The makers of this biographical romance clearly adore Virginia Woolf and want viewers to engage with her personality, sexuality and lightning-bright words. We see the fragile, prickly Woolf (Elizabeth Debicki) slowly falling in lust with aristocrat Vita Sackville-West (Gemma Arterton).
Debicki grows into the role. While her wavy hair is distracting (she looks like she’s just stepped out of a 21st-century salon), she has a lovely scene in which she’s overwhelmed by snot and confusion. Her stiff and shambling gait — and fleeting, knowing smile — also feel right.
Arterton, however, is completely miscast. She plays Sackville-West as a pert, predatory trophy wife, the sort who causes mayhem in Evelyn Waugh novels. They should have given the part to Phoebe Waller-Bridge (whose sister Isobel provides the exuberantly jarring, rave-culture score).
As for the script, it’s clunky. The women talk in overly sonorous sentences. They may have been theatrical types but no one acts like that 24/7. Attempts to convey Woolf’s mental fragility seem gauche (she hunkers down in distress, convinced that angry crows are descending). The most memorable images are more casual.
In one scene, Virginia turns down the offer of a holiday with Vita, then changes her mind. With cruel economy Sackville-West replies: “Chance missed.” Words, alas, that sum up this project.
