Seen this four times now. It is impeccable and unexpectedly … devastating. I HOPED (to justify my hatred of the worst of mannered British cinema) this upstairs/downstairs malarkey to be balls but, oh no.
Dr. L, sorry, Anthony Hopkins is an astounding thesp when he can be arsed and this wonderful film displays all of his gifts, how he can inject such a pitiful figure with pathos and something hidden but not quite revealed. What a heartless bastard this bloke is, dedicated to his duty – for folk who don’t give a tuppence about their servants’ well-being or advancement/adventures. He doesn’t know what else to do and it is purgatory witnessing it.
The Emma Thompson big-cheese housekeeper goes all-out to show how much she admires him and he is oblivious – what an infuriating fool of a character, but it’s explained why he is that way. He gets there in the end. Painfully.
Tragedy in the best way. Get the tissues out.
And also, Fred Elliott from Corrie Street (1066-the end of the world as we know it) pops up as a district nurse in a tuxedo.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 