I like Great Expectations. I like the novel Dickens wrote last century, and I like the new cinematic reinvention of the classic by director Alfonso Cuaron. At times the film is a little off balance, almost as if torn between sticking to Dickens or leaning more toward the modern.

        The transposition of the novel from Victorian England to modern America is very successful. The protagonist is a poor working class lad whose life is suddenly altered by an anonymous benefactor. In the book, the ladšs name is Pip and he lives in the country with his sister and her blacksmith husband. In the film, Pip becomes Fin and the brother-in-law is a fisherman on the Gulf Coast in Florida. When his expectations suddenly catapault from slim to great, Fin is hurled into the artistic world of New York, which provides a wonderful parallel to the life of the pretentious gentleman in London. The central story of Fin and his fate, then, is very fine and even survives the mediocre acting of Ethan Hawke.

        But therešs nothing mediocre about Miss Haversham, or Miss Dinsmore, as she is called in the film. Anne Bancroft pulls out every stop and just enjoys herself to ridiculous extremes as the excentric millionaire who was left standing at the altar at the vulnerable age of 40+. Miss Dinsmore is supposed to be in her mid 60s, but Bancroft looks at least 100 if not 200. You feel like youšre watching Bette Davis as she twitters about in exotic clothing and applies make-up two inches thick.

        Dinsmore has grown to be a real man hater, of course, and has trained her niece, Estella, to sate her loathing by punishing the opposite sex at every turn. Gwyneth Paltrow plays Estella, with so much pathos, it literally drips from her every pore. Paltrow is not only pitifully hangdog in this film, but her physical appearance encourages the thought that she aspires to be the posterchild for eating disorders.

        Effectiveness of the actors aside, the strength of the film lies in its ability to mould the ideas of Great Expectations while remaining true to Dickens novel. Even the cinematography, which is brilliant, seems to be geared to that end. Often the scenes are backlit, throwing emphasis onto the overall intent of the characters rather than their modern day presence.

        So the least effective part of the film is the obligatory nod to the modern day lust for scopophilic pleasure. Why is it necessary for Finn and Estella to consummate their bond on screen? Dickens didnšt need it, and neither do we!

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