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The Appropriate Tune: "If love's a sweet passion" by Henry Purcell
Sometimes I think people have a way of dehumanizing the past. By that I mean we take a look at history and forget that those who made that history were human beings too, with the same kinds of wants and desires that we have today. Their outfits may have been a bit weirder and their pictures of naked women were more elaborate, but they were human beings. They love and hate and fight and fuck just like the rest of us, and sometimes they just fuck and fight. Which isn’t cool on a social level, but it does make good material for a movie, so here we are. Not the best intro paragraph, but it’s five in the morning right now and I’m spacing out.
Released in 1982, The Draughtsman’s Contract was written and directed by Peter Greenaway, who had previously directed a number of short films before breaking into the feature-length game with The Falls two years previously. Anthony Higgins plays Mr. Neville, a draughtsman (as in architectural drawing) of some renown who is contracted by a Mrs. Herbert (Janet Suzman) to compose a series of 12 drawings of her husband’s estate while he is on a two-week trip to Southampton. Initially reluctant, Neville is eventually convinced when he learns that part of the deal including enjoying Mrs. Herbert’s ‘company’. So he moves onto the estate and gets to work, crafting pictures of the world, throwing shade on the Herberts’ obnoxious son-in-law Mr. Talmann, enjoying some ‘company’, and it all seems to be working out (for Mr. Neville at least). However at a certain point things start to feel a bit... off. As Neville drafts these pictures, certain things here and there in the various locations begin to stand out. Objects which might otherwise not draw any attention, yet in the context of the drawing might lead a viewer to certain conclusions. Conclusions like perhaps the irascible Mr. Herbert never quite made it to Southampton, and that perhaps one of the residents was responsible. Which might not be the smartest thing to do when you’re stuck in a house miles away from anything or anybody else.
It should come as no surprise that besides being a filmmaker, Peter Greenaway is an artist as well as an art fan, particularly of the Flemish period. The most obvious sign of that is in the set & costume design, where great care has been made to recreate the look and feel of the English aristocracy in the 1700s, warts and all. Yet in the grander sense the film is also about art; the depiction of things that at once seem simple yet give rise to deeper feelings. Even the dialogue feels that way, characters dancing around each other using simile, metaphor and innuendo as the crux, the context of their conversations bubbles under the surface. What matters isn’t reality, the intention of the artist, but rather what the observer decides the meaning is. Which definitely has no relevance in our modren society.
The Draughtsman’s Contract certainly deals in concepts that we’re familiar with. Murder, revenge, machinations and maneuvering, all of which would fit right in with your average thriller but with a powdered wig thrown on it. Yet I think that wig weighs heavier on this film than it realizes, forming a barrier which insulates the film from its audience. There’s an overwhelming Englishness to the film, a choking miasma of Britishness that irritates the lungs of anyone not of Albion descent. Like if you’re from Surrey or something I’m sure you’ll hear them name drop William of Orange and nod your head in knowing satisfaction, but as someone born in the boorish, degenerate United States these overt cultural references go right over my head. I like Blackadder as much as the next guy, but I could also see this being a bit excessive.
Excessive...I guess that’s why my mind tends to wander when writing about this movie. It looks nice certainly, the acting is fine, I understand the message it’s trying to convey (or at least the message I interpret from it), but it’s just tiring. It seems to take so long to really get anywhere, and all the while you’re untangling the gordian knot of syllables that they’re tossing at each other, that once things start moving forward it doesn’t hit as hard as it could have. Not to mention that Neville is kind of an ass, the Herberts are assholes, and I find that I don’t care who these pompous aristocrats fuck or kill. Wicker Man this is not. As long as the naked dude is fine, nothing else matters.
There’s enjoyment to be had with The Draughtsman’s Contract, but I didn’t enjoy it enough to recommend it. Art is subjective though, so movies about art must be super subjective, and if you tend to be on the same wavelength as me when it comes to movies then an Edwardian period piece erotic thriller will probably appeal to you. Personally, I’m fine with modern day erotic thrillers.
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