They don't make 'em like this any more. Super film, but sadly the sound quality is not very good now.
It's lovely to see this old film again after goodness knows how many years ... a great cast, just a pity about the very poor soundtrack.
Definitive film version of Oscar Wilde's immortal play, which brilliantly capitalises on all of its dazzling virtues, without ever overcoming the flaws. Anthony Asquith presents the scenes as if on a stage, and is extremely faithful to the text. And his ideal cast delivers Wilde's polished epigrams with aplomb, as the drollery of the ingenious plot unspools.
Michael Redgrave and Michael Denison are frivolous bachelors of the privileged class who adopt alternative identities to free themselves of their minor responsibilities. Joan Greenwood and Dorothy Tutin are pretty debutantes who fall in love with these alter-egos. But Margaret Rutherford and Edith Evans steal the film as their elderly chaperones.
As with the play, characters are mere cyphers, a means of moving the plot around while delivering sparkling bon mots. The men are charming, disingenuous fops. The older women are monsters, which makes them more interesting. But it's impossible to invest any care in them. It's all surface. Which is fine, because the scenes fizz with incredible lines.
A few witticisms inevitably fail to launch, and without anyone to care about, the film quickly stalls. The ironic inflection becomes irritating. But these are moments. The period costumes and Victorian habitat are richly reproduced in gaudy Technicolor. The stars perform the hilariously absurd frou-frou with expertise. And Asquith has genuine rapport with Oscar's unique depiction of the upper class.