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Atmosphere, not action, evokes Vermeer’s muse
by Joey Cody
There are few things more romantically intoxicating than to be idealized in the eye of an artist. To be painted, sculpted, photographed, sung about—these are the propositions few can refuse. But Girl with a Pearl Earring does not focus solely on the enchantment of the muse or model. It highlights a profound understanding of art and how that awareness can be a powerful force of attraction.
Girl is the imagined story behind one of Johannes Vermeer’s most famous works—often called the “Dutch Mona Lisa.” Little is known about Vermeer, who died at 43, and even less is known about the girl whom he immortalized, so the film is based on Tracy Chevalier’s novel, which speculates about the masterpiece and its subject.
Set in 17th-century Delft, Holland, Girl tells the story of Griet (Scarlett Johannson), a peasant who goes to work for the household of Master Vermeer (Colin Firth). Griet struggles to find a place in the home, amid stormy domestic politics and hard lessons in becoming a maid.
Cleaning the master’s studio, Griet becomes curious about the tools and perspective of the artist. Unable to resist Griet’s intellectual inquisitiveness, especially considering the financial pressures of providing for his large, demanding family, Vermeer encourages her to see more. He teaches her to mix paints, shows her a camera obscura, and solicits her opinion on his work. A distant yet distinct respect develops, and then an obvious physical attraction.
Vermeer’s rapacious patron, van Ruijven (Tom Wilkinson), who is the only character wealthy enough to be able to speak his mind freely, also lusts after Griet and makes mischief by demanding a portrait of her. Vermeer must hide this inappropriate work from his pregnant wife, though his shrewd mother-in-law encourages its creation as a necessary means to providing for the ever-growing family.
And another has the hots for Griet—the butcher’s apprentice, young Pieter (Cillian Murphy). Griet likes him, but his sweet affections can’t compare to the sophisticated attentions of her master.
Griet is torn between “forgetting herself”—posing for this man she admires—and maintaining her job and religious propriety. Her Protestant sectarian beliefs (the Vermeer clan is Catholic) forbid her to show her hair or to pierce her ears, yet she consents for the sake of the art—in effect giving herself to Master Vermeer.
This scene in which the artist pierces Griet’s ear so she can wear the eponymous jewel, is intensely erotic and symbolic. After inadvertently showing him her hair (which has been carefully hidden beneath her bonnet), he forcefully stabs, she softly sobs, and he tenderly dabs the blood from her lobe. It’s as physical as the two will ever get, yet so much more powerful than taking her virginity in the literal sense would be. It gets Griet so hot, in fact, that she desperately seeks out her butcher boy in a tavern and mates with him in an alleyway.
Catharina, Vermeer’s super-fertile wife, is rightly upset by the sneaky goings-on upstairs. She is jealous of her husband’s obvious preoccupation with the new maid, and she is outraged not only by the indecency of a servant wearing her gems, but also by the illiterate Griet’s access to and understanding of her husband’s artistic process and vision. Although her shrill insecurity puts her on the verge of being an unsympathetic character, there’s no doubt that her husband has betrayed her.
Despite having some terrific tools to work with, first-time director Peter Webber trips up in a few ways. The most glaring is an intrusive soundtrack whose sharp strings do not match the understated scenes. In addition, Webber’s sets are Vermeer tableaus, centered around tight, cloistered rooms. An interesting effect at first, the style soon gives the film the claustrophobic effect of a stage play.
The deepest flaw, though, is Johannson’s and Firth’s performances. Their acting is flimsy and doesn’t provide a lot of insight into the dynamic of artist and muse. Johannson, with her milky skin and pillowy lips, is the epitome of Dutch beauty, but her acting skills leave much to be desired. And Firth doesn’t offer much more than a clichéd portrayal of the withdrawn, brooding artist with a furrowed brow.
No matter, because the real star of Girl is the cinematography. Eduardo Serra—the film’s Oscar-nominated cinematographer—expertly infuses each scene with the subdued, flaxen light so central to Vermeer’s works. The entire film is bathed in this muted radiance, so that the effect is sleepy and intimate, with a luminosity that is simultaneously warm and cool.
Serra’s visual poetry along with the fascinating conjecture of Chevalier’s novel is what saves Girl from tedium and mediocrity. The author’s imaginative power of inferring so much from a single image allows us to explore the depth and detail of the famous painting, and to peek into the social classes of late-Renaissance Holland.
Girl with a Pearl Earring is a slow, simple tale of things not said, but understood. Deeds left undone, but dreamt of. Those who can appreciate the moving artistic, symbolic, and historical themes will not be disappointed.
February 19, 2003 * Vol. 14, No. 8
© 2000 Metro Pulse
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