Darling (1965) netted Julie Christie an Oscar the same year Doctor Zhivago made her a superstar. Too bad John Schlesinger's film isn't the sum of its parts. Darling's an interesting mess, an over-mixed cocktail of appealing leads, stylish direction, stiff dramaturgy and sledgehammer satire.Diana Scott (Julie Christie) goes from callow coed to famous model. She leaves her husband for television reporter Robert Gold (Dirk Bogarde), then carries on with shallow ad ex Miles Glass (Laurence Harvey). Diana's star slowly grows, winning movie roles and courting an Italian prince (José Luis de Vilallonga y Cabeza de Vaca). Diana now has the world at her feet, yet remains unsatisfied.
Darling provides a riotous blend of styles: New Wave docudrama photography, jerky New Wave cutting, a climactic nod to Italian neorealism. Schlesinger experiments with the reality-altering moments which later marked Midnight Cowboy: movie and commercial scenes breaking into reality, staged man-on-the-street interviews, deep focus photography. Beautifully shot by Kenneth Higgins, Darling is a visual treat.
Schlesinger scores too with his unpleasant protagonist. Diana achieves fame through no great talent, merely luck (she's crossing the street when photographers spot her) and patronage. She climbs the social ladder yet she feels unfulfilled: men disappoint her, riches provided momentary, luxury and parties grow tiresome. But Diana's vapid narration undercuts our sympathy: she accuses her husband of not understanding marriage while carrying on multiple affairs, and whines about Robert neglecting his children! As sour character study, Darling works wonderfully.
Too bad Schlesinger and writer Frederic Rafael lay on the satire with a trowel. The opening scene shows Diana's latest ad pasted over a billboard of Biafran children. Darling rarely gets more subtle or refined, hammering its point through obvious irony: a pompous politician speaks about Third World hunger while a frumpy matron nibbles sandwiches. Diana's stuffy family is contrasted with Glass's bohemian buddies in France, carrying on a bizarre orgy. The social commentary is too obvious, irony curdling into bitterness.But Darling has other failings. For all his stylish direction, Schlesinger never bothers with a coherent story. Darling becomes erratically interesting, sparking whenever Diana plays against someone interesting (say, every scene with Robert), long stretches just sitting there. Certainly its in-your-face modishness, satire or no, hasn't aged especially well. Fortunately, Darling's leading lady redeems a lot.
Julie Christie gained stardom with Schlesinger's Billy Liar; now he gives Christie her best role. Christie never begs the audience for sympathy; Diana's not especially likeable beyond superficial charm. Christie nonetheless finds Diana's humanity, conveying insouciance and dissatisfaction through pantomime and moody glances. Even with formidable costars Dirk Bogarde (at his charming, arrogant best) and Laurence Harvey (an erudite scumbag), Christie dominates the show.
Darling's dramatically awkward and thematically obvious, redeemed frequently by style and causticity. More people than ever aspire to be outrageously rich and unfathomably shallow. Certainly Schlesinger's is a cautionary tale more ignored than heeded.
