A dramatization of the little known side of the writer Emily Dickinson’s life, in particular, her relationship with another woman.
The indisputably great poet Emily Dickinson is often stigmatized as a gloomy recluse who exorcized her demons through poetry. Last portrayed on the big screen by a top-form Cynthia Nixon in Terence Davies’ superb drama “A Quiet Passion,” Dickinson possessed an often-overlooked sense of humor, leading a life that kept crossing the border between tragic and farcical. Writer/director Madeleine Olnek’s vaudeville-like, speculative historical dramedy “Wild Nights with Emily” examines the latter aspect, focusing on Emily’s quest to be published in a toxic, male-dominated society, as well as her turbulent relationship with lover Susan. What could have been an impassioned, droll and astute examination of the legendary woman ends up being a one-dimensional affair, cheapened by its unimaginative approach and lackluster attempts at humor. It certainly doesn’t do its subject justice.
From the get-go, things feel both forced and predictably by-the-book. The story, set in Amherst, Massachusetts, sees a 30-year-old Emily (Molly Shannon, in an off-kilter casting choice) living with her pathetic – but-highly-connected – husband Austin (Kevin Seal). Through flashbacks, the inception of her romance with Susan (Susan Ziegler) is revealed; 20 years later, they’re still sleeping together behind Austin’s back, at times even screwing while he’s in the same house. Emily, who wears the same dress every day and refuses to leave her home, happens to have lovers on the side, making Susan jealous – but of course, through poetry, their eternal bond cannot be broken.
Emily wants her work to reach a wide audience, but posthumously. She sets out on a quest to get it published, collecting all of the scraps and scribbles into something resembling a portfolio. Alas, all of the editors end up being cold-hearted men, one particularly unlikeable characters named Higginson (played by comedian Brett Gelman) ruthlessly dissecting Dickinson’s poetry. “Thank you for your surgery,” Emily tells him.
It’s crucial to mention that Emily’s “misadventures” are narrated in a literary workshop by Mabel (Amy Seimetz), the “first-ever editor of Emily Dickinson’s work,” who only gazed upon her face once – when Emily was in her coffin. To a bookshop full of women, Mabel recounts the tale of her getting hired by Emily to play piano, helping “Emily’s poems rhyme more” and giving those nameless poems titles – oh, and sleeping with Austin. “When Emily was a girl, Emily’s house was right next to a cemetery,” Mabel narrates, “and she would look at the funerals, one after another. I think this partially accounts for her morbid curiosity.” That same morbid curiosity is missing from Olnek’s rote filmmaking.
Olnek resorts to a heightened approach, meshing awkward comedy with romance (including a brief musical montage where disparate characters break into song). It’s not quite a parody, or a satire, or an exuberant farce. During the film’s thankfully-brief 84-minute running time, I found three mildly amusing moments: Emily claiming she doesn’t have any poems to Susan, before pulling poetry out of the most random parts of her body; Helen Hunt Jackson (Cynthia Kaplan), “America’s Greatest Female Poet,” reading her sordid work to an adoring public; and some business involving pickled cats.
Molly Shannon has proven herself in dramatic roles (see “Other People” or “Private Life”), but here seems lost between resorting to her eccentric mannerisms and actually digging deep into Emily’s soul. As a result, she’s kind of blank, not leaving much of an impression – a cardinal sin in a film centering around such an influential literary figure. The rest of the cast is seemingly confused, especially the normally-reliable Amy Seimetz, who annunciates every syllable with such vigor, it’s as if she were auditioning for a Jane Austen play.
I applaud any film that’s acutely feminist, yet “Wild Nights with Emily” wears its messages on its embroidered dress’ sleeve, with men solely portrayed as self-absorbed and sexist dimwits. I would have loved to see a fully realized portrayal of the hardships women had to endure in the mid-1800s, yet the one-note, one-sided speechifying didn’t do it for me – surprising, considering the filmmaking crew laudably consisted of mostly women.
I wish Olnek made her film sharper, more succinct and shrewd in its characterizations. Emily’s relationship with Susan is flaccid stuff, as is the way prejudice’s depicted, as is the quaint piano score, as is the unremarkable visual approach and all the exposition. Worst of all, though her poems are frequently read out-loud and transcribed on screen, we rarely feel their lushness, the film’s “Drunk History” vibe – far from a favorable comparison – sinking the entire affair.
I appreciate the filmmaker attempting to add a dash of color, lightness, and humor to Dickinson’s typically-tragedy life, as well as mixing in relevant themes of female exclusion. But there’s little lyricism or visual poetry to complement Dickinson’s beautiful words. Nothing grabbed me here. It’s a slog. Those “wild” nights end up being totally tame.
In select theaters Friday, April 19th
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