Far be it from me, a septuagenerian Dodger fan, to criticize a Nobel Prize winner but it occurs to moi (pardon the Gallicism but the movie IS called "The FRENCH leftenant's woman) that if scenarist Harold Pinter had done half the job novelist John Fowles did in making his Victorian lovers come alive then he wouldn't have had to resort to gimmicks like a movie within a movie, set in different centuries, in a desperate try to infuse some interest in the Smithson/Woodruff relationship. Bottom line: Beautifully mounted and shot but empty at its core. Shoulda given the job to Ivory/Jhabvala instead. B minus.
Review of The French Lieutenant's Woman
