At the height of England's Glorious Revolution the landed family Herbert is, like the royal William and Mary, in need of an heir. While Mr Herbert is away on business Mrs Herbert contracts a draughtsman to produce a number of drawings of their land and wealth as a gift for her husband. Sounds a little too rustic for a Friday night? Well, the young and horny Mr Neville writes a number of hedonistic clauses into the contract which are countered by Mrs Herbert's own and the mice are set to play in the absence of the cat. And then Mrs Herbert's adult (and childless) daughter gets in on the action with her own contract. As Mr Neville plies his trade in the sunshine of the country things are about to get .... intrigued.
Far from the sex romp that might suggest The Draughtsman's Contract is, between the pillars of formality and observance of the days at the estate, a story of upstarts and their place and the lengths that privilege will go when its continuance is threatened. A superb UK cast handle perfectly the ceaselessly witty dialogue which is archaic enough to give us a feel for the setting but never less than accessible. The candlelit interiors in sumptuous rooms or the wild rustic beauty of the estate that Mr Neville sees through the grid of his optical aids invite us to make our own observations and find our own details.
Michael Nyman's exemplary score (which is worth having in its own right) does a kind of resampling of Purcell by manuscript paper and ink with lush orchestrations that travel from brilliance to growling darkness. It serves to both stiffen the formality of the aristocratic stage and welcome us in under its curious modernity. Greenaway would be close to the independent cinema throne for the next two decades, often in close collaboration with Nyman. He might have gone more baroque in structure and more ambitious in intent but never as warmly or plainly enjoyable as he was here.
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