David Puttnam's last production (so far) has been awaiting a release for two years or more. Hard to see why. Directed by Hugh Hudson, it's a satisfying essay in boyhood nostalgia in the 1920s, Scottish to be precise, Sir Denis Forman's to individualise it further.
Seen through the eyes of precocious young Denis, aka Fraser for the purpose of the semi-fictional period coat of varnish, it's a portrait of privilege that would delight the Scottish Tory party. The Scottish Arts Council has forked out £1 million of National Lottery cash to make up the £5.12 million budget: a high-risk sum to recoup, but better value than most of the Lottery's misspent millions south of the border.
Pubescent Fraser (Robert Norman) grows up with a feckless but idolised dad (Colin Firth) who harvests sphagnum moss and invents dotty planes and automobiles; a loving Mumsy (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio); a rakish, cosmopolitan millionaire uncle (Malcolm McDowell) with a French wife (Irène Jacob) half his age; and a bossy but gold-standard granny (Rosemary Harris). The lad's awakening coincides with his dad's infidelity, but no great harm is done save a scrap twixt uncle and dad on the carpet.
Its charm would be suffocating were the acting not needle sharp and it's a treat for toffs and buffs alike to see kindly servants knowing their place, the gentry at dinner or ice curling, enough Fair Isle sweaters to make moths drunk, fly-casting taught to the beat of Beethoven's Fifth and sex safely and amusingly misinterpreted by the lad.
Coming from an Irish Presbyterian family not unlike this, but considerably farther down the money ladder, I surrendered easily to the seductive picture of life as it once was (for some). Lord Puttnam's present patrons may be harder to persuade.
My Life Without Me
Cert: cert15
