In honor of its (very) belated release on Blu-ray last year, let's talk about Masquerade (1988), one of the hidden U.S. gems of the 1980s ~ thanks to David Watkin(DP), John Barry(music), Bob Swaim(director), and most especially star Meg Tilly. The story is pulp and predictable, Rob Lowe just stands around per usual (‘though Kim Cattrall is special) ~ yet the heart and soul of the piece beats all. The movie more and more glows in a way reminiscent of such Eternal Love classics as Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948), Earrings of Madame de (1953), Mrs. Soffel (1981), Dolls (2002), Sunrise (the silent). Even Vertigo, when Barry clearly borrows from Bernard Herrmann and the movie thanks to Tilly ascends to that rare level of transcendent romantic obsession all of these movies share.
What makes the movie so heartbreaking is how completely devoid we now seem of works (theatrical or streamed) which kneel before the altar of Romantic Faith ~ the same faith that’s been the emotional center of Western narrative art for centuries. (No wonder Tilly's character’s name is Lawrence.) And especially on the part of current female characters. Wonder Woman, yes. Olivia Lawrence, certainly not. Yet the astonishing thing about the character is how strong she is. Yielding, but only toward for what she yearns. Modest and proud. Somewhat lost and incomplete. Warm, earnest, open. Seeing the glass as half-full rather than half-empty. Wondrous. Kind. Fetching. And a warrior. That’s the key part. It is possible to be a warrior for something other than power, position, and ego. Isn’t it?
And her voice ~ both flat and expressive, both quiet and husky; not the huskiness of booze, debauchery, or a come-on. But tears, fully wept. The voice of someone cried out. Masquerade is pregnant with the tenderness, longing, and sorrow Tilly embodies. Yet there’s a promise throughout, especially toward the end, that she may break free altogether, to have at last a time purely for her own joy; alongside the tragic foreboding: as if one is never in so much danger when happy and/or alive ~ that is when the devils seem to have their day. . .
I never thought I'd feel nostalgia for anything romantic from the 1980s. (Shows how far we’ve fallen.) Yet I would bet that the appreciation of what's created in Masquerade will grow through the years, as has the performances of Joan Fontaine in Letter, Keaton in Mrs. Soffel, Danielle Darrieux in Madame de, and of course Novak in Vertigo ~ performances either ignored or trashed as mere soap opera during their time.
One chucklehead on Amazon describes Masquerade as “a bleeding-heart opera of female weakness and suffering.”
Let it bleed.
