Gillian Anderson wasn't the obvious choice. In the late nineties, she was the face of sci-fi skepticism, the woman hunting aliens on weekly television. But when Terence Davies cast her as Lily Bart in The House of Mirth 2000 film, he saw something most casting directors missed: a capability for stillness that felt deeply, painfully Edwardian. It’s a movie that feels like a trap. From the very first frame at a foggy train station, you can almost hear the jaws of New York high society snapping shut around its protagonist.
Most period dramas from that era—think the Miramax "Prestige" wave—were bathed in a golden, aspirational glow. They were about finding a husband or at least finding yourself. This isn't that. Honestly, this movie is a slow-motion car crash involving corsets and fine china.
The Brutal Accuracy of Lily Bart’s Downward Spiral
Lily Bart is a woman with "fine" tastes and no money. That's a dangerous combination in 1905. She’s twenty-nine, which in the eyes of the Gilded Age socialites she calls friends, is basically one foot in the grave. The tragedy of The House of Mirth 2000 film isn't that Lily is a bad person; it's that she’s just moral enough to hesitate, but not brave enough to leave.
Davies captures the claustrophobia of the era better than almost any director before or since. He doesn't use shaky cams or modern tricks. He uses long, lingering shots that force you to look at the micro-expressions of people who are professionally committed to never showing emotion. You see it when Lily talks to Lawrence Selden (played by Eric Stoltz). They’re clearly in love. Or at least, they’re the only two people who actually understand each other. But Selden is a "man of modest means," and Lily has been trained since birth to believe that poverty is a literal disease.
She waits. She gambles. She takes "favors" from men like Gus Trenor without realizing—or perhaps willfully ignoring—that in this world, nothing is ever free. The $9,000 she accepts for "investments" becomes the noose that eventually hangs her social reputation.
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Why This Adaptation Sticks the Landing Better Than Others
Adapting Edith Wharton is notoriously tricky. If you go too soft, it looks like a Hallmark card. If you go too hard, it feels like a lecture. Terence Davies, who grew up in a working-class Catholic family in Liverpool, understood the specific cruelty of "rules" and social ostracization.
One thing people often get wrong about this movie is the idea that Lily is a victim of a few "mean girls." It's bigger than that. It's a systemic demolition. Bertha Dorset (Laura Linney) isn't just a villain; she’s a predator who knows exactly how to use the "unwritten rules" of their circle to destroy Lily when she becomes a threat to Bertha’s own shaky marriage.
The lighting in the film tells the story as much as the dialogue. Notice how the early scenes at Bellomont are bright, airy, and expansive. As Lily loses her status, the rooms get smaller. The ceilings feel lower. By the time she's working in a millinery shop, the colors have been bled out of the frame entirely. It’s a visual representation of her world shrinking until there’s nowhere left for her to stand.
The Supporting Cast: A Masterclass in Passive Aggression
You've got to look at Dan Aykroyd’s performance. Yes, the Ghostbusters guy. He plays Gus Trenor with this sweaty, entitled menace that is genuinely unsettling. It’s one of the most underrated casting choices of the 2000s. He isn't a cartoon villain. He’s just a man who believes he bought a product and is annoyed that the product won't let him use it.
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And then there’s Sim Rosedale. Anthony LaPaglia plays him as a man who knows he’s "new money" and hated for it. He’s the only one who is actually honest with Lily. He offers her a business deal: marriage for social legitimacy. Lily rejects it because she still has "ideals," which in Wharton’s universe, is the fastest way to the bottom of the Hudson River.
The Social Cost of Being an "Ornament"
Wharton famously wrote that Lily was a "highly specialized product" of a society that required women to be beautiful but essentially useless. The House of Mirth 2000 film hammers this home through its production design. The costumes aren't just pretty; they look heavy. They look like armor.
When Lily finally falls, she falls hard. The transition from the "tableaux vivants"—where she is literally treated as a piece of living art—to the dingy boarding house is jarring. It should be. The film refuses to give you the "poor but happy" trope. Lily isn't happy being poor. She’s cold, she’s tired, and she’s addicted to chloral hydrate just to get a night’s sleep without the ghosts of her debts screaming at her.
The ending is where the movie separates the casual viewers from the devotees. It’s devastating. No spoilers if you haven't seen it, but it involves a check and a final, quiet moment of realization from Selden that comes exactly five minutes too late. It’s the ultimate "too little, too late" story.
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How to Watch It Today (And What to Look For)
If you're planning a rewatch or seeing it for the first time, keep an eye on the "letters." In the Gilded Age, letters were the only paper trail that mattered. They are the ticking time bombs of the plot. Lily has the power to destroy Bertha Dorset with a handful of letters she bought from a cleaning lady, but her refusal to use them is her final act of grace—and her final mistake.
The House of Mirth 2000 film didn't break the box office when it came out. It was too quiet, too depressing for the Gladiator and X-Men crowd of the year 2000. But it has aged spectacularly. It feels more relevant now in the age of "curated" social media lives than it did twenty-five years ago. We still live in a world where one wrong move, one misinterpreted "post" or social gaffe, can lead to a digital shunning that feels remarkably similar to Lily’s exile.
Immediate Next Steps for Fans and Newcomers
- Watch the "Tableaux Vivants" Scene Closely: It's the turning point of the film. Lily is at her peak beauty, but she is also most clearly being "sold" to the highest bidder.
- Compare with 'The Age of Innocence': If you want a double feature, watch Scorsese’s 1993 Wharton adaptation alongside this one. Scorsese focuses on the yearning; Davies focuses on the cost.
- Read the Last Chapter of the Novel: Wharton’s prose provides the internal monologue that even a talent like Gillian Anderson can only hint at. The way Lily thinks about her "last penny" is haunting.
- Check the Streaming Status: As of now, the film often cycles through platforms like Criterion Channel or Prime Video. It’s worth the rental fee for the cinematography alone.
The film is a reminder that the "good old days" were only good if you had the bank balance to survive them. Lily Bart tried to play a game where the rules were rigged from the start, and watching her try to win is one of the most heartbreaking experiences in modern cinema. It’s a masterpiece of social horror disguised as a costume drama.