It’s a man’s world
Close’s remarkable performance redeems faulty film
Nobody talked much about sexual identity at the early part of the 19th century. People didn’t go into the local pub and have extended conversations about gender, stereotyping and self-perception.
Indeed, the language we now use to understand ourselves, and our place in the world, simply didn’t exist, leaving the ordinary and uneducated dumb in the face of dysfunction.
That said, meet Albert Nobbs, a frail, gnome-like figure trying to make his way in the cutthroat world of 19th-century Irish innkeeping.
A servant who’s been working the same job for close to three decades, Albert is what you might call a dumb waiter: Not only does this human being passively wait for the world to unfold around him (in addition to actually waiting on guests), he’s completely unable to express himself in any functional way.
Albert is emotionally mute, verbally stunted and sexually ambiguous. He’s also considered a bit of a freak, but before we had words to describe and pigeonhole such human anomalies, people like Nobbs simply existed.
And they were tolerated — up to a point.
The boundary of acceptability is where this movie from Rodrigo Garcia (Mother and Child) finds its tension, and it’s also where lead actress Glenn Close dances a nimble gender jig on the head of a pin.
In short, we’re always waiting for the outrage of discovery, because, from the moment we meet Albert, we know he’s different. We can tell from his tiny hands, girlish hips and Close’s name on the marquee that Albert is a woman.
From that point on, we wait for the rest of Albert’s world to lift the veil. It takes a surprisingly long time for people to spot the ruse, and, as a modern viewer, this may seem entirely unfathomable — and just a tad irritating.
After all, if the central hook of the movie depends on gender deception, one might want a more convincing man centre-frame.
Close doesn’t really come close to manly, but that’s where great acting saves the day, because, even if we don’t believe in his gender, we believe in Nobbs — a muddled pool of oppressed sexuality.
We believe in Albert’s struggle to be who he is, and that’s enough to keep us engaged in the overall narrative, as it bounces from melodrama, to comedy of manners, to a modern examination of sexual identity.
That probably makes the plot sound more interesting than it actually is, because, on the surface, this movie can get a little dreary. We enter the inn as Albert Nobbs is closing in on his dream of owning a tobacco store. He’s been saving money under the floorboards for years, and he’s even got the ideal location picked out downtown. He could retire as his own boss, and end his life as a very odd little man.
Yet, just as Albert seems on the verge of possessing happiness for the very first time in his life, he falls in love with the wrong girl: an ambitious but apparently true-hearted coworker named Helen (Mia Wasikowska).
Helen thinks Albert is interesting and amusing and altogether odd, but she has no real desire for him whatsoever. She wants to rock the bedposts with bad boy Joe (Aaron Johnson).
You don’t need a crystal ball to see how things will unfold from this point on, but just when Albert Nobbs starts to feel like a gratuitous melodrama with a gender gimmick, along comes the genius of Janet Mcteer.
The statuesque stage actress takes on the role of Hubert Page, professional painter.
Channelling all the energy, charisma and estrogen-tainted testosterone of k.d. lang, Mcteer brings a believable masculinity to the fore, and convincingly blurs the boundary for the modern viewer.
Not only that, she’s awfully funny and verbally astute —and she’s not ashamed of her identity.
So, after enduring the first act in emotional denial, Mcteer’s presence feels a bit like undoing a corset after a big meal: a huge relief.
The fact we’re as uncomfortable as we are is a huge testament to Close’s talent, and her complete immersion in the role. Albert emerges as a tragic figure, in an epic sense, thanks to Close’s ability to convey the monolithic dimensions of desire and heartbreak.
Yet, for all the great levels of performance elicited from this star-studded cast, the movie never really clicks into a narrative groove.
Skipping from one track of narrative to another, we lose the emotional thrust —and get lost in stagy asides that are supposed to affirm the central idea of duplicity.
A stage play needs these moments, if only to facilitate a costume change. But a movie does not.
As an assembly of performances, Albert Nobbs is altogether stellar, but the stars don’t equal a full constellation, leaving us with a cinematic “so what?”