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The novels of Iris Murdoch (1919-1999) are like good chocolate--try one or two and you'll
inevitably crave more. She wrote some two dozen of them over three decades from the 1950s
to the 1980s. Fans back then waited impatiently for each new one to arrive at the
bookstores; many, if not all are still in print today. These are serious works, rooted in
Murdoch's studies in philosophy. Yet, while she tackled weighty themes of ethics and
religion, she also created wonderfully idiosyncratic characters, often placed them in
bizarre situations, and she made their peculiar or outrageous behaviors seem perfectly
reasonable under the circumstances.
Richard Eyre's film, Iris, wisely makes no attempt to delve
into Murdoch's literary oeuvre or creative process. (It would be difficult to name a film
that has explored successfully the inner workings of a writer; painters and musicians are
a lot easier to realize on screen.) That is not what this film is about. Rather, it is a
memoir, principally of Murdoch's declining years, when, ironically, Alzheimer's disease
stole away her keen and creative mind before it killed her. Based on two books by her
husband, John Bayley, it's a film about their marriage, their love, and the life they
lived together. Flashbacks are used to sketch in the background of their original meeting
and courtship, but only enough to illuminate the emotional place in which they found
themselves as Murdoch's mind began to slip away.
The young Murdoch, played with spirit and intelligence by Kate Winslet
(Titanic, Quills) was
confident and witty as well as brilliant. She was something of a sexual adventuress,
having affairs with both men and women. Yet it was John Bayley (Hugh Bonneville) she chose
to marry--a sexually inexperienced, donnish stammerer. And it became Bayley's painful
position to know that his wife continued her sexually free ways after their marriage. She
assures him, "You know more about me than anyone on Earth. You are my world." He
adored her and opted to remain in the marriage, for all the distress that Murdoch's
extra-curricular activities caused him.
Judi Dench continues her remarkable string of performances (Chocolat, Mrs. Brown) in what may be her best to date as the older
Iris. Her depiction of the gradual decline into Alzheimer's is heart-wrenching, the
persona of Murdoch gradually fading into the oblivion of impaired memory, but never quite
completely wiped away. Jim Broadbent (Moulin
Rouge, Topsy-Turvy)
as the older Bayley is equally effective as he moves from denial to acceptance of
Murdoch's condition, always tender and caring as he gradually loses, but never stops
loving, his life's companion. With irony he reveals his feelings to her, though she is
past understanding what he says--now that all the others are gone, he has her to himself,
but (only for a moment of frustration and despair) now he doesn't want her.
A variety of scenes give a sense of the joy in this marriage--word play
as they shop for groceries, recurring scenes of both the young and the older couple
swimming, Bayley's adoration as he listens to Murdoch speak at a dinner. As sad as it is
to watch the inexorable decline of a brilliant mind, Iris is warm and positive as
a testament to the loyalty and unconditional love that Bayley bestowed upon Murdoch; he
made real her theoretical constructs about being and doing good.
- Arthur
Lazere
