first nights?) and Oscar's on top of the world, but Bosie is intruding upon his thoughts and time.
Lord Douglas' father (You are a sod...and a BUGGER!) loathes Wilde despite a relatively pleasant meeting. He attempts to control his family - with tragic results - and Oscar feels Bosie's pain in lack of family love in spite of the young man's spite, childishness, promiscuity.
The famous court case is dealt with in an unsensational manner, and Fry really excels here, exhibiting courage, honour and a belief in the higher nature of man. His lawyer remarks that the maximum sentence for gross indecency is two years hard labour, and men of their ilk could not take more than 9 months.
Oscar is made of stern stuff and bests the treadmill, with heartwarming support from his wife of all people (and Mr Sheen). Fry has displayed some terrific Wildean haircuts, and his prison hedgehog and boiler suit reminded me that I'm probably one of the few people who saw poor Stephen in Cell Mates before he contracted stage fright and fled to Belgium.
Wilde beats the system, but loses his wife, then his children. There's only Bosie left.
Jude Law has often proved a surprise and here he plays Bosie to the hilt, but the film is Fry's.
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