Daniel Day Lewis is one of the best actors of our time and one of my favorites. It is amazing how much he throws himself in each of the characters he plays making them real.
I remember, many years ago, we had a party in our house - the friends came over, we were sitting around the table, eating, drinking the wine, talking, laughing - having a good time. The TV was on - there was a movie which we did not pay much attention to. Then, suddenly, all of us stopped talking and laughing. The glasses did not clink, the forks did not move, the food was getting cold on the plates. We could not take our eyes off the screen where the young crippled man whose entire body was against him and who only had a control over his left foot, picked up a piece of chalk with his foot and for what seemed the eternity tried to write just one word on the floor. When he finished writing that one word, we all knew that we had witnessed not one but three triumphs - the triumph of a human will and spirit, the triumph of the cinema which was able to capture the moment like this on the film, and the triumph of an actor who did not act but who became his character.
Jim Sheridan's "My Left Foot" is an riveting, unsentimental bio-drama about Christy Brown, the man who was born with cerebral palsy in a Dublin slum; who became an artist and a writer and who found a love of his life.
I like every one of Day Lewis's performances (I have mixed feelings about his performance in GONY) but I believe that his greatest role was Christy Brown in "My Left Foot"

Anything that might have been potentially interesting in this material is sunk in the first few seconds with a disclaimer that the events we're about to see can't ever be known and "This is the whisper [rumor] most often told" about one of Hollywood's most sensational "mysteries."
Okay. So we're not getting anything new (and E!'s "Mysteries & Scandals" gives you a better foothold on the particular incident...and that's not much of an endorsement). What do we get?
We learn that Hollywood is a nest of viper's and decadents. No big news there. More interesting we learn what a washed up director is willing to do to regain his position of power in the entertainment industry and/or political establishment. It raises the question of whether Peter Bogdanovich is speaking from his own experience through these characters. But what's told is so cynical and ugly and muddled, we're left feeling guilty for witnessing a bunch of hooey that passes itself off as history.
The tone of the film has a curious madcap quality that I found more irritating than fun. We're not empathetic with anyone. And the great "Citizen Kane" polishes off the relationship between Davies and Hearts in a much more convincing way. In "The Cat's Meow" we're not ever sure of Davies motives for being with Hearst. As soon as we're told one thing, she's off doing the other.
And are we to believe that Davies was the love of Chaplain's life? Or is he just trying to cockold one of America's most powerful--and apparently moronic--citizens. The film never makes it clear.
What is convincing are the production values. There's a glorious recreation of the yacht and period costumes. I got more out of looking at the construction of some of the lapels on the men's jackets than following a story that libels many of the the most well-known personalities in Hollywood history. No one will remember that the screenplay is pure fiction. The disclaimers that frame the film only make it all the more tentative and unsatisfying.
The performers can't be faulted, although Meg Tilly goes way past parody here. Kirsten Dunst never disappoints. She gives the most sincere performance in a sea of scenery chewing. Only Joanna Lumley rises above the material, but so much so that she seems to be distancing herself from the whole enterprise rather than narrating it. One of her first lines is, "I'm not here!" And I'm sure she wishes she wasn't.
This isn't on par with Bogdanovich's trashy, so-bad-it's-good "At Long Last Love." It's perched on attempting something serious, but hesitates and stumbles chiefly because it's so full of bitterness towards "the beast" named Hollywood. This is "National Enquirer" filmmaking. And it not only soils the names of those who the film places on board the Oneida that weekend, but the audience gets pretty dirty as well.