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UK/Ireland/Germany 1999
Reviewed by Kevin Maher
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
Dublin, 1904. James Joyce introduces himself to a young Galway woman, Nora Barnacle. Soon after, the two become lovers. Nora, a hotel maid, is sexually confident and Joyce fears she has been with other men, including his rival Cosgrave. Joyce confronts Nora, who hotly denies any liaison. Joyce tells Nora he feels threatened by his enemies and stifled by Ireland's moral climate. They move to Trieste, Northern Italy, where Joyce teaches English and writes.
Their relationship becomes increasingly tempestuous. Nora, pregnant and homesick, disapproves of Joyce's heavy drinking. They have a baby boy, Giorgio, and Joyce's younger brother Stanislas comes to stay. Joyce has trouble finding a publisher for his short-story collection Dubliners.
Three years later, while visiting Dublin to set up the city's first cinema, Joyce hears again that Cosgrave had sex with Nora, but is convinced by Cosgrave's friend Gogarty that the rumour isn't true. Joyce and Nora - who now have a second child, Lucia - write a series of sexually explicit letters to each other. Joyce returns to Trieste but soon tries to push Nora into an affair with local newspaper editor Roberto Prezioso. Nora returns to Ireland with the children. Joyce follows her and, after his repeated failure to publish Dubliners, announces he's never coming back to Ireland again. Reconciled, the family returns to Trieste.
When Irish director Pat Murphy acquired the rights to Nora, Brenda Maddox's biography of Nora Barnacle (James Joyce's lover and eventual wife), in 1991 it seemed like a perfect coalition. Murphy's two previous features, Maeve and Anne Devlin, were both powerful acts of feminist reclamation. In Maeve Murphy uses a returned Belfast émigré to question male nationalistic traditions, and in the latter she re-examines the botched Robert Emmet rebellion of 1803 with respect to the role played by the Irish leader's loyal housemaid. This is why, after a lengthy eight years in development, Nora arrives as something of a disappointment.
From our first streetside encounter with the charming Joyce, it's clear the driving dramatic momentum of Maddox's biography has been greatly reduced. Whereas Maddox displays a constant and unforgiving disdain for Joyce, often peevishly criticising his physical ineptitude and depicting Nora as a robust martyr, Murphy's portrait is more favourable, revealing Joyce's many eccentricities and neuroses as signs of sensitivity. Consequently, the gap between the romantic couple narrows and, after they move to Trieste, they are simply depicted as equal combatants in a series of volatile and essentially repetitive arguments, usually centred on her fidelity or his intemperance and impecuniousness.
Nora herself is a deeply unsatisfactory creation. As a painfully recherché gynocentric archetype, she seems to have been carefully forged in the smithy of 70s French feminism, by way of Camille Paglia, as the wild Dionysian body to Joyce's cold Apollonian mind. She is, of course, sexually aggressive, proudly physical, and she rejects the naturally oppressive patriarchal world of language systems Joyce so eagerly embraces. (In an infamous anecdote, she imagines Ibsen to be a friend of Joyce simply because he has read him.)
Susan Lynch plays Nora the only way the script allows: as an irascible, tempestuous and earthy woman. Ironically, the result of this crude attempt to reclaim Nora's identity is that she is merely reinscribed once more back into Joycean mythology and the Ulysses character of Molly Bloom, whom she now resembles more than ever.
As Joyce, Ewan McGregor gives an appealing and understated performance, though unconvincing lines like "Yes, but what did you think of the style?" hardly help the cause of verisimilitude. His consistent adoption of seated and standing Joycean poses (Joyce used to 'double cross' his legs) is impressive. But the script demands very little character evolution from Joyce or Nora as they enact their many estrangements and subsequent reconciliations, from Dublin to Trieste, to Dublin and back to Trieste again. Here the choice of a narrow ten-year narrative time frame, from 1904 to 1914, appears particularly arbitrary, especially considering the high drama of Joyce's later life (his daughter's mental illness, the effects of World Wars I and II, his own attempted affairs, and so on).
Nora is photographed impressively by Jean-François Robin (Betty Blue, Roselyne et les lions), who clearly relishes the harsh transition between the cold claustrophobic grey-blues of Dublin and the rich warm yellows of Trieste. But the impact is lessened as the Joyces flit back and forth between the two contrapuntal cities. Here a particularly weak device is repeatedly employed, perhaps due to budgetary constraints, where train journeys are simulated by passing smoke in front of a speeding camera while a hackneyed fanfare of choo-choo sounds is heard.
In the end, despite its flaws, Nora is a considerable achievement for the modern biopic for doggedly refusing to engage with the creative clichés of the tortured-genius subject as seen in Surviving Picasso, Wilde or Total Eclipse. Nora is thankfully free from syrupy eulogies about the power of Joyce's work. Ultimately, it's unfortunate then that when director Murphy turned away from Joyce she could only create in Nora a limited and drearily familiar character from what was by many accounts (including the movie's source material) a dynamic and fascinating woman.