The House of Mirth

“Lily” is a smart, charismatic and charming socialite who frequents the best houses in New York as the twentieth century beckons. She is not, however, a wealthy woman. She has a small annuity and is largely dependent on income from her aunt “Julia” (Eleanor Bron). She also has a penchant for bridge. The kind that sees gambling debts accrue! Finding herself in need of funds and feeling that she dare not ask her benefactress, she is soon vulnerable to the machinations of some wealthy and unscrupulous men who have all they will ever need in life, save for a glamorous and “suitable” wife. She does have one more earnest suitor in “Selden” (Eric Stoltz) but it’s her financial dalliance with “Gus” (Dan Aykroyd) that sows the seeds of her spiral into a series of catch-22 scenarios that increasingly find her ostracised from those she loved, liked and needed. “Lily” is not a woman equipped for poverty, but at every turn that looks like the road she must travel as her options become hemmed in by her earlier choices and her own decency and pride. The start of this drama does come across as a sort of poor man’s Merchant Ivory, but that actually serves quite well in illustrating just how faux this whole society was. Built entirely on wealth and social standing, it was trying to emulate the aristocratic hierarchies of London, or Paris, or Vienna but without the history or, dare one say it, the “breeding”. It is startlingly shallow. Once we have embarked on her journey, though, Gillian Anderson really does begin to imbue her character with characteristics that are both pitiable and frustrating. Here is the sort of woman whose toast would always land butter side down, and once the very whiff of toxicity became associated with “Lily”, it manifested itself cruelly and irreversibly - and again, Anderson brings a delicate vulnerability to that persona. Stoltz is a bit weak and feeble, indeed none of the male roles here really stand out. Possibly because they are all fairly insipid and/or unpleasant, but also because none of the writing is for them and so they remain little more than wallpaper. As to any sense of sisterhood, well it’s not just the menfolk who know how to turnstile screw and both Bron and Laura Linney’s “Bertha” prove every bit as merciless. Perhaps unexpectedly, it doesn’t shy away from quite a provocative ending and if you can just sit tight through the opening scenes of high-costumed, chandeliered, melodrama, then this turns into something quite poignant and worth a watch.