A tragedy told through time, with lovely brushes of light.
The first time they meet, they’re silhouettes against the outside world, having found a shelter from the storm. The first time they undress and kiss, they’re all glowing in front of pink curtains, under the safety of love.
Just like the two halves of the story, the lighting, colors, and ennui is divided into two distinct styles as well. In their Eden days, the film shimmers with youth and first love. Water is everywhere—in bathtubs, and rain, and lakes, and waterfalls. But after her hearing, they are blocked inside cells—prison or their own lives. There’s no more abundance of nature. There’s no gentle touch. There’s no secrecy. There’s no love.
Kate Winslet’s Oscar-winning performance is truly evocative. She's subtle during sex—her eyes gesturing what her body wants, while her body demands desire, and then becomes desire, and then rejects it. As she holds him inside her caring embrace when he’s nothing but a boy, and holds out her hand for help when he’s all grown, and she’s all weary, we witness her change from powerful to powerless over a few decades; her weight hanging loose, hair losing color, and her succulent poreless body turning all dry and withered. After losing everything, she had to learn something to make it through all those years. A Reader is about how she became one, and why it didn’t matter.