Who knew tulips could be so sexy?
They were, at least, in 1634 Amsterdam. Everyone wanted tulips, so their market soared until they, inevitably, crashed. So too with love, apparently, as Tulip Fever paints it. The macrocosm of city commerce during a time of obsession and sacrifice is mirrored by the romantic drama of a small household. Choosing a compelled (not forced or arranged, exactly) marriage over becoming a novice in a nunnery, beautiful, orphaned Sophia (Alicia Vikander) weds and beds wealthy widowed merchant Cornelis Sandvoort (Christoph Waltz). Cornelis desires a child above all, though the two are apparently unable to conceive.
Christoph Waltz starts his role with eccentric flair and strange nuances. Cornelis, obsessed with fathering a child but no less concerned with the happiness of his stoic wife, develops a comical ritual of prayer for fertility, pissing in the chamberpot, and calling his "little soldier" to attention. It's a sad sort of self-deprecation that at first feels disgusting, but over time is endearing; never mind the little moment when he climaxes and refers to cannons firing. We learn over time that he genuinely loves his wife, something Sophia also realizes too late. He's not Ralph Fiennes in The Duchess, and though this film has its fair amount of dark stylizations, it's not a domestic horror picture. Indeed, during the climax as the baby is being born, Sophia sheds a series of single tears, ashamed of her deception and the pain she will soon cause her husband.
Still trusting in their marriage, Cornelis arranges for a portrait to be painted of the two of them, and hires young Jan van Loos (Dane DeHaan). It's a Titanic-style romance that you know won't end well. Without even having met her properly, Jan stares at her during their first sitting, and it's a miracle her husband doesn't catch on. Then again, if Dane DeHaan glared at me that way, I'd probably call the police, but movie logic isn't always a thing. He compulsively paints her, and she seems so pleased I kept expecting her to say something like, "Paint me like one of your Dutch girls, Jan." No such luck. They begin a heated affair, one she disguises with voluminous robes and speedy excursions. Running through the marketplace as she does, it's a wonder no one recognizes her. Jan and Sophie share intimacy that sharply contrasts with her stilted, stunted sex scenes with Cornelis. In fact, a memorable sequences juxtaposes the cold officiousness of the portrait sittings with the hot kineticism of adultery: "You may rest, Mr. Sandvoort," Jan once says, knowing full well that the cuckold isn't doing much else in bed.
At the same time, there's some fire down under in the Sandvoort house. Maria the maid (Holliday Grainger) and the local fishmonger (Jack O'Connell) really turn on the heat in the kitchen until they put a bun in the oven. In order to save Maria's reputation and job -- and her own marriage -- Sophia embarks on a preposterous plan to hide the pregnancy but also to pretend to be pregnant herself. It's a convoluted, totally unbelievable scheme, but everyone involved seems to make it work without a hitch. Even the creepy but ultimately helpful gynecologist Dr. Sorgh (Tom Hollander) manages to convince Cornelis of the proceedings.
I don't want to spoil it for you, but Tulip Fever follows the period-romance template to the letter. In fact, it plays ever so slightly with becoming an erotic dark romance, especially about halfway through when the tulip market inflates and so do the sex organs of our lead players. They scurry around town like rats, hump like rabbits, then return home like angels. Candlelit interiors, heavy wooden hallways, beautifully thick costumes, and lots of staring out windows keep the drama rich if a bit silly. Silly, you ask? You betcha. Tom Stoppard's script (Anna Karenina, Shakespeare in Love, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead) is thin and confused, trying to do too much at times, and barely doing anything at others. When another fishmonger shows up at Maria's kitchen door offering his wares, he earnestly looks at her and says, "I've got a nice thick eel." Another: Jan tells Sophia, in one post-coital scene, that their plan will work, "All we have to do is put all our eggs in one basket." The movie is filled with howlers like these, effectively ripping us out of the drama of the movie.
They should have kept the humor to a minimum, or at least leave it in capable hands. And no, I don't mean Zach Galifianakis, who shows up for a couple times for some idiotic reason, mostly to proclaim his inability to adopt a convincing accent and become the butt of jokes regarding his alcoholism. I mean someone like Tom Hollander, who steals his scenes, or Dame Judi Dench as the Mother Superior of Sophia's home. The abbess also has her hands in the tulip trade, and her utterly arresting stoicism makes you squirm as she delivers one-liners with bone-dry conviction. Or even Matthew Morrison, who shows up a few times as Jan's dear friend, which prompts me to wonder why Sophia doesn't choose him to have an affair with, because -- well, no explanation necessary.
The film feels narratively busy, helped along by feverish editing that jumps between people and places faster than necessary. Coincidences pile on misdirection, and by the finale I felt that I'd been had by the filmmakers. It began with such promise, we might say, especially with the lush production value (thank you, Weinstein Company!) and casting choices. But all crashes -- much like the tulip trade -- and the impossible climax and implausible denouement, plus a series of false endings, strip away the stylish guise of the film and reveal a cruel trick. Is the story a steamy period romance? A sad melodrama about idiots who get in over their heads? A dry tragicomedy that champions lower class workers?
Does it matter?
IMDb: Tulip Fever
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