I've never been one for the sonnets. I've never found the necessary thread to arrange them in an order appropriate to cut through their coded protestations of love and build enough emotional momentum to set them aflame. I've never had the energy to get that accustomed to their hidden narratives. There are scholars who have dedicated their lives to such a task. I haven't the patience.
That's one of the many things I loved in this hypnotic experiment. Jarman's selection, purred over grainy, purple-tinted images by Judi Dench, does allow the emotions to mount, if not to ecstasy, then certainly into a rich luxurious lather. With barely a whiff of context, Dench's reading somehow clarifies the beauty of the poetry. Jarman's gentle nudge towards homo-love, riffing off academic theories that randy ol' Bill wrote these immortal love notes to the Earl of Pembroke (or to the Earl of Southampton, or some hot spunk of a thing), continues his track record of foregrounding the queer aesthetic and defiantly re-appropriating our most celebrated (usually de-queered) predecessors.
The Angelic Conversation is the kind of art film that requires complete surrender. I'd be interested to see it on the big screen, to be able to sink into its imagery, like walking into live action album covers from The Smiths, and to be gently caressed by Dame Judi's verbal love making.
Not only that, I'd be interested to see how it was received back in the day. It may not seem it now but The Angelic Conversation was a political act as much as it was an artistic one, a sensual affront to the gathering conservative push to damp down the gathering LGBT rights movement in Britain. It is a soft protest but powerful nonetheless. It is difficult to argue with love. Or Shakespeare.
Next up: Caravaggio.
This post contributes to Director Focus: Derek Jarman.
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