Iris Murdoch was a brilliant writer and a fascinating person, however only traces of the latter are discernible in this well made but fatally floored biopic. The film switches between Iris meeting bumbling university lecturer John Bayley whilst at college at the height of passionate intellectual powers and the latter years when Altzheimers starts taking over and the previously submissive John has to take a more forceful role in taking care of his wife.
The film manages to achieve good continuity in looks with the younger and older representations of both Iris and John. However the direction moves from being free and easy with the Kate Winslet as the younger Iris but becomes overly respectful and stand offish to Judi DenchÕs portrayal of the older Iris. This leads to viewer responding very differently to the two and makes it seem as if Iris has become bland with age, making the loss of her intellectual powers appear less of a tragic waste.
The on-screen chemistry between old hands Judi Dench and Jim Broadbent is a joy to watch, with both taking full advantage of rare leading roles to showcase their unquestionable talents. Their pleasant eccentricities and obvious affection are like manna from heaven in an industry where setting two pretty young things in front of the camera and having them show each other their expensively produced perfect smiles before the body doubles move in is meant to pass for a passionate portrayal of love.
Less effective are the earlier scenes, with John presented as such a bumbling idiot you find it difficult to figure out what Iris sees in him, and whether the director felt an envious grudge towards the man. A subplot about his growing jealousy of IrisÕs infidelity is left frustrating unexplored, with a good deal of interesting material doubtless left on the cutting room floor. Instead we are given frequent montages of pleasant but pointless impressonistic images that bookend many scenes, and leave you wanting to scream ÒWe know there are pebbles on beeches and lilies on ponds now stop showing us soft focus pictures of them and get on with the storyÓ.
The clumsy attempts at making Iris seem more artistically worthwhile than a TV drama and the inherently unsettling effect of the flashbacks pull the viewer away from the emotional core of the film and robs the inevitably tragic ending of the power it should posses. Because of this it is hard to judge Iris the film as anything but an intriguing failure, much unlike the woman herself.