Honestly, most period dramas from the late nineties feel like they were dipped in sugar and left to dry in a museum case. They’re pretty, sure, but they’re often a bit bloodless. Then you have The Wings of the Dove 1997. It’s different. It’s sweaty, desperate, and surprisingly mean-spirited in a way that Henry James—the guy who wrote the original 1902 novel—would have probably loved and been scandalized by all at once.
If you haven't seen it in a while, or ever, you're missing out on a masterclass in how to adapt "unadaptable" literature. Directed by Iain Softley, this isn't your grandma’s Sunday night telly. It’s a movie about sex and money. Mostly money. It’s about what happens when two people who are madly in love realize that "love" doesn't pay for a carriage ride in turn-of-the-century London.
Helena Bonham Carter plays Kate Croy. This was right before she became the queen of Tim Burton’s gothic whimsy, and man, she is electric here. She’s trapped. Her mother is dead, her father is a disgraced opium addict, and her wealthy Aunt Maude (played with terrifying precision by Charlotte Rampling) has basically bought her. The deal? Kate gets to live in luxury, but only if she marries someone with a title and a massive bank account. The problem is Kate is already hooking up with Merton Densher, a penniless journalist played by Linus Roache.
The Gritty Reality of The Wings of the Dove 1997
Most people remember the 90s Merchant Ivory era for its pristine lace collars. The Wings of the Dove 1997 trades that for a damp, foggy London and a decaying, waterlogged Venice. It feels heavy. When Kate and Merton meet secretly in the park or in his cramped apartment, you can almost smell the coal smoke and the desperation.
The plot kicks into high gear when they meet Milly Theale.
Milly is a "poor little rich girl" from America, played by Alison Elliott. She’s an heiress, she’s lonely, and she’s dying of a vague, cinematic illness that involves a lot of fainting and pale skin. Kate comes up with a plan that is, frankly, kind of monstrous. She encourages Merton to woo Milly. The logic? Milly dies, leaves her fortune to Merton, and then Kate and Merton can finally get married and be rich.
It's a long game. A cruel one.
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The nuance in the acting is what keeps this from being a soap opera. Bonham Carter doesn't play Kate as a villain. She plays her as someone who is suffocating. You see it in her eyes—she’s calculating because she has no other currency. In the late 19th century, a woman without money was a woman without a life.
Why the 1910 setting shift actually worked
Purists always complain when directors mess with the timeline. James set the book in the late Victorian era, but Softley pushed it forward to 1910. This was a stroke of genius. It places the story in the Edwardian era, specifically the "Belle Époque," where everything was a bit more fluid, a bit more bohemian, and a lot more decadent.
The fashion changed too.
Gone were the rigid corsets and bustles of the 1880s. Instead, we get these flowing, translucent fabrics and giant hats. Costume designer Sandy Powell—who is basically a legend in the industry—deservedly got an Oscar nod for this. The clothes tell the story. Kate is often in dark, sharp, structured outfits that reflect her entrapment, while Milly is draped in light, ethereal whites and golds, looking like a ghost before she even dies.
Venice as a Character, Not Just a Backdrop
When the action moves to Venice, the movie shifts gears. If London was a prison, Venice is a fever dream. But it’s not the postcard Venice. It’s the Venice of shadows, narrow alleys, and cold stone.
The cinematography by Eduardo Serra is just ridiculous. He uses a lot of handheld camera work, which was rare for period pieces back then. It makes the scenes feel voyeuristic. You’re lurking in the corner of the palazzo while these three people ruin each other’s lives.
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There’s a specific scene—the one where Milly finds out about the betrayal—that is handled with so much restraint. There are no screaming matches. There’s just the sound of the water and the look on Alison Elliott’s face. It’s heartbreaking because she actually loved them. She was the "dove" of the title, and they plucked her feathers for a down pillow.
The Ending That Still Stings
Without spoiling the exact final frame for the three people who haven't seen a thirty-year-old movie: the ending isn't a "happily ever after."
It’s an "at what cost?"
Kate and Merton get what they wanted, technically. But the memory of Milly—her goodness, her forgiveness—becomes a wall between them. You can't build a marriage on the corpse of a girl you conned. The final scene in the apartment is cold. The chemistry that fueled the first half of the film is gone, replaced by a sort of hollowed-out regret.
It’s one of the most honest endings in cinema history. It acknowledges that money can buy you freedom, but it can’t buy back your soul once you’ve sold it.
Why This Film Matters in 2026
We’re currently obsessed with "eat the rich" media like Saltburn or The White Lotus. The Wings of the Dove 1997 was doing this decades ago, but with more subtlety. It explores the power dynamics between the classes without hitting you over the head with a sledgehammer.
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It’s also a reminder of what we lost when movies stopped being "mid-budget adult dramas." This wasn't a superhero flick or a micro-budget indie. It was a lush, expensive, smart movie made for grown-ups.
What to Look For on a Rewatch
If you’re going back to watch it, pay attention to Charlotte Rampling. She’s barely in the movie for more than twenty minutes, but she looms over every scene. She represents the "System." She’s the person Kate will eventually become if she stays in London.
Also, watch the use of mirrors. Softley uses reflections constantly to show the dual lives Kate and Merton are leading. They are never just one thing; they are always their public selves and their private, scheming selves.
Actionable Takeaways for Film Buffs
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of this adaptation, here is how you should approach it:
- Watch the 1981 TV Miniseries first: If you can find it, compare the two. The 81 version is much more faithful to the book’s slow pace, which makes you realize how much "vibe" and "tension" Softley added to the 1997 film.
- Read the Preface to the New York Edition: Henry James wrote a preface for the novel years after it was published. In it, he talks about his "muffled" style. Seeing how the movie translates "muffled" internal thoughts into visual cues is a great lesson in screenwriting.
- Check out the soundtrack: Ed Shearmur’s score is haunting. It avoids the typical "classical" tropes and goes for something much more atmospheric and moody.
- Track the color palette: Notice how the film starts in sepia/grey tones in London and bleeds into rich blues and golds in Venice, only to turn cold and grey again at the very end.
The Wings of the Dove 1997 isn't just a movie about a love triangle. It's a study of how poverty erodes morality. It's a gorgeous, painful, essential piece of 90s cinema that holds up better than almost any of its contemporaries. Go watch it on a rainy Tuesday with a glass of something strong. You’ll get it.
To get the most out of the experience, try to find the high-definition restoration rather than an old DVD rip; the texture of the film grain is essential to the mood. Once you've finished the film, look up the "international" vs "domestic" trailers from '97—it's fascinating to see how they tried to market a tragedy as a steamy romance to American audiences.