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Masters in depicting the superficial machinations of England's repressed upper classes, director James Ivory and his partners, screenwriter Ruth Prawer Jhabvala and producer Ismail Merchant, take on the American middle class in
Mr. and Mrs. Bridge. Paul Newman and wife Joanne Woodward play the eponymous main characters: a patriarch and wife of a well-to-do family, whose members are struggling to define themselves under their father's undefiable command and the changing times.
With one daughter who wants to become an actress in New York, another who chooses the "wrong" kind of man to marry, and a son who quits school to join the Air Force during World War II, Mr. Bridge finds that his control over his family is slipping. Spanning the 1930s and '40s, the film presents nuances in how both the dramatic and the smaller moments are woven together. Weddings and arguments are no more important to capturing the essence of the Bridge family then are their moments of daily reverie.
A quiet film that succeeds in establishing its characters' intimacy, with themselves and each other, Mr. and Mrs. Bridge owes much of that success to Woodward. While Newman doesn't always seem comfortable as the stern ruler of the Bridge household, Woodward steals the film as the long-suffering woman whose identity is precariously built on her ascribed roles as mother and wife, taken for granted and often overlooked by the family she truly loves. --Natasha Senjanovic
From The New Yorker
An adaptation, by the Merchant-Ivory team (the director James Ivory, the producer Ismail Merchant, and the writer Ruth Prawer Jhabvala), of Evan S. Connell's novels about the painfully respectable Bridge family of Kansas City. Walter and India Bridge (Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward) are pure exemplars of the middle: they're middle-aged and middle-class; they live in a medium-sized city in virtually the dead center of the United States; and they are neither truly happy nor consciously unhappy. They're monsters of moderation. At the beginning of the film, Ivory seems eerily in tune with the novels' distinctive sensibility. The picture gets by, initially, on its strange mood of chilling coziness, and when we tire of that-and we do, because it doesn't change or develop-the actors keep us engaged a while longer. Newman doesn't try to soften the character, or to distance himself from it with exaggerated effects, and his scrupulousness pays off. The character seems not more likable but more human than it does in the novels; by very simple means, Newman enables us to understand Mr. Bridge's insensitivity and emotional ineptitude. And Woodward, too, gives a delicate, subtle performance; she embodies a foolish woman vividly and unpatronizingly. But the screenplay retains the static quality of the books' construction, so at a certain point the scenes begin to feel arbitrary. And Ivory's perspective on the material seems to become clouded by a storm of minutiae-a surfeit of period detail. (The action takes place in the late thirties and early forties.) In the end, the Bridges aren't large enough either to move us or to terrify us: they're the Ambersons without the magnificence. Also with Blythe Danner, Kyra Sedgwick, Robert Sean Leonard, Margaret Welsh, and Simon Callow. -Terrence Rafferty
Copyright © 2006 The New Yorker