![]() ![]() Sputtering into UK cinemas, likely by contractual obligation, after a host of delays, reshoots and last-minute edits, Tulip Fever has dispensed of Weinstein’s disgraced name in its producer credits, but is covered in his grubby fingerprints – so hacked to pieces that it ends up a misshapen curio, only occasionally hinting at what might have been. Tulip Fever by Deborah Moggach follows a young woman named Sophia as she is married to an elderly man, Cornelis, whom she married because her family was poor and needed the money he had. His handsome yet cripplingly dull Tulip Fever is every bit a throwback to that age of Chocolat and Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, awards-primed adaptations of Richard & Judy Book Club-esque bestsellers that tumbled out of memory as quickly as they were rejected by Oscar voters.īut its jaunty tone and cobblestone aesthetics aren’t the only things lifted from an entirely different era, as Tulip Fever was filmed in 2014, just four years ago in literal terms but a veritable lifetime ago in terms of Harvey Weinstein. Ambitions, desires, and dreams breed a grand deceptionand as the lies multiply, events move toward a thrilling and tragic climax. ![]() Often featuring Judi Dench and a litany of classically-trained British thespians, all were more or less indebted to Shakespeare in Love, Weinstein’s 1998 period romcom that improbably swept the Oscars and briefly became a pop culture phenomenon. Around the turn of the Millennium, Harvey Weinstein produced a number of stately historical dramas as whimsical as they were blandly forgettable. ![]()
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