A Month by the Lake

A Month by the Lake

A Month by the Lake is a subtle romantic comedy about sex meeting ego, will and pride under layers of British reticence. It is wrapped in pleasure from first frame to last with lavish production values that capitalize on beautiful time and place an Italian spring in 1937 at Lake Como; it’s another one of those movies, like Enchanted April and Only You, about perfect places for a holiday.

But in this case much of the appeal is in the characters who live there, and who bring to it a style, eccentricity and humor unlikely to be contributed by contemporary tourists. Miss Bentley (Vanessa Redgrave) is a middle aged British spinster whose physical and mental condition are impeccable. All she needs is more self confidence (or does she have it, and is she playing hard to get?). On the first day of her month long vacation at an elegant lakeside hotel, she sees Major Wilshaw (Edward Fox), a handsome man whose accouterments include elegant haberdashery and a battered brown felt hat worn at an angle which can only be called rakish.

She likes the looks of him. Specifically: “He has the ears of a kind and gentle man.” And tells him so. I have written that almost any woman can make almost any man believe almost anything if she starts off with compliments; but this does not extend to ears. Nevertheless he is intrigued, asks her to join him for a drink at seven late! so late he has already gone in to dinner! Was she deliberately late? The film refuses such simple answers: She pursues him until he bites, then drops out just when he expects her to chase.

Miss Bentley has designed her own scenario for their encounter. She observes that he always carries two tennis rackets, and offers to play a set with him. Now comes the movie’s perfect moment as Redgrave uses indescribable body language to show us a woman who, with all the awkwardness and ungainliness in the world, is a brilliant player and can’t help but humiliate him on the court. The sight of her hiking up her skirts and tucking them out of the way is worth the price of admission.

Within days, alas, the Major announces that he must return to England. Miss Bentley is devastated; this throws her timing off. But as he is leaving the hotel, he gets shamelessly flattered by Miss Beaumont (Uma Thurman), nanny for some rich Americans, who even plants a kiss on his face. “That was cruel,” says Miss Bentley. Miss Beaumont could not care less; she lives in the moment and enjoys power over men. Her gesture does have its effect: Soon poor Major Wilshaw appears at the hotel again, dragging his libido and pride behind him, under the impression that Miss Beaumont really cares for him.

Edward Fox is a stylish man with good looks, but he is not tall, and in one scene Uma Thurman towers over him (her character’s name, Beaumont beautiful mountain was not chosen at random). Here is a scene where the major has returned hoping the young nanny will fall to him, and now finds himself chasing after her. He would rather run but dignity requires that he walk as fast as possible while holding his back stiff and his arms flapping behind him. He cannot match her long-legged stride: This tells us more about his character than any words would dare.

Vanessa Redgrave is also tall, but able to stoop and look for signs of thinking in the major’s face.

What’s interesting about the film (written by Trevor Bentham and directed by John Irvin, who made “Turtle Diary” and “Widow’s Peak”) is that it never admits that it’s about sex. Flirtation itself is the point of the game. Consider the scene where Redgrave and Fox go swimming her body looking magnificent in a sleek black costume and you’d think they must fall into each other’s arms. But the movie knows that flirtation prolonged indefinitely is much more interesting to an audience than seduction quickly consummated; you should always give them something to look forward to.

Words remain largely unspoken here. The whole movie depends on British style, reserve, codes, reticence even the last awkward embrace. They could certainly embrace more warmly; they have the skill; they even have reason to. They just don’t feel allowed to do so freely, perhaps believing it better to spend one’s life alone than allow for one moment a violation of personal style or standards; perhaps they are right. Without style or standards there would be no movie either; no story either; no Miss Bentley either: nor Majnor Wilshaw either.

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