The inevitable Sylvia Plath biopic. Had it come sooner, the wan, willowy, nasally Gwyneth Paltrow would not have been the inevitable Sylvia Plath. The actress's lack of inner power gives validation to the theory that Plath tended in her poems to exaggerate, to embroider, and to overdramatize on purpose. Of course the poetry gets pushed aside on screen in favor of the storm and stress of life with Ted Hughes, a dismal enough spectacle: initial bliss, then babies, jealousy, madness, suicide. (The disastrous dinner party with two friends is the entertainment highlight.) Daniel Craig is not a very imposing Hughes, either, but he compensates with a voice that sounds as if played back with a special boost in the bass. Jared Harris, Michael Gambon, Blythe Danner; directed by Christine Jeffs. (2003) — Duncan Shepherd
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