Love is really weird, sometimes it needs space, like Carrington confronts her jealous boyfriend; sometimes it requires restraint, like Carrington confronts Litton, saying let me be your pen eraser.
There is no sadder scene than a woman crying in an empty room.
It would be nice if I could be like Henry Miller, fall in love with someone and then write about her after falling out of love. Well, practically speaking, it is really the pain of lovelorn for writing.
But Carrington obviously can't. She has no practical attitude at all. She doesn't paint for sale, not for exhibition. She paints because of a feeling that makes her want to paint, just like she has followed her whole life since she met Litton. Her freedom in art is consistent with her freedom in dealing with her soul and body.
It is Litton's charm that is not reflected in this film. His cold and wise attracted more than just Carrington?
View more about Carrington reviews
