The plot of D.H. Lawrence's famous novel of passion and mores is lifted mostly intact, but everything has a dumbed-down and trashed-up quality that makes the resulting adaptation anything but faithful. Sylvia Kristel once again proves inadequate to the task of carrying a movie, and what's more looks much older than her real age (28), as well as that of the even younger character Lady Chatterley. Instead of smoldering with forbidden passion, she seems listless and uninterested in the affair that is central to the story's power. Nicholas Clay also seems unconvincing as the virile but coarse Mellors. Why he would be the object of romantic fascination for any woman of class seems a mystery not worth investigating. The pastoral look of the film is pretty nice, plus it also features good period detail and costumes, but the script is extremely weak and the dramatics - especially among the supporting performances - are just not sharp enough to properly drive a story of class betrayal and social scandal. Approach with extreme caution.

Though D.H. Lawrence's scandal-fueling 1928 novel, which was not legally available in its country of origin until 1960, has been adapted for the screen on many occasions since respectable stick in the mud Marc Allégret made a first attempt as long ago as 1955 with less fire than ice Danielle Darrieux, it wasn't until the equally non-British Pascale Ferran shot a highly literate version with the magnificent Marina Hands critics consensually agreed the book had been done cinematic justice. While a considerable commercial success when theatrically released in the early '80s, Just Jaeckin's much-maligned rendition has rarely been deemed worthy of comment since. Large part of the problem for high-minded reviewers remains the fact that so many involved on both sides of the camera are just so…disreputable ! Rather fitting for a film based on literary material so long slandered as pornographic and since that took three decades to rehabilitate, perhaps the movie might expect a similar fate by now ? Produced by the Cannon Group, effectively Israeli-born schlock-meisters Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus, and directed by the guy who drew huge crowds yet public disdain with such up-market porn as EMMANUELLE and HISTOIRE D'O, it had some major hurdles to overcome if it wanted to become a critic's darling. While the Go-Go Twins, a nickname coined by Michael Winner, probably couldn't care less about such fate, this was clearly more of a concern for Just Jaeckin, craving respect in the wake of top-grossing titillation. Alas, it was not meant to be. Casting Dutch actress Sylvia Kristel, who – like Jaeckin – could not escape the curse of EMMANUELLE, in the lead role didn't help. Though dubbed in plummy British dulcet tones, she's actually quite good playing constricted Constance Chatterley, deeply in love with war-paralyzed husband Clifford (a rather unctuous Shane Briant, who had made an impact in Hammer's DEMONS OF THE MIND and CAPTAIN KRONOS, VAMPIRE HUNTER) but physically yearning for the satisfaction only hunky grounds keeper Oliver Mellors (the late lamented Nicholas Clay) can supply.Movie's actually a lot closer to the book, a "hot property" if ever there was, than those who have never read it assume. An intimately detailed account of romance as product of overwhelming sexual attraction, it didn't exactly need "juicing up" to qualify as source for an overtly erotic film. Initially intended to be made by the outrageous Ken Russell (who wound up doing a disappointingly bland TV version with Joely Richardson and Sean Bean a decade later) with Sarah Miles and Oliver Reed slated to portray the single-minded protagonists, the eventual outcome was quickly written up as a sell-out to crass commercialism by the kind of ivory tower print journalists who are now receiving their just desserts courtesy of the Internet. They did not pay attention to the faithful screenplay provided by Jaeckin, regular Hammer scribe Christopher Wicking and American author Marc Behm, who wrote "The Eye of the Beholder", filmed by Claude Miller (as MORTELLE RANDONNEE) and Stephan Elliott under the original title. They casually overlooked Shirley Russell's sumptuous costumes, dating back to when it was still her husband's project no doubt, and the splendid sets by a then fledgling designer named Anton Furst, who had the last laugh garnering well-deserved kudos for his outstanding work on Neil Jordan's COMPANY OF WOLVES and Tim Burton's BATMAN. Pressed for praise, they were willing to concede that the efforts of cinematographer Robert Fraisse (Oscar-nominated for Jean-Jacques Annaud's THE LOVER) and composer Stanley Myers worthy of minor consideration, though both were thought of as "slumming" it.Okay, this is where I discard all pretense of professionalism and possibly, where part of my respected readership's concerned, take leave of my senses. Having made a convincing case for the defense, I feel, I must admit that I profoundly love this movie for reasons that are entirely personal. Picture if you will, an anxious 14-year old boy struggling with his sexual identity – I have since come out to myself and the world, thank you – being taken by his beloved and now sadly departed mother to see this film at the sort of humongous picture palace pre-dating the multiplex culture we know today. The extremely physical romance unspooling before my gazing eyes filled me with joy and longing as few films have managed since. Stuck in a loveless marriage, for which I don't blame my late father as they proved a poor match from the start by all accounts, my mom relished the vicarious thrill the flicks provided her with. Needless to say, we both adored this one, so much in fact, and I can't believe I'm making this public but you will soon find out I have no shame, that we would call each other "Connie" and "Ollie" ever since until her untimely passing in February 2003.I developed a major crush on Nicholas Clay. He had caused a stirring in my loins playing Lancelot in John Boorman's magnificently overblown Excalibur but now the lid was off entirely. As a starry-eyed gay teen, I vowed to keep myself chaste until we could be together. Oh, my resolve weakened – or was weakened for me – within a couple of weeks or so and I grew into the slut beloved by many to this very day ! So, this movie's all about coming to terms with my growing attraction to members (ha !) of the same sex. It's also about my mother, invariably the most important woman in most gay men's lives. Six and a half years since her death and still not a day goes by that she's not in my thoughts. I love and miss her very much and watching this film – praise the Lord for DVD – makes me feel that little bit closer to her whenever I need to, just like this particularly odd review is my perhaps wrong-headed attempt at a tribute. Go softly into the night, my Queen, and God bless

D. H. Lawrence's tale of class distinctions and nature versus culture turned into soft porn, but pretty good soft porn as these things go.Sylvia Krystel is Constance Chatterly whose wealthy, titled husband, Shane Briant, returns to their vast estate from World War I only half a man, confined to a wheelchair, but cheerful enough about it. Krystel spends her time taking care of him until Briant brings in a tough-minded elderly nurse. This leaves Krystel out in the cold and terribly bored.Briant is insensitive to her needs but he does want an heir, a future baronet, and the couple more or less agree that she can take a lover who will impregnate her. So she does. But she picks the wrong guy.It takes no more than a glimpse of Mellors, Nicholas Clay, the caretaker, washing himself in the nude to put her in a lather and soon they're rolling around in the hay. Briant figures out that something is either up or in the offing and becomes petulant. Mellors is declasse. I mean, the man is some kind of GARDENER or something, always needing a shave, dirt under his fingernails. Not the proper father of a future baronet. He humiliates Mellors by ordering him around and making him undertake unpleasant tasks.Anyway, the wind up: Krystal becomes pregnant and runs away to Canada with the caretaker, while, under the tutelage of the nurse, Briant becomes strong enough to walk on crutches and the pair of them live happily together in their mansion.Lawrence's novel was something of a cause celebre when first published in the USA. All that sex. The movie has captured all that sex, including a notorious purple passage involving wildflowers and pubic hair. It's the equal of "the earth moved" as a description of orgasm in Hemingway's "For Whom the Bell Tolls." It's quite a laugh getter today. I don't know exactly how realistic the sex scenes in the film are. One instance of simulated coitus involves Krystel sitting on the rough bark of a fallen elm, which I can't imagine to be anyone's idea of a good time.It's not a junky movie, though. The photography and the location shooting are well done, and a good deal of attention is paid to wardrobe and makeup. You won't find any fashion statement here, unlike the pastel splendor of Robert Redford's "The Great Gatsby." My God, these clothes are ugly here, right down to the underwear. People wrap themselves up like mummies. And Krystel doesn't wear dainty slippers like Daisy. She wears these ruddy great black shoes that lace halfway up the calves.I guess the director, Just Jaekin, is best known for other soft-core porn like "Emanuelle" and "The Story of O," but he's efficient enough here. Sylvia Krystel looks the part of the frustrated wife, though her voice is dubbed. Clay is bluntly masculine as the ithyphallic male. Maybe the best performance is given by Shane Briant as the crippled husband. He has strangely neotenous features, as if he'd never quite outgrown his infancy -- large eyes, prominent forehead, and generous lips, with an overall resemblance to a ventriloquist's dummy. Yet he's able to do wonders with those features. They're required to change in the course of the story from brave and resigned to bitter and superior -- and they do. His is the toughest role in the story and he carries it off pretty well.I couldn't remember all of the novel but I remember being impressed by Lawrence's sharp eye for detail, along the lines of John Updyke. Who, for instance, can better capture the crunch of gravel beneath shoes? With only one or two sentences Lawrence was able to project volumes of information about a place or person. The class distinctions that obsessed Lawrence and the people in his story were roughly the same as those that captivated F. Scott Fitzgerald in "The Great Gatsby." They don't mean as much to us today. (Or if they do, the worry is hidden away somewhere in the upper reaches of the status-sphere.) Of course we are still occasionally treated to scandals in which the teen-aged heiress runs off with the smooth-talking chauffeur.The theme of nature and culture runs through the story too. (Somebody call Claude Levi-Strauss, quick.) I particularly enjoyed the regional accents of the local nobodies, in which "up" becomes "oop". And those wildflowers -- some heavy duty symbolism there. And I suppose that Briant's going to war and being horribly wounded was a cultural act, while stringing wildflowers in your lover's pundendum was a natural one, but the fact is that all through the movie I kept thinking about how much Briant's character had sacrificed for his country, while Mellors was petting his doves in the gamekeeper's cottage. Life's not fair.

One of literature's most controversial and secretly read novels ever is given a somewhat shallow, but surprisingly faithful and opulent, treatment in this dewy film. Kristel plays a young woman of high social standing whose husband Briant is badly wounded during WWI. He cannot walk nor, more importantly, make love, and the passionless, lonely world Kristel inhabits on their expansive, but bleak estate begins to take its toll on her. Briant encourages her to take a lover, an idea that she finds unpleasant until one day she chances upon the gamesman (Clay) giving himself a soapy wash behind his shelter. Fascinated by what she's seen, yet aware that he is of another class and manner, they embark on a tenuous friendship that eventually turns sexual. Kristel is physically reawakened and finds much solace and pleasure in Clay's company, sexually and otherwise. However, her relationship with Briant suffers when he suspects that she's done what he asked of her, but with someone far beneath them in the social strata. An overbearing nurse (Mitchell) only adds to the estrangement, taking on a maternal role with Briant and wavering between wishing happiness for Kristel while beginning to take her place at the same time. Kristel, not someone who's ever been known for her incredible acting skills, is decent here if a bit vacant at times. She's on hand primarily because of her exotic looks and her lack of modesty about performing nude. She's undeniably striking and does manage to perform several scenes with freshness and commitment. Briant overacts tremendously, not aided at all by two very obnoxious eyebrows, and plays his role with a lack of dimension. He's annoying, nasty and condescending practically all the time, taking most of the chances for compassion or empathy away. Clay is wonderful. Like Kristel, he was never one to shy away from abandoning his clothes, but he also presents a multi-faceted character, one who knows his station in life, but can't help but wish for more. His bathing scene is a real eye-opener. Mitchell is hard to read, perhaps intentionally, but certainly excels at playing the controlling and overstepping nursemaid aspects of her character. Considering the director and producers (and cast), this could have been a lot worse. A decent atmosphere is established thanks to a truly magnificent house filled with many lovely furnishings and with sizeable grounds. Considering the budget, the makers accomplished a lot with a little. Costuming leans toward the impressive too, with only an occasional misstep (Lady Chatterley in pants?!) Though the film does away with some of the supporting characters of the novel and glosses over some of the deeper aspects of it, this remains a pretty valid representation of the story and manages at least a bit of suspense for those who don't know the outcome. This was a staple of pay cable television in the early 80's, affording many folks to pore over the attractive bodies of it's stars in their extended and frank love scenes.