Brideshead Redecorated Pt. 1

I have a troubling weakness for the aristo-drama. Characters who I would (and do) detest in life I find irrestible in fiction. The films I watch again and again include Metropolitan, A Handful of Dust, Gosford Park, Bright Young Things (the sublime marriage of Waugh and Stephen Fry) and the only great drama produced by ITV, Brideshead Revisted. That three of the aforementioned were based on novels by Evelyn Waugh is no-coincidence: he is the master of the dazzling veneer which occasionally allows a glimpse into a hidden pathos. And that's exactly the kind of emotional power I like.

I only recently got around to watching the 2008 film version of Brideshead, which stars some of my absolute favourite FACEs: Ben Whishaw as Sebastian (Perfume, Nathan Barley, Criminal Justice), Matthew Goode as Charles (My Family and Other Animals, Watchmen), Hayley Atwell as Julia (The Ruby in the Smoke, The Line of Beauty) and Emma Thompson, Michael Gambon and Greta Scacchi to fill out the britflick quotient. I've adored Whishaw for ages, fevered longingly over Goode in Other Animals (even though we decided his face has something indefinably missing) and since Atwell starred in two of the best minidramas possible ever (Line and Ruby) I was excited that they would all be frenching like crazy. But as a fan of the original tv series and novel, I was also a little terrified. Which explains why it has taken so long to view.

The new film is beautiful, as are the clothes. Indeed, they are a bit too self-consciously beautiful, as though this were a photo shoot rather than a drama. The lovely Ben Whishaw is a stellar actor, although I thought he was perhaps too slight for the part, and Goode too cold and ethereal. It's not that I mind lingering on the surfaces - and what lovely surfaces! - but that I was unable to lose myself in any of them.

The women's fashions were neglible, and the men were rather appropriately the focus of the gayze. Lots of crepe-de-chine, flannel, loose-knits, muted salmons, and pomade. Beautiful though the costumes were, and doubtless accurate, they were worn without the sort of louche insouciance and absolute confidence that they were immaculately dresed which characterise men of their rank and generation. Almost all period-dramas since Pride & Prejudice look like they have stepped out of the historical equivalent of Topshop.

I enjoyed it, but the film has many faults. Although the leads' faces fit together a lot better than Anthony Andrews and Jeremy Irons, I still couldn't quite believe it. Whishaw is undoubtedly sexy, but he comes across as far too wet, and Goode can never manage to express desire for either sibling. And much like Sebastian, the film feels an overwhelming weight of duty towards its predecessors, and eventually crumbles under the weight of its own beauty. It is chilling and thrillingly appropriate.