Release Date:  September 18, 2009 (limited); October 2, 2009 (wider)
Rating:  PG (for thematic elements, mild sensuality, brief language and incidental smoking)
Genre:  Period Drama
Run Time:  119 min.
Director:  Jane Campion
Cast:  Abbie Cornish, Ben Whishaw, Paul Schneider, Kerry Fox

When a woman dreams of poetry and romance—of how a man could use them to make her come alive, completely rule her thoughts, her dreams, and her total heart—she dreams of a story like this one.

That description may suggest a Harlequin trifle, even an eye-roller.  Far from it.  Bright Star is no mere fanciful swoon.  It's not a dreamy affair of young infatuation, impetuous lust or idealized love.  It is, rather, that rare film which can honestly be said to be about true love, its absolute fullness, its consuming depth—yet also the reality of how natural forces often work against true love, and the value of holding onto it in the face of life's indifferent conspiracy.

It also has the virtue of being true.

Set in early nineteenth century England, Bright Star depicts the relationship between fashion student Fanny Brawne and the great romantic poet John Keats (whose sonnets to Brawne—published posthumously—are the stuff of legend, one from which this film draws its title).  Neighbors yet opposites, it was not love at first sight.  Brawne did not think much of literature (let alone poetry), and Keats assumed stereotypes regarding her pursuit of fashion (buying into his best friend's claim: "All she knows is to flirt and sew."). 

But when Keats begins to care for his seriously ill younger brother, Brawne is touched and extends her help—in part because his assumptions of her aren't entirely false; she longs to be better, more sensitive and open.  Keats, in turn, is moved by her gesture.  Discussions of poetry naturally emerge, respect and affection grow and, without intention, their souls suddenly connect. It plays like a Jane Austen tale but with more melancholy, and minus the assured outcome.

The genius of this film's basic construct is its almost-singular first-person perspective of Fanny Brawne.  Keats exists in this story only as he relates to her.  Indeed, it's not so much "their" story as it is hers, and what he awakens in her.  This intimate point of view creates a potent emotional vitality, and keeps the film from sludging through the standard beats of a biopic's third-person observational distance. 

It's also what makes the occasional poetry voice-overs feel like revelations of the soul rather than post-production crutches used to prop up generic montages of knowing glances.  Recitations such as "I want a brighter word than bright; a fairer word than fair" or "Through what stumbling ways is a soul born?" do not create the film's mood; they naturally come from what we've already been watching and feeling.