Mark Reviews Movies: VITA & VIRGINIA

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Review by Mark Dujsik | August 22, 2019

These stories of a famous figure having a secret or, in this case, not-so-secret love affair always make one wonder: Is it really true? In any instance, the rumors, which likely began contemporaneously and somehow have lasted the entirety of the person's life and well beyond, must have some foundation.

With the affair dramatized in Vita & Virginia, the evidence seems pretty straightforward. There is a series of letters, written between Virginia Woolf, the famous novelist and critic, and Vita Sackville-West, also a novelist, which include such language as, from Sackville-West to Woolf, "I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia," and, from Woolf to Sackville-West: "Would like a letter. Would like a garden. Would like Vita."

The movie argues—as has become pretty much a matter of fact within the world of literary analysis—that there's also an entire novel that stands as evidence of the affair. It's Orlando, Woolf's revolutionary 1928 work of fiction, presented as supposed the biography of a unique person, that follows the life of an English nobleman, who suddenly becomes a woman at the age of 30 and goes on to live for at least another 300 years. The eponymous character is, for all intents and purposes, a fictionalized version of Sackville-West. The photographs of her, dressed up in various garbs of different eras and genders, that Woolf had commissioned for the book might as well confirm all of that.

If this sounds fascinating, it is, and using the actual letters between Woolf and Sackville-West as narration and dialogue, the movie shows its work to make its case. It's only a shame that Eileen Atkins and director Chanya Button's screenplay seems uncertain as to how to frame this tale of evolving, later disintegrating love and literary inspiration.

Most of this story revolves around the long, emotionally taxing, and socially perilous build-up to the pair's affair. This makes sense from a perspective of historical authenticity, since the letter-writing likely would be at its most passionate and most consistent before and during the relationship. From a dramatic perspective, though, the real meat of this tale arrives as their affair comes to an end.

In this movie, that's when Virginia (Elizabeth Debecki) finds the inspiration for and begins to write Orlando. The writing process gives her an opportunity to interrogate Vita (Gemma Arterton), under the auspices of learning as much as she can about her, at this point, sort-of lover's fictional counterpart. The real interrogation, though, is a scorned and wounded woman trying to figure out what makes this other woman, whose love seemed so intense and sincere in writing and in person, tick.

This process, though, is reduced to only a few scenes in Atkins and Button's script, but they are the most involving and pointed scenes in the movie. They get to the heart of both characters, with Virginia's writing portrayed, as Vita's mother (played by Isabella Rossellini) calls it, a form of violence—potential revenge for being betrayed—and the emotional foundation of the seemingly aloof Vita being dissected. Virginia points out that most biographies deal almost exclusively with events. She wants her fictional one to go beyond that—to tunnel into the core of her main character.

The movie itself probably could have followed that advice. Instead, we watch as Vita, already admiring Virginia's work, attends a party held by Virginia's artist sister Vanessa (Emerald Fennell). Both are drawn to each other, although Virginia is less secure in her sexuality than Vita. After all, Vita has had multiple affairs with men and women, while her husband, the diplomat Harold Nicolson (Rupert Penry-Jones), has affairs with other men (Isobel Waller-Bridge's anachronistic score, filled with electronic instruments, seems to be highlighting how very modern these characters are, but it mostly distracts). Virginia, who also suffers from mental health issues, mostly keeps to herself, writing and aiding her husband Leonard (Peter Ferdinando) in his publishing house.

The two women write often, with Button cross-cutting between the characters narrating those letters directly to the camera, visually portraying the intimacy of their written connection (Tellingly, Vita's mouth is also kept intentionally out of focus, as a subtle suggestion that her words might not be trusted). There are multiple barriers, from their husbands' worry or outright disapproval, to Virginia's uncertainty with matters of sex, and to Vita being whisked away when he husband obtains a new post out of the country.

On and on it goes. While it's admirable that the filmmakers rely so much on the actual text of the women's letters, we're basically left with a long, flirtatious game that only scratches the surface of each of these women's minds and feelings. When Virginia and Vita finally do consummate their mutual attraction, we're left primarily with relief that the story might go somewhere.

As the relationship falls apart, the story does go somewhere, actually delving into Vita's personality and inability to form lasting, emotional connections. That's the real core of Vita & Virginia. It is revealed here, although it's too little and too late.

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