“She was only the dead-leaf echo of the nymphet from long ago – but I loved her, this Lolita, pale and polluted and big with another man’s child. She could fade and wither – I didn’t care. I would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of her face.”

First thing that must be said here is how much funnier this is than I ever remember it. The two adaptations of Vladimir Nabokov’s novel are usually separated quite cleanly as “Kubrick funny and Lyne serious” but it’s really nowhere near as simple as that. There are tons of laughs in this version, particularly early on as the game begins in the Haze household. “Is she keeping you up?” Charlotte asks Hum after his and Lo’s first intimate moment, and later, “Just slap her hard if she interferes with your scholarly meditations.” This humour continues throughout the film, usually undercutting any potential discomfort caused by the underage sex etc. (the sleeptalking at the Enchanted Hunters, eg.). The movie kind of snaps in two at the moment when Humbert tells Lo about her mother and the first scene of her crying (some of the most gutwrenching crying ever put on film, I might add, I can hardly bear it no matter how many times I watch the movie) – but even after that the laughs are horrifyingly infectious – the riotous start to the “road trip” portion of the story, for instance, with Lo flinging hairgrips and such at Humbert from the back seat makes one entirely forget just exactly what is going on and indeed what just happened.

Ennio Morricone’s score (it’s the tragic atonal notes that kill me), Jon Hutman’s production design (and/or Chris Shriver’s art direction – I’ve never been able to differentiate between the two roles, lol), Howard Atherton’s cinematography, and Judianna Makovsky’s costume design all deserve individual mention – the production design in particular, though. It’s the motels that stand out of course (“Children under 14 free!”) but the details of the props, from whiskey glasses to the Magic Fingers to the whole damn interior of the car are amazing too, everything has a weighty, tangible believability to it. Lyne’s imagery is virtually flawless, it’s certainly a leap from his 80s thrillers anyway; the introduction to Lolita in the garden is just as arresting as that in the ‘62 movie, and that’s really no mean feat to accomplish. Such things as the grotesque shot of Quilty’s hand “fingering” the dog leash jar occasionally but it all contributes to the uneasy balance of light and dark. Looking at the nominations for the 1998 Oscars (or even ‘99, when the movie was nominated for some more minor accolades), it’s a genuine shame that this movie ultimately got such a messy release, because in the minor categories it could’ve had a serious shot (I’m always amused, however, when I’m reminded that Dominique Swain and Jeremy Irons were nominated for Best Kiss at the MTV Movie Awards :))

Unlike many (and I’ve said this many times before, hopefully I’m not boring anyone with repetition) I’ve a huge place in my heart for both Lolita adaptations. They’re just entirely different films as the novel is a different work too. I have no great desire as some do to see it done “correctly” or from Nabokov’s own screenplay (which I have but haven’t yet read) though of course I’d watch such a thing in a flash and probably build yet another cavern of love in my chest for that too.

I have to include just one more quote in this review, I could honestly fill a page with them though – it’s the one that ends the movie and what always brings me back to regarding it as every bit as good an adaptation as Kubrick’s no matter where it may stumble along the way:

“What I heard then was the melody of children at play. Nothing but that. And I knew that the hopelessly poignant thing was not Lolita’s absence from my side, but the absence of her voice from that chorus.”

Both quotes are almost straight from the novel, albeit shortened; both are beautiful and really get to the heart of why Lolita is so much more than it’s often unfortunately mistaken for. It’s been too long since I actually read the novel, I read it almost every year for a while but I can’t seem to find the time to read these days. Watching this, however, not to mention searching an e-text for those particular lines and finding the glorious expanded versions of them, definitely made me want to find time. Anyone who hasn’t read it at least once should feel even more compelled.

I don’t know if it’s much of a secret but I really neither wanted nor expected to like this much. Though I liked Enduring Love, another Ian McEwan adaptation, and I love James McAvoy, my hatred of the kind of praise this movie has received – not to mention Ikea Knightley – completely outweighed the positives.

Within minutes, however, I was fairly hooked – those typewriter clicks on the score, the pace of the whole thing. On the technical side, this is certainly watchable stuff, even if the pace of its opening isn’t quite kept up after the first 10 minutes. But though I was impressed by how much it exceeded my expectations, it all comes down to one thing for me, something I’m sure must be conveyed better in the novel unless all of its readers are just the types that are easy to please – and that’s that I just don’t believe for a second that a child in the 30s (especially one we’ve seen using a typewriter which even explains the letter) would be given so much credence over such a delicate, even today almost unspeakable matter. I mean, if ever there was a time when children were meant to be seen and not heard it was then. And by extension, I don’t really see the need for the period setting except to have some lovely war and costume scenes for Oscar (before you say it, I know it’s adapted from a novel … but still …)

Though I realise it would screw up the time passed thing of the ending, were it set today, I’d buy it easier. Even if the “c” word has lost its power to shock today, and I don’t believe it has at all (just try saying it to 10 strangers, I dare you) – if a child points their finger at a young man today and accuses them of anything, that man is basically f**ked, not to put too fine a point on it.

But I digress … it doesn’t matter because the next thing we know, McAvoy is in France in a soldier’s uniform talking French, and the movie gets better from there on out.

Any film that contains The Tracking Shot (yes, it’s impossible to write about this movie without mentioning it) earns itself an immediate 4 stars in my book. It is that good that it’s worth watching 2 hours for 10 minutes, even if the rest of the movie doesn’t come even close to the beauty and skill on display in those minutes. Overall it kept me wanting to know where exactly it was going in the end, and though that ending is too jarring to be as effective as it wants to be, I’m pleased to say this was much better than expected, so much so that I really won’t mind how many nominations it gets next month for the Oscars … yes, that includes Keira, for whom maybe another apology may be required (but not today).