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A movie that not only functions as a solid scarefest but a razor-sharp satire.

The plot isn't so bad, but the pace of storytelling is too slow which makes people bored. Certain moments are so obvious and unnecessary for the main plot. I would've fast-forwarded those moments if it was an online streaming. The ending looks like implying a sequel, not sure if this movie will get one

There are moments in this movie where the great movie it could've been peek out... They're fleeting, here, but they're worth savoring, and they happen often enough to make it worth your while.

The film never slows down or bores, plunging from one harrowing sequence to the next.

During filming, was Vanessa Redgrave taking mogadon? It was like she was reading from an autocue. I've seen more life in a wooden spoon. Or perhaps that was all part of the character? whatever, it was very very annoying, I kept wanting to shake the screen to hurry her up. I read the book a long time ago & didn't like much about it except that Septimus's descent into madness was very well done - but I don't think Rupert Graves showed this very well, his acting was all on the surface. The connection between his life and Clarissa's is not very well done either but I suspect the attempt is to show the sacrifice soldiers made to enable people like Clarissa to continue their vapid lives. The film is very bitty and has no real unity to it. Hated it.

I kept waiting for the film to move me, inspire me, shock me, sadden me in some way but it stirred none of my emotions. It just meandered along to the end. None of the characters seemed very unique or complex, they just seemed like actors reciting their lines. I think it could have been a better movie if the characters expressed more emotion. The only one who did and was believable was the veteran and he probably committed suicide just to get out of the movie as soon as he could. It was a waste of talent, film, their time, and mine. If there is a message or meaning or genius in this story, it certainly is well-hidden or I am very dense, which I doubt.

Since I was just finishing the book, `Mrs. Dalloway' by Virginia Woolf, I was excited to see that it was on one of the movie channels last weekend. What I encountered, however, is a film that was boring, incomprehensible and non-sensical. One cannot entirely blame the film, it tried the best it could with the material it had, but when the source material is Virginia Woolf, and is almost entirely written in stream-of-conscience style with extended periods of internalizing and little actual dialogue, one would certainly think that there shouldn't be a film made from it just because a film can be made from it. Vanessa Redgrave, who plays the title character, does not deserve any blame for the failure of this film, nor do any of the other actors. It is just simply a film that could not intelligibly be made from the story that Woolfe wrote, and should not have even been attempted. Don't watch the movie, read the book. --Shelly

Spoilers herein.Woolf was an interesting writer, in a way. She occupied herself with ordinary stories about people with ordinary problems, like the river of thousands of other writers. But at the same time, she devised a rather extraordinary manner of circumnavigating those same issues. Safety on the one hand, risk on the other.And that's incidentally what this story is about: bracketing life between the damage from taking risks and the damage from not taking them. Oddly, Woolf created her own detractors because many will come to this book and this movie expecting Evelyn Waugh, or Edith Wharton. These are safe readers/viewers. They want the simple taste of a pleasant story, but this is precisely the vacuousness that drives Woolf out of her story.Other writers were experimenting with what it means for the narrative to leave the grounding of the story and become its own character with its own drive. Joyce would leave the story to encounter fragments of a dream life, but those fragments would be well ordered according to geometric cosmologies and the geography of Dublin. Proust would similarly layer the story but with fragments of annotated recollection. The order in his case came from rather mechanical folding of time and awarenesses.Woolf is at once between them (annotated memory, but fabricated from yearnings) and apart: her narrative wanders. It has a mothlike quality -- deep insight with an attention deficit. The capriciousness of the thread was result of the capriciousness of fate the irrelevance of decision. Why would I mention all this? Because each of these features has a cinematic counterpart.Hitchcock and Tarkovsky invented the camera that has its own motivation and is likely to take interest or be distracted. Altman and now Anderson developed the cinematic conventions for shifting characters while maintaining the same issues and perspectives. (See "Things You Can Tell" for the best: many stories and characters, all the same woman.)Several filmmakers have successfully experimented with the kind of layering Woolf used: folding between the imaginer and the imagined. Pinter specifically quotes Woolf in his "French Lieutenant's Woman," and even brushes her sleeve in his unproduced screen play of Proust. There was lots for Ms Gorris to work with in approaching this project. There was plenty she could have safely done to emulate the experimental approach of Woolf. But no. She chose extreme safety. She chose the Dalloway life. "The Hours" played the game. It invented nothing new cinematically, merely understood that the story didn't matter a whit. That's the point. And that Woolf introduces her own presence in the narrative. "The Hours" was a far superior flight, but still not nearly as risky as its source. All that business about Richard Brown had too much purpose. Septimus Smith being in the trenches was as arbitrary as Clarissa's appearance in the flower shop.Bottom line: yet another project that doesn't take the risks whose depiction is the purpose.Ted's Evaluation -- 2 of 3: Has some interesting elements.