The Ballad of Jack and Rose review
Issue #23
Directed by Rebecca Miller
By Becky Vlamis
Published: March 1st, 2005 | 11:59am
There is a fairytale quality to the uninhabited island setting of The Ballad of Jack and Rose, the latest film from writer-director Rebecca Miller. The ethereal island's prince, Jack (the simmering Daniel Day-Lewis), lives atop a rolling green hill in what used to be a radical environmental commune with his maiden-like daughter, Rose (Camilla Belle).
It acts as an incongruously bucolic staging ground for the pitched gender battles Miller explored in her last film, Personal Velocity. Miller’s eagerness to again examine the relationships between men and women becomes evident early on in Jack and Rose, as the director quietly illuminates the problems with title character’s pastoral existence — specifically an unnatural sexual energy that underscores the dynamic between Jack and his daughter, who has been cut off from civilization for most of her years and clearly not developed the interior life of a normal 16-year-old. She depends on Jack for all of her emotional needs; he, in turn, focuses solely on his environmental cause.
Rose and Jack's relationship begins to fray when a developer (Beau Bridges) arrives on the island and Jack reveals his own brutal, eco-terrorist proclivities. The developer’s presence is echoed by that of Jack's girlfriend (Catherine Keener) and her two sons, who arrive at Jack's behest. When the three move in, Rose, unused to company, feels threatened. Despite her insecurity, Rose's brush with civilization triggers her sexual awakening and leads her to finally develop an identity separate from her father's. Her awakening comes in untidy fits and bursts, a transformation that is clumsily handled by Belle.
Although she looks the part of a virginal beauty, Belle (a film newcomer) delivers her lines as if she has recently awoken from a catatonic state, leading one to suspect that her role — written with simple and shadowy lines — might have been better embodied by Jena Malone, who is instead relegated to a perfunctory tertiary role. Miller does, however, put Day-Lewis, her husband, to good use. Jack's unhealthy dedication to the environment and troubled relationship with Rose are well-served by the intensity of the actor’s performance, which also casts a dubious eye on the effectiveness, if not ultimate destructiveness, of unchecked idealism. Jack's unflinching dedication to an idea is in itself, Miller ultimately suggests, a fairytale of sorts.
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