Entering the cinematic world of producer Ismail Merchan, director James Ivory, and the Academy Award winning screenwriter Ruth Prawer Jhabvala resembles a courting ritual of decades past. One flushes with the possibility of what is about to happen while at the same time holding back full-fledged enthusiasm. Usually, the affair delivers its promise of sensory lavishness, but in the end, one is not quite sure if anything significant really happened and what it all means. The subtleties and ambiguities of character drama for which Merchant and Ivory films have earned their acclaim impose a challenge that ultimately leaves the audience with the task of finding a deeper significance. Those who take pleasure in art house films might find satisfaction in the process, but an average viewer will not take lightly to sifting for meaning in a two-hour movie that plays forever and then abruptly ends just when the whole thing seems worth the price of admission.

Based on the Henry James novel, The Golden Bowl follows the European exodus of American aristocrat Adam Verver (Nick Nolte) and his daughter Maggie (Kate Beckinsale) in the early 1900’s. The two have been inseparable and emotionally interdependent since the passing of Maggie’s mother. Maggie, however, falls in love and marries Prince Amerigo (Jeremy Northam), a dashing but broke Italian royal who had just ended an affair with Charlotte Stant (Uma Thurman), Maggie’s school friend. Charlotte is in the precarious position of needing to be independent, but not having the means to satisfy her social and intimate appetites. Still, she would accept being poor if it meant marriage to Amerigo, but he prefers the secure financial future in the relationship with Maggie. Charlotte reenters the lives of the Ververs when Maggie starts feeling guilty that her marriage robbed her father of his daughter’s precious companionship. Charlotte and Adam marry, but Adam is a reclusive art collector who prefers the intimate family setting to marital passion and engagement. Maggie and her Dad thus become an inseparable unit again, which gives Charlotte the opportunity to resume her affair with the Prince.

Just like the imperceptibly cracked golden bowl, Maggie’s intended wedding gift that later becomes a clue to Charlotte’s and Amerigo’s infidelities, the lavish, blinding glow of the superbly costumed characters in this movie hides their ambiguous nature. Stoic Adam Verver seems detached from everything except his daughter and his art collection. Maggie plays a blissfully naïve, pampered young wife and mother. Amerigo is almost pathetically helpless in his affair as much as in his marriage, and Charlotte, the only one who seems capable of fashioning her own destiny, is reduced to becoming a manipulative, obsessive opportunist. Still, we cannot freely take them at their face value, especially Adam and Maggie. They appear to be the victims, but they are also the ones who end up getting exactly what they wanted; young, beautiful spouses they can easily control in a world of their own making. Unfortunately, there is little appeal to any of these characters. The power of this kind of story of emotional angst and interpersonal turmoil often finds its center when we identify with one or two characters in particular. Here, even thought there are moments of fine craft, there is little of the glue of empathy to hold us in the story.

Amidst performances that seem centered on delivering plastic lines or serving as models for the wonderful period costumes and breathtaking British and Italian estates, replete with original artwork in the background, Uma Thurman sparkles. Her Charlotte is skillfully woven into a web of dazzle, possibility, repulsion, and ultimately sympathy. She makes us ponder the faith of strong, independent women who sacrifice their true beauty and power because they cannot find the proper context for their need of being taken care of.

The Golden Bowl finally leaves us with a hollow feeling, albeit one polished to perfection in its period dressing.