The dark purple velvet and silk gown Jane How (Lady Holland) wears at the London party is the same costume worn by Harriet Walter (Fanny Dashwood) to dinner at Norland Park in Sense and Sensibility (1995), and by the theatre guest seated next to deSade's wife in Quills (2000). See more »
I am appalled by some of the reviews on this movie. The people who take the time to criticize the film because they find Byron's personality inherently distasteful are no better than the stuck-up, vapid, and inherently depressed figures that also made up the aristocratic regency of England. Hypersensitive people like Lady Caroline or Byron merely reflect the madness and desperation festering within all of us, as well as the absolute solipsism. For one reviewer to find it important to tell us the movie was lusterless because Byron was a chaotic and dissolute fiend is about as productive as setting a leaf on fire and hoping the forest will catch. For your information, Byron was and is a hero to those who would dream. Don't take the opportunity to offer your privileged and sheltered scornful opinion on a legacy and film that have no time for such worthless peons of petulancy such as yourself. Yes he did things in his life that are considered horrible, but now he, and those he hurt, are no more than flakes of dust and dirt blowing around this world. Take time to focus on your menial existence rather than pompously proselytizing about others.
Now that I am done putting down the insufferable philistines who found it fit to comment, I'll offer my own opinion on this movie. I adore this movie, and I make a habit of watching it at least once a month if I can. Sure it's choice of making an apex of Byron's life in England is blatantly wrong, and I thank the person who wrote that wonderful review mentioning how that choice is only a mark of the continuously conservative and scandal-obsessed society we live in today, but the aesthetics of the film remain intact. In fact, this biopic is perhaps the best I have seen in regards to its respect for the viewer's basic intelligence, wit, and sense of aesthetic. We are given the life of a man hounded by his own existence bar none. My favorite scenes were the ones between Byron and Augusta, though I would have liked to have seen Shelley get a larger role and have Keats ridiculed by Byron as well (that middle-class masturbator, to paraphrase Byron).
Please, if your mind is as sufficiently petty as benbrae76 (who wrote that god-awful review), don't bother commenting. Or even better, take a cue from Fanny Imlay (Mary Shelley's half-sister) and kill yourself.
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