Mike Leigh’s biopic of artist J. M. W. Turner (here played by Timothy Spall) covers the latter part of Turner’s life, by which time he had already established himself as an artist and unorthodox character. The film charts the painter’s slow decline in health and popularity, as well as the numerous private calamities that befell him along the way.
Between them, Spall and Leigh create an enigmatic figure both charming and rude, sensitive and cold, caring and oblivious, funny and annoying, and forthright and mysterious, all through a mixture of sheer physical presence, incoherent murmurs, grumbling, and sometimes eloquent speech. Spall fully embodies his character and despite never upstaging the other actors, his Turner is present in every shot, every look, and every grunt.
Having already received the Best Actor award at the Cannes Film Festival, Spall is being mooted for nods at the BAFTAs and the Oscars. He would fully deserve either award, though it seems unlikely such a bizarre yet nuanced performance as a relatively obscure historical and artistic figure would gain such accolades.
Mike Leigh is famous for collecting a retinue of very capable actors and getting suitably formidable performances out of them. So, naturally, he doesn’t stop with Spall. Notably, Lesley Manville plays an endearing Natural Philosopher with a chirpy Scottish accent, who helps teach Turner (though, unfortunately, not the audience, as the scene seems entirely inconsequential and dense) some avant-garde techniques in rendering colour. For the brief time she’s there, Manville lights up the screen, making her discussion of rainbows very apt.
Moreover, Paul Jesson as Turner’s devoted father William fills the role of kindly old man with a genuine sweetness and candour, while Marion Bailey is excellent as Turner’s companion who runs a boarding house in Margate, from which he paints many of his finer works. There are wonderful scene-stealing cameos too, from Martin Savage as troubled artist Thomas Hadyn, Niall Buggy as the gentle and jocular John Carew, and the brilliant Joshua McGuire in a performance of cut-glass pomp as the young artist and critic John Ruskin.
Over the years, rightly or wrongly, many people have criticised Leigh for creating overly whimsical, stereotypical or simplistic characters, and there are certainly moments in this film where that is the case. Despite this, Dorothy Atkinson creates a tragic figure in the form of Turner’s neglected friend, housemaid, and occasional lover Hannah Danby. Atkinson’s physicality and subtlety lifts the character out of the slightly patronising development from her writer/director, but it doesn’t entirely shake off the fact that Leigh’s Hannah is little more than a humble, subservient figure, implying that his critics may occasionally be right.
Spall is being mooted for nods at the BAFTAs and the Oscars. He would fully deserve either award
Furthermore, Ruth Sheen’s Sarah Danby (Turner’s ex-wife, believed to be Hannah’s aunt) is equally flimsy, and, though she is only in a few scenes, she is irritating and monotonous. It is true that there is a lot of conjecture and mystery regarding Turner’s personal life and that his marriage to Sarah was unhappy, but all Leigh and Sheen glean from this is that Sarah should shout every line in a shrill drone, removing any possible depth or empathy and any implication of the more interesting hypothesis that Hannah was actually the mother of Turner’s children.
Beyond the question of character, the first half of the film is certainly problematic as its staccato pace, jumping time frames and narrative incoherency make the film a little muddled, episodic and distant. Instead of the grandiose spectacle it builds up to be in the interminably long and pretentious opening credits, it looks like a first cut of the film, with some transitional scenes not yet inserted and some of the sound recording not yet polished, making it easy to watch, but hard to follow the characters. Nevertheless, Leigh gets things back on track about a third of the way through and the second half of the film is fun, engaging and gently paced.
As a whole, Mr. Turner feels like a cosy Sunday night TV movie, but the small screen wouldn’t do justice to its excellent use of editing and cinematography. Dick Pope’s beautiful framing of the natural landscapes Turner visits throughout the picture make the film look appropriately like a painting, and his use of colour and light is outstanding. While Spall is receiving deserved attention from awards committees, it would be a terrible shame if Pope was denied the same credit.
The film is not perfect and some may find it a little long, but it is charming, beautifully shot, and full of strong performances, of which Spall’s is inevitably the most prominent. Leigh is, admittedly, not on his best form, but the story he tells and the performance he gets from Spall is enough to cut through the treacle, and Dick Pope’s cinematography is truly breathtaking.
Jake Leonard
7/10
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