A backdrop of beautiful Cornish countryside and moody candlelit interiors threatens to overshadow the tumultuous human relationships in this Gothic romantic drama.
Thankfully, director Roger Michell's adaptation of Daphne du Maurier's 1951 novel just manages to balance the story with the handsome production design, in large part to a strongperformance by Rachel Weisz.
A study in perception and misunderstandings in 19th-century England, My Cousin Rachel begins by introducing young country lad Philip Ashley (Sam Claflin), who's on the verge of taking control of the estate he inherited from his older cousin and father-figure Ambrose Ashley (also played by Claflin).
Ambrose married and died suddenly while convalescing in Italy, and Philip blames Ambrose's new wife Rachel (Weisz) for his death. When Rachel announces she's coming to visit the estate, Ambrose decides to confront her, joking that she may react with hysteria or a fainting episode.
Unfortunately for Ambrose, whose naivety about the world, women and relationships becomes strikingly obvious as this story unfolds, Rachel is not a woman who resorts to cliched feminine behaviour. Instead, she uses her beauty, intellect and charm to disarm Ambrose and the gossiping locals, and before long Ambrose is infatuated with his cousin's widow.
Weisz keeps us on her toes with a fabulous performance that retains the ambiguity of the novel - whether Rachel is a seductive witch or caring and misunderstood widow is up to you. There's plenty of evidence both ways, but regardless, Ambrose is such a rude, presumptuous and rash young man it's hard not to feel he'll get what he deserves.
Weizs leads an impressive cast and Michell delivers a nicely crafted film, but, by keeping the melodrama restrained, he's delivered a bodice-ripping mystery that's a little cold and underwhelming.
Cast: Rachel Weisz, Sam Claflin, Iain Glen Director: Roger Michell Rating: PG (Violence & coarse language) Running time: 105 mins Verdict: A handsome, but slightly lacklustre affair of the heart and mind.
