Question: when is a movie comprised almost entirely of clichés not in the least bit lazy? Answer: when it’s been directed by Francois Ozon, a filmmaker with a track record of purposeful, meticulous pastiche (8 Women). Which doesn’t mean that this winking period melodrama, in which a nominally gifted romance novelist (Romola Garai in the title role) rises and falls through Edwardian England — upsetting male-centric notions of literary might and cutting a petulant swath through an array of suitors — is a worthy use of its creator’s talents.

Only Sam Neill, as the affable London publisher who recognizes our heroine’s minor but significantly exploitable talent, manages to rise above the vaguely contemptuous tone. Garai succumbs to it, making Angel unsympathetic even beyond the broad satirical strictures of the screenplay (adapted by Ozon from a novel by Elizabeth “Not Elizabeth Taylor” Taylor).
That the film looks sumptuous is no surprise —cinematographer Denis Lenoir made his reputation on Olivier Assayas’ gorgeous early films — but it’s also small comfort. Like its protagonist, Angel is conspicuously pretty and not nearly so sharp as it would have you believe.