It is my personal view that any film described by the Daily Telegraph as 'beautiful, uncompromising and heart-stoppingly moving' should be approached with caution. It was with this in mind that I went to see Never Let Me Go, expecting something average that I could enjoy on a superficial level, maybe have a quiet cry about, and forget as soon as I left the cinema.
Based on the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro and set in an alternate reality in which terminal illness is a thing of the past, it tells the story of Kathy, Tommy and Ruth, childhood friends growing up at an apparently idyllic boarding school in the heart of the English countryside, which is later revealed to be an institution for organ donors. The students are all clones, created as sets of spare parts and hidden away from the rest of society until called up to start donating their vital organs, a process that means none of them survive beyond their late twenties. It's none too believable but it’s a good premise for a weepy, especially when there is so much potential for a pair of star-crossed lovers to be brutally robbed of their futures by forces beyond their control.
But in the event, the film not only left me cold – it grated. Predictably, one of its major flaws is the presence of Keira Knightley, who, demoted to a supporting role for a change, plays the domineering Ruth. To her credit, Knightley does appear to have spent some time updating her catalogue of facial expressions, and I will even be so bold as to suggest that her pouting days are behind her. The jutting chin, however, is as trusty a standby as ever, as is the pre-sneeze-like twitch of the right nostril, and although she flaunts a set of newly-minted, never-before-seen emotions, none of them are quite as convincing on the silver screen as we must assume they were in her bathroom mirror.
Otherwise, the acting is perfectly acceptable – even commendable. Andrew Garfield gives a convincing performance as the awkward but charming Tommy, while Carey Mulligan’s Kathy, though she wears a concerned frown the entire way through, nonetheless commands respect – a pillar of sad strength, she is natural and very likeable. Unfortunately, however, they are not enough to redeem the film of its many faults. Visually, it can justifiably be described as beautiful. But it is a very generic, irritating kind of beauty – precisely the same kind, in fact, as in The King’s Speech, The Duchess, Atonement, Pride and Prejudice, and others of that ilk: soft-edged, pleasant, and terribly, terribly British. Above all else, this film is a benchmark in middle-class Good Taste. There are more wet leaves, narrow lanes and windswept beaches than in an issue of Country Living magazine, and the costumes might have been ordered from a Toast catalogue. There is soft focus in abundance, wintry sunlight that bathes everything in a wistful but flattering glow, a token helping of kitsch-chic and just the right amount of mud.
The film is far too tasteful to expose us to any real, genuine misery, even though the three protagonists are all to die slow, painful and lonely deaths. Instead it's all about heartbreak, and tragedy – pained glances, doomed love and tormented souls who undoubtedly take comfort in the fact that they look simply ravishing when they cry. Even Mother Nature is sympathetic to their plight, and manipulates the weather accordingly. And just in case our heartstrings forget to be tugged, a mournful cello melody rings out over the most tragic moments of all.
This country has a tradition of producing nice, polite films about beautiful but tortured people, set in a fantasy Britain that is simultaneously glamorous and quintessential. Never Let Me Go is its latest offering, and despite a relatively original storyline, it still manages to feel formulaic. Well-acted (with one notable exception) but replete with cinematic clichés and mournfully lacking in subtlety, it might be a pleasant enough experience if you can suspend your disbelief, but it is a tedious waste of an evening if you can't.
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