a narcissus in edwardian england
by
Douglas Messerli
John Osbourne (writer, adapted from the fiction by Oscar Wilde), John Gorrie (director) The Picture of Dorian Gray / 1976
There have dozens of film adaptations of Oscar Wilde’s 1890 novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, several of which I have reviewed in these pages. But there is little doubt the one that most hints at the central character’s queer behavior is John Osborne’s 1976 made-for-television adaptation by the British Broadcasting Company (BBC). Arguably, in fact, “hint” is not the proper word since all of the versions imply far more than they actually tell. But this production—with the beautiful young Peter Firth playing Dorian, John Gielgud playing the corrupting aphorist Henry Wotton, and Jeremy Brett acting the role of artist Basil Hallward who, having fallen in love with Dorian, paints the picture that reveals what Dorian’s face does only upon his death—almost shouts that character’s queerness to the rafters.
But then everyone in Osborne’s adaptation
of Wilde’s fiction is totally narcissistic in their absolute adoration of surfaces
and appearances. The most complex of these narcissi is Basil, who while
painting the beautiful Dorian falls in love with him so much—reporting to Henry
that “it’s better in life to not be too different,” surely a justification for
his own closeted love—that, not being able to express it through sex (even
kissing another male was a crime) achieves the very opposite of the Cypriot
sculptor Pygmalion whose kiss brought his ivory sculpture to life. Basil
instead has killed the soul of his beloved friend by breathing life into his
portrait.
Once he has finished the painting, the “simple,
affectionate” boy and friend suddenly finds himself bereft of any true human
emotions, just in time to be intrigued by Henry’s ridiculous twists of human
values into two-part sentences such as his description of “romance”:
everyone else.
If it may seem, much later in the story,
that Dorian kills his beloved Basil because, in seeing the changes of Dorian
registered in his painting, he must die to protect the now soulless, unchanging
Dorian from the truth. I’d argue, however, that Dorian murders his friend
because of his admission of love which is expressed not only in words—Basil having
just admitted to him that “he worshipped him” upon first sight—but in the
painting itself. The art reveals his love of Dorian far more that any words
might express it, and Dorian clearly cannot admit to loving Basil in turn,
particularly since he is now incapable of it.
As for Alan Campbell, Firth as Dorian
literally flits around his old friend’s body, reminding him of something in
their past that so terrifies Alan if were revealed that he is willing even to
When
Alan appears to reject all involvement, Dorian moves over to the seated friend
standing closely before him as if ready to receive fellatio saying, “I’m sorry
for you Alan, but I can’t help myself. You are the only man who is able to save
me.” As he undoes the cloth belt,
opening up his short dressing gown, he sits closely next to him, almost as if
to purr words of love into his ear, continuing, “I am forced to bring you into
the matter. I have no option, Alan. You are scientific....” What else would
bring a former university friend to commit such a dastardly act that he would
later commit suicide by hanging himself?
If Sybil takes her poison because Dorian
has abandoned her, attesting he will never even think of her again, Alan hangs
himself because his long ago lover is still demanding his unrequited love.
Los Angeles, Christmas day, 2020
Reprinted
from My Queen Cinema blog and World Cinema Review (December
2020).
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