The Reader

The Reader is going to be a tough sell for audiences. It starts out focused on the erotic relationship between a 15-year-old and a woman twice his age before turning into a wordy, wrenching drama about guilt, shame, and responsibility. The film's central dramatic twist is also somewhat unsatisfying, and other films -- like Judgment at Nuremberg and The Night Porter -- have tackled the consequences of Naziism and the intertwining of sex and power in post-war Germany with much greater skill and vision.

At the same time, Winslet's performance is a marvel -- shifting from unsentimental sexuality to thawing affection to terrified guilt and beaten-down remorse throughout the film and spanning four decades in the portrait of a woman's life. If any one thing makes The Reader worth seeing, it's her work. Kross is also quite good as the young Michael, portraying both the callow joys and confidences of boyhood and the uncertain moral questions of the young man he grows to be. Director Stephen Daldry has previously adapted tough, serious literary works for the screen, and The Reader, like his earlier film The Hours, is perhaps a bit too polished and thoughtful when a bit more raw direct force would have made for a better film. (Fiennes, for example, is largely wasted -- a rarity in his body of work.) The Reader is a fine and admirable film, but the curious mix of white-hot sexuality and bitter-cold remorse makes for a curiously unsatisfying dramatic experience.