Bright Star

First of all, I have to admit to never liking the poetry of John Keats. I'll take Byron any day of the week. Luckily this minor detail isn't a problem when it comes to appreciating Bright Star. A slow-burning film, it creeps up on the viewer and take a thorough grip on the emotions before you realize it's happened. For such a deeply romantic film, it has a keen sense of ruthless economics. Fanny's extraordinary array of home-made dresses result in bouts of verbal sparring with Charles Brown: he regards them as symptomatic of frivolity, and therefore of Fanny's lack of importance, but she sharply retorts that her needlework can provide her with a livelihood, unlike his writing. It sets up their rivalry but also encapsulates the tragedy at the heart of the film. Fanny's future depends on making a good match, but Keats - as we are repeatedly informed - has no money and is never likely to have any. To continue as a poet means, in effect, that he can't marry her. In order to take a wife he would need a regular income, which would require him to give up his poetry (and all this even before his TB becomes a factor) It's a situation understood by everyone - Mrs Brawne with sadness, Charles Brown with outright aggression.
All of this makes the snatched moments of happiness the more precious and fragile. Great joy alternates with misery as love seems to ebb and flow. The dingy browns and claustrophobia of the city (associated with poverty and death) contrast with the spaciousness of the country, as Hampstead was in those days, where the breeze rustles the grass while people walk and play. Scenes such as Fanny in a meadow of bluebells or Keats lying aloft a tree capture the sensation of their growing love, while the separation of their bedrooms by a dividing wall gives rise to scenes of a palpable aching longing. The attempt to create a butterfly farm in Fanny's room produces both a visual equivalent of an emotional high (brightly coloured butterflies drifting around the room) and a devastating low (their corpses unceremoniously swept away) When Fanny lies on her bed as the wind blows the curtain inwards you can almost feel the air caressing her. The lovers share nothing more than a kiss but the viewer understands everything they feel for each other through the images.
The cruel irony is that only when Keats' death is imminent can the couple be engaged. Keats has nowhere to stay and Fanny's reputation would never survive his continued presence in the house. At the point when they truly have no future, they assume the appearance of contented domesticity, but even this is short-lived. His trip to Italy has been funded by his friends and Fanny cannot accompany him. They cling to the illusion that he will be cured but deep down they know there is no hope. Even so, the end is devastating for Fanny. Kept apart to the last, she hears the news of his death third-hand from a man she has never liked. Neither friend nor lover have been able to avert the inevitable. All that's left is a life cut short and the work that was ignored.