Right from the start, it's clear that this is
going to be a downbeat tragedy, if you hadn't already guessed it from the
presence of Irons, a man whose entire career seems to revolve around
doomed love. This seems much truer to the book than Kubrick's version, and
benefits from good performances across the board: not just Irons, but
Swain as Lolita, and Langella is a memorably creepy
Quilty. The main problem is that because it's so obvious where this is
going, you will find yourself drumming your fingers as the story slowly
unfolds. It probably does count as a paedophile's wet dream (Lolita plays
tennis! Lolita nibbles on a banana!), but does this mean it should be
banned? 'Course not. Morally, this is as straight-edged as they come; those
who sin, die. Indeed, so do many of those who don't sin; the mortality rate
among characters approaches that of John Woo's HK films. The end result is
worthy, but pretty damn cheerless.
B-
