Blue Jasmine

Woody Allen’s Blue Jasmine is an absorbing, uncomfortable study of a woman who cannot bear to revise her opinion of herself. We recommend it for Cate Blanchett, though the supporting performances make that sound too narrow. Jasmine’s husband’s fraud has stripped away the money that made her assumptions seem reasonable; she is still trying to live by those assumptions. The film takes her suffering seriously without accepting her account of herself, and its occasional clumsiness is worth tolerating for that.

Cate Blanchett makes Jasmine exhausting company, which is a considerable risk for the centre of a 99-minute film. The performance is tightly wound, but there is enough variation in the strain to stop it becoming a single prolonged crisis. Her entitlement and her terror remain visible together, and being selfish does not make her distress less painful to watch. Cate Blanchett allows the comedy to come through without using it to relieve the pressure on Jasmine, whose efforts to maintain her dignity become increasingly difficult to witness.

Sally Hawkins gives Ginger sufficient warmth and self-respect to prevent her becoming merely a useful contrast. Ginger’s visit to Jasmine in New York is particularly telling about Jasmine’s concern with social standing. We felt embarrassed for Ginger, because that concern makes an ordinary visit uncomfortable. Andrew Dice Clay, as Augie, also brings a welcome sense of hurt that has not been dressed up for an audience. These performances give the film people we can care about beyond its lead.

Javier Aguirresarobe’s photography is handsome and clear, which matters in a film so dependent on our reading of faces. The images let us attend to the performances without competing insistently for attention. Santo Loquasto’s production design makes the difference in the women’s circumstances readable without requiring a speech about income. The comfort of Jasmine’s earlier life looks worth wanting, which helps explain why she remains so attached to it, even as her attachment becomes destructive.

Alisa Lepselter’s editing gives the flashbacks a useful sharpness, allowing the past to interrupt the present. Jasmine’s former life remains close enough to distort her understanding of what is happening now. Moving between the two prevents the film from settling into a simple account of someone getting poorer and sadder, and the changes are easy to follow. There are moments when the writing pushes the connections too hard, but the arrangement gives us time to recognise her habit of avoiding whatever she does not want to know.

The reservation is with Woody Allen’s writing for some of the people around her, who have clearer functions than personalities. Alec Baldwin’s Hal belongs to a story about greed that can feel too neatly organised, especially beside the untidy emotions Cate Blanchett supplies. The plotting occasionally makes its point with more force than credibility. These limitations matter, though the actors do much to compensate, and the film remains attentive to the pain caused by Jasmine’s determined self-deception.

As a social satire, Blue Jasmine sometimes sorts people into their allotted places too briskly. As a character study, it gives its actors enough freedom to complicate those judgements, and that is where it earns our recommendation. Its dark comedy also allows embarrassment to linger after a scene has produced a laugh. Choose it for the performances, and do not expect much cheering up.