Engaging biopic of Sylvia Plath, mainly focusing on her relationship with Ted Hughes and the decline of her mental health. Gwyneth Paltrow is fairly strong as the American writer in the lead role. Daniel Craig is pretty good as her famous husband except that the Yorkshire accent tends to come and go and it’s difficult to see “James Bond” as a poet. Also, both film-stars are too good-looking to seem like struggling writers.
It’s appropriately grim and grimy in its depiction of England in the early 1960s. Everything seems dimly lit and rather grubby.
I like the way the film presents poetry as such a powerful force. The scenes in which they read out their work and are urged by their friends to do it even faster help to position it as a raw and vital pursuit that’s full of life and energy.
Hughes emerges as a major contributing factor in the depression that led to Plath’s suicide. I don’t know how fair or accurate that is, but the film certainly took Sylvia’s side.
As the story leads to its inevitable conclusion you are left feeling sorry for this young woman who simply needed help (the kindly neighbour played by Michael Gambon wasn’t enough) and for the two children she left behind.
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