by Joe Hammerschmidt
[NOTE: This film previously reviewed as part of the 2018 Seattle International Film Festival]
The end of summer brings about a certain strain of melancholia for time well spent, or well wasted; moments used for peak productivity, goofing about, or seeking a jumpstart on one’s self-fulfillment. Whatever it is, they’ll be memories worth carrying over to the next season. Such poignancy can be best reflected in one of the final cinematic offerings, on the last real weekend of a very long summer. An indie period drama whose influence runs mostly on a desire not to fall too staunch or stuffy, nor overly cluttered. The Bookshop, helmed by Spanish-born Isabelle Coixet, and adapted from the uniquely broad words of author Penelope Fitzgerald represents the integrity of an old-school slice-of-life thriller, meshed within the framework of a modern dark fairy tale, sans the fantasy. Yet it still does feel rather bubbly and fantastical through the unique talent of character actress Emily Mortimer, like many great performers this year finally granted the best opportunity possible to advance to the top of her game and expand even her own expectations.
Set at the turn of a turbulent late 50s in the English seaside, widowed Florence Green (Mortimer) is desperate to start anew, hit the restart button after a tragic handful of months. Moving into the very small, very sleepy village of Hardborough, Green reignites her love of books, the thing holding her optimism in check, by making a crusade for small business and opening a quaint little shop in the center of town. It’s all under the nose of local influence maker Violet Gamart (Patricia Clarkson), who will likely stop at nothing to turn the abandoned house with varied building code violations and a myriad of secrets into a multi-purpose artistic center. Like many period dramas of its type, there’s not much else, Mortimer playing a determined hero, Clarkson the villain, and Bill Nighy as a bit of a happy medium, keeping business steady for Florence’s shop.
Coixet, best known to American audiences for 2014’s Learning to Drive, a small-stakes rom-com that started her working relationship with Clarkson, has proven rather reliable to creating films that can easily break language barriers. Her approach to storytelling, both original and inspired, remains consistent, if not a little further embraced through a tale that emphasizes bibliophilia. Yet, without having seen much of her work past/before Drive, it’s impossible to fully judge her style choices. The key word she seems to elevate toward is growth. In some form, personal growth is echoed, against a cloud of melancholy, the latter of which is almost of a distracting factor from seeing Mortimer’s vibrant lead part reach her max potential.
It would be unfair to just say outright Bookshop will be a little too dreary for some viewers to bear; the coastal visuals, not unlike what was noticed earlier this summer with On Chesil Beach, assist chiefly in that aesthetic, in the capable eyes of Jean-Claude Larrieu (Julieta). But perhaps it’s the likely foreshadowing of a possible unhappy ending that was weighing down too hard upon my one viewing ahead of its SIFF opening night bow. Like I just knew from the beginning this film wouldn’t finish in Florence’s favor, or it would though not without severe consequences. That said, Mortimer wears her emotions like a fingerless glove, gripping yet still delicately tactile in her surroundings; be it the shop, the socialite realm she’s whisked into, or her close friendship with Nighy’s reserved Mr. Brundish. Having always shown a heavy-handed confidence with screen roles on both sides of the Atlantic, her character may not be anything unlike parts we’ve seen before, notably her lead part on The Newsroom. Prior credits aside, I was still convinced Florence may easily be a career-high character role, if it can’t be a performance best.
Clarkson refuses to light foot around the facts, possibly joining my rolodex of favorite film villains this year, especially one who’s rather unconventional, and sneakily subtle. Meaning, it’s nearly impossible to anticipate what her character’s capable of until she commits to an action, giving her plenty of breathing room for interaction. Her fury toward Mortimer, disdain toward Nighy, and casual interference toward fellow residents leaves one wicked trail in her wake, for which I somehow find rewarding, and possibly worth watching again down the line, just for those little nuances I’d likely missed. And of course, Nighy remains the steadfast character performer one would be familiar with, without realizing it. So much more than the guy from Love Actually, but criminally given less than adequate time to leave an impression on viewers. He stays quite stoic, yet with teeth bared when the moment calls for it. Couldn’t love him any more than I do here, just for his dramatic restraint.
Finalized by a whirlwind soundtrack composed by Alfonso de Vilallonga (Transsiberian), what Coixet accomplishes with The Bookshop is nothing short of a triumph that will be undeservedly overlooked by the average moviegoer. A quaint yet deeply profound eclipsing of one’s likelihood against the virtues of an entire community, one extremely conservative, deserves so much better. One can only hope it’ll have better vital signs in its eventual digital/VOD release. The elements that weigh down its possible success are what equally grant the viewer a unique proclamation that reading truly matters, no matter how controversial the material on sale. A valid reason why features of its small-ish release, yet still grand-ish scope will have earned appreciation with the right crowd. Seeing Mortimer fighting for her fresh start at life? One other perfect reason, if not the only reason needed to give this small Anglian storefront a humble visit. (B+)
The Bookshop opens in Seattle this weekend; AMC Seattle 10 and SIFF Cinema Uptown; rated PG for thematic elements, language, and brief smoking; 113 minutes.
