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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=93TT1862>
<title>
June 07, 1993: A Film of One's Own
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
Jun. 07, 1993 The Incredible Shrinking President
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
CINEMA, Page 63
A Film of One's Own
</hdr>
<body>
<p>With her ravishing version of Virginia Woolf's Orlando, England's
Sally Potter beats the big boys at their game
</p>
<p>By RICHARD CORLISS/PARIS--With reporting by Carrie Ross Welch/London
</p>
<p> Civilization aspires to femininity. History has made man's
age-old tools of muscles and marauding nearly obsolete; it urges
him to put down swords and pick up phones, to value salon charm
over brute force, to face adversity through nurturing and networking
instead of a quick body chop. What a lovely evolution: men are
becoming women. Except in movies, of course--especially summer
movies, where the O.K. Corral never closes and the footfalls
of dinosaurs named Arnold and Sly still shake the earth.
</p>
<p> So raise a tender toast to Orlando: a sensation at film festivals,
a hit in Britain, and, once it opens in the U.S. next week,
a bracing corrective to the cinema's annual testosterone overdose.
Freely and fondly adapting Virginia Woolf's 1928 novel, English
filmmaker Sally Potter brings to life a buoyant fantasy world.
She imparts a brisk, lush post-modernism to a fable that scans
four centuries. But Potter's real triumph is in her pert dressing
of an immodest proposal. To be fully human, Orlando says, is
to go civilization one better: to be man, then woman, then a
blend of the best of both genders. To the battle of the sexes,
androgyny is the answer supplied by both Potter and Woolf. "In
so many ways," the director says, "Woolf was ahead of her time.
Or maybe she was just timeless."
</p>
<p> In 1600 Queen Elizabeth (Quentin Crisp) deeds a great English
manor to handsome young Lord Orlando (Tilda Swinton) on one
condition: "Do not fade, do not wither, do not grow old." The
lad takes the monarch's admonition to heart and, miraculously,
ages not at all from that day to this. Orlando is a fellow in
love with love--ever eager to die upon a kiss, but destined
to live forever apart from those mortals he cherishes. In 1610
he falls for a fickle Russian princess (Charlotte Valandrey).
One day, a century and a half later, he wakes up and is a woman.
The new Lady Orlando has her first fulfilling affair in 1850
with an American adventurer (Billy Zane) and finally, with the
American's daughter at her side, faces the new millennium unshackled
to the past. Her life is just beginning.
</p>
<p> The novel Orlando, inspired by Woolf's love for Vita Sackville-West,
is a gay lark disguised as a historical biography. Centuries
and genders fly past, each one bending like a willow to accommodate
Woolf's puckish feminist insight and hindsight. Potter's movie,
faithful in spirit to the book, is something else. It is, in
the best sense, a travesty, a masquerade, a cross-dressing comedy
of eros. Yet moviegoers do believe in Orlando, in the breadth
of its canvas, the immediacy of its emotions, the palliative
power of its wit. They can swim in its gorgeous images: the
fruit seen below a sheath of ice, the oars dipping into dark
water, the fearful maiden rushing between high hedges and across
battlefields. They surely believe in Swinton as the pearl and
perfection of any gender; her poise and gravity, and the drama
of her pale face under a crown of red hair, could mark her as
this generation's russet Redgrave. Orlando proves anything is
possible in movies if artists can make it plausible.
</p>
<p> Getting it made is another matter; it's not easy to finance
a film of one's own when one is a woman. Potter, 43, wrote her
Orlando treatment in 1984 but found no takers. "Investors,"
she says, "often have trouble believing that a woman can handle
large sums of money and lead a team, that she has a sufficiently
firm hand." So Potter directed for TV: the series Tears, Laughter,
Fear and Rage (1986) and a 1988 documentary on Soviet women.
Still, she says, "Orlando wouldn't leave me alone. So five years
ago, I got my script out and said, `I don't care how long it
takes or what it costs me--I'm going to make this film.' You
must be utterly in love with filmmaking to get beyond all the
crazy obstacles." She raised the $4 million budget from Russian,
French, Italian, Dutch and British sources, then shot the film
in Saint Petersburg, Uzbekistan and a mansion built in 1611
for the Earl of Salisbury.
</p>
<p> That's a lot of sweat for one movie. So why Orlando? "Woolf
created a believable, sensual world within an unrealistic story,"
Potter says. "In a light way, she dealt with some profound themes.
Orlando's long life as a man, and then as a woman, lets you
appreciate the essential human self that transcends genders.
She just blows away the cobwebs of mystique about masculinity
and femininity. When I first read the book, as a teenager, I
found it such an exuberant liberation from any false notion
of femaleness. And Orlando's 400-year life-span--it's a wonderful
device for looking at the melancholy of mortality. I was a child
growing up under the shadow of a possible nuclear holocaust;
now I see young people growing up under the shadow of aids.
We have a bittersweet feeling of living in the moment, knowing
that shortly that moment will be gone forever. Woolf says it
is important to value the intensity of your life as it is lived
just now."
</p>
<p> Just now Potter is ecstatic at her film's success and artfully
dodging questions about gender roles in filmmaking. "When I'm
working," she says, "I don't feel male or female. After all,
what did Virginia Woolf call the mind of the artist? `The androgynous
mind.' " Say, then, that anyone--man or woman or a new, improved
species--could have made Orlando. But until Sally Potter,
nobody did. Nobody dared.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>