His performance is chronicled in our photo gallery of Shadowlands.

"Shadowlands" is the story, based on fact, of an autumnal romance involving the British writer C. S. Lewis and a divorced American woman named Joy Gresham. They met after she wrote him an admiring letter; their correspondence led to her first visit to England, with her young son. Lewis received her as a courtesy, and was so settled in his lifelong professorial routine that he hardly knew what to do when it became clear, even to him, that he was in love.

"Shadowlands" has found two perfect actors to play this unlikely couple, Anthony Hopkins and Debra Winger. He is shy sometimes to the point of being tongue-tied; he nods and hems and haws and looks away, and retreats behind formulas of courtesy. She is more direct, an outspoken woman who sometimes surprises him by saying out loud what they have both been thinking, but that he would never have said. She sees at a glance the comfortable rut he is in - the dinners at his college dining hall, the evenings in front of the fire, reading while the wireless provides classical music from the BBC. She isn't out to "catch" him. It's more that he discovers he cannot imagine her going away.

Their courtship is an odd one. He issues invitations lamely, as if sure she will not accept. He is so terrified of marriage that he has to couch his proposal in "practical" terms - if he marries her, she will not be forced to leave Britain. She has to negotiate the clouded waters of university politics, the annual dinners of the college head, the curiosity and pointed questions of his nosy colleagues. When it comes to sex, he hasn't a clue, and she talks him through it: "What do you do when you go to bed?" "I put on my pajamas and say my prayers and get under the covers." "Well, then, that's what I want you to do right now, except that when you get under the covers, I'll be there."

Lewis has been confident in his writings and lectures that he knows the purpose of suffering and pain: It is God's way of perfecting us, of carving away the wrong parts, of leaving a soul ready to enter heaven. But when Joy contracts cancer, when she finds herself in terrible pain, he finds he is not at all sure of his theory. And, facing the possibility that they will be parted, together they create an idea of human life on earth that comforts him more than his theories.

"Shadowlands," directed by Richard Attenborough, based on the stage play by William Nicholson, is intelligent, moving and beautifully acted. It understands that not everyone falls into love through the avenue of physical desire; that for some, the lust may be for another's mind, for inner beauty. Anthony Hopkins, who last year in "Remains of the Day" gave a brilliant performance as a closed-off English butler who was afraid to love, here provides a companion performance, of a buttoned-down English intellectual who surprises himself by finding the courage to love.

Debra Winger, not afraid to look less than her best in early scenes (although her beauty glows later on in the film), is no less extraordinary: She projects a quiet empathy in creating Joy Gresham, a woman who has fallen in love with Lewis through his writings. Her character goes through a series of delicate adjustments as she meets him and realizes he is not as contented as he thinks. She believes that making one another happier is one of their purposes on earth. His ability to share that view is a small triumph, but one few people can claim.

Shadowlands ~~ 4 stars

C. S. Lewis Anthony Hopkins
Joy Gresham Debra Winger
Warnie Lewis Edward Hardwicke
Prof. Riley John Wood

Directed by Richard Attenborough. Written by William Nicholson, based on his play. Running time: 125 minutes. Rated PG.

One of England's most admired scholars and authors of the middle of the twentieth century, C. S. Lewis is known for a wide variety of literature, including a science fiction trilogy (Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength), a fantasy saga (The Chronicles of Narnia), and a number of works as a Christian apologist, most notably The Screwtape Letters, The Allegory of Love, Mere Christianity, and A Grief Observed. Born in Northern Ireland in 1898, Lewis lived almost his entire live in the British Isles, dying in Oxford on November 22, 1963.

Lewis, known as Jack to his friends (having never liked his given name, Clive), met Joy Davidman Gresham in 1952. The two had corresponded for some time when Joy arrived in England to escape the strain of a collapsing marriage. Over the next several years, Lewis and Joy met several times, developing and strengthening a friendship. After her divorce from her husband, she and her two young sons came to live in London, and when the government refused to renew Joy's residency permit in 1956, Lewis married her "in name only", so she could stay. Early in 1957, Joy was diagnosed as having advanced cancer, and while she lay in her hospital bed, Lewis confessed his love, and the pair were subsequently married in a religious ceremony. When Joy's cancer went into remission, she was allowed to accompany Lewis home, where they spent two happy years as man and wife until her death in 1959.

Richard Attenborough's Shadowlands stays remarkably close to the true story of C.S. Lewis' relationship with Joy Gresham, taking only occasional liberties with the material for reasons of pacing, not over-sentimentalization. Joy's two sons are "combined" into a single boy, young Douglas (Joseph Mazzello). The film ignores Lewis' professorship at Cambridge, preferring instead to keep him at Oxford, and Joy's final days are shown spent at Lewis' house rather than in a hospital. It's hard to imagine a better choice than Anthony Hopkins for the lead role. Chad Walsh, one of Lewis' close associates, described his friend this way: "In manner, he was straight to the point. He was not given to the sort of chitchat that simply fills in time, though in some moods he could delight in a battle of verbal wit... To him, an ideal conversation was an intellectual fencing match, and may the man with the best dialectic win. The few times I crossed swords with him, he won. I also noticed that he seemed singularly uninterested in introspection." This is the C.S. Lewis that Hopkins brings to life; the man that we follow from beginning to end in Shadowlands.

This performance also gives audiences a chance to see a gifted actor run the gamut of emotions, from disbelieving joy to tortured grief. Hopkins never had the chance to express himself the way he does here in either Howards End or The Remains of the Day. In many ways, it's as difficult - if not moreso - to give a genuine presentation of heartfelt emotions than it is to convey their repression. In Shadowlands, Hopkins gains this opportunity for release. Sit back, watch a master at work, and never once believe that you're not observing the real C.S. Lewis.

It's hard not to be eclipsed when playing opposite Hopkins, but Debra Winger avoids being swallowed in his shadow. She brings a gritty worldliness to Joy Gresham that compliments perfectly Lewis' intellectual spirituality. Where he is reserved, she is frank and honest, going so far to remark to a friend of Lewis', "Are you trying to be offensive, or just merely stupid?" Best of all is the chemistry between Winger and Hopkins. There is no smouldering sensuality, but they seem very much like a real couple, and there is no phase of their relationship that doesn't strike a true chord. Richard Attenborough knows how to keep the film's tone appropriate to the subject matter, and the scenes flow together naturally. The supporting cast, although with far less screen time than the principals, is excellent. Edward Hardwicke, best known to American viewers as one of two Watsons in Grenada TV's Sherlock Holmes mysteries, gives a solid portrayal as Lewis' elder brother, Warnie. Joseph Mazzello's Douglas introduces us to yet another impressive child actor (this was filmed before Jurassic Park, which gave Mazzello worldwide exposure).

As proven by Gandhi, Attenborough is a master of biographical storytelling. The failing of Chaplin - attempting to cover an entire life in a two-plus hour film - is avoided here, making Shadowlands an immensely satisfying, and emotionally rich, motion picture. This is a rare tearjerker that rejects manipulation at every level, instead relying upon narrative and character.

The initial impression of Shadowlands presented equally by its creative team and title, may be one of somber austerity, but there is a great deal of humor, energy, and life to be discovered beyond the drizzly, often-dreary Oxford landscape. The photography is beautiful, but rarely do green vistas upstage the actors.

To be captivated by Shadowlands, it isn't necessary to have read Lewis' writings. The story is self-contained, and William Nicholson's screenplay (adapted by the author from his own stage play) brings characters and situations into bas-relief. The tapestry of this film successfully weaves together emotion, intellect, and narrative into a pleasing, but never cloying, whole.

© 1994 James Berardinelli

It is the most unlikely of love stories, teaming up a stuffy old Oxford don with a middle-aged, radical American writer. PRETTY WOMAN, it's not. Having screened the dull British TV version back in '86 with Claire Bloom and Joss Ackland, I can't say that I rushed to this Richard Attenborough version with much enthusiam. To my surprise, it turned out to be a genuinely touching movie that required a fistful of tissues.

Anthony Hopkins does yet another flawless turn and should have been Oscar-nominated for his portrayal of Jack Lewis. He was nominated for REMAINS OF THE DAY, which was completely justified, though his character here is infinitely more accessible, much more likable. Winger gets to practice what she learned in TERMS OF ENDEARMENT, and she does it gracefully. She lost to Holly Hunter, but was an honorable entrant in the race.

--Jim Byerley

The basic biographical details are true. Lewis, author of "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe," among many books, indeed met and fell in love with Gresham. But as screenwriter William Nicholson (who wrote the original BBC teleplay and Broadway stage play before this) emphasizes in press notes for the movie: "I have used parts of their story, not used other parts and imagined the rest."

If those imaginings are all-too-neatly contrived, they're at least arranged along the classier lines of "84 Charing Cross Road" (another Brit-Yank encounter starring Hopkins), David Lean's "Brief Encounter" and "Turtle Diary," to name a few. On one side of Nicholson's romantic divide is Hopkins, a British professor, a Christian and a celebrated writer, whose children's books are written with instinctive -- rather than empirical -- inspiration.

On the other is Winger (allotted less acting room than Hopkins), a straight-talking, Jewish-American poet and mother of one who barges into his quietly ordered life. Hopkins can browbeat Oxford students about notions of courtly love, but he's no match for Winger's irreverent wisdom.

"I like a good fight," says the professor.

"That's great," says the poet. "But when's the last time you lost?"

The two meet after initial correspondence; Winger and her son Douglas (Joseph Mazzello) are fans of his writings. Winger, escaping an estranged marriage in America, arranges a teatime meeting with Hopkins that is contentious but mutually attracting. After she visits his home, with "Wardrobe"-smitten son in tow, a platonic passion springs up.

Though they're not sure what is happening between them, they take wicked delight in the perplexity they wreak among university dons, priests and bachelors -- including Edward Hardwicke, Hopkins's brother. But this first bloom of friendship (or aspiring love) must undergo a deeply excruciating maturation before Hopkins and Winger can truly unite.

Sir Richard Attenborough, the director, takes his delight in the academic banter among the cap-and-gowned -- especially between Hopkins and stuffy professor John Wood. There's another scene in which Hopkins and Winger attend an outdoor sunrise ritual, in which chirrupy Oxford choristers peal from a church tower as Englishmen wave Union Jacks and somersault into the local river. But the tea-and-crumpets Englishness and old-fashioned (OK, leaden) direction are entirely appropriate. This movie needs to amble along, as if a host of Oxford dons were directing the proceedings.

Nicholson's Anglo-versus-American theme sometimes nudges a little too hard. "ANYBODY HERE CALLED LEWIS?" Winger yells inelegantly across a roomful of tea-sipping Brits, as she seeks out the author for the first time. Yet, a few seconds later, a Hopkins acting moment transforms everything. In the appalled silence that follows Winger's shout, Hopkins raises his hand with the timidity of a child in class.

Speaking of children, the relationship between Hopkins and 8-year-old Mazzello is an affecting development of its own. Hopkins -- it's almost redundant to say -- is tremendous, as he tries to understand this small being for whom he can only write abstractly. Mazzello, too young for the sadnesses in his life, puts realistic sullenness into his role. As the two sit in front of the dusty wardrobe that inspired a great novel -- but is nonetheless just a wardrobe -- contemplating a slew of shared tragedy and disillusionment, it's one moment (of several) to reach for that linen.

The movie, which is handsomely directed by Richard Attenborough, initially focuses on Lewis, a '50s-era celebrity who remained isolated both from his public and the subjects about which he wrote and lectured. Though a childless and cloistered don, he wrote exquisite children's tales and expounded wisely on the benefits of human suffering. If ever a man were testing heaven's patience, Lewis was.

"I'm not sure that God wants to make us happy. Pain is God's megaphone to wake a dead world," he tells a gathering of fans in the movie's introduction. Doubtless they trust that his thoughts are born of personal knowledge, but Lewis -- at least in Nicholson's rather scanty version of his life -- is something of a human tea cozy.

He clings to the warmth and safety of the cottage he has long shared with his bachelor brother Warnie (Edward Hardwicke in a lovely performance) and the campus -- a manly, wood-paneled preserve smelling of pipe smoke and brandy. Bragging that he has never lost an argument, he whets his wit on his equally cloistered and self-congratulatory colleagues and with kind pomposity intimidates all but the most rebellious of his students.

Both Lewis and his brother are enchanted by this abrasive, rather awkward young woman, who arrives for a second visit with her 8-year-old son, Douglas (appealing Joseph Mazzello), in tow. A fan of Lewis's "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," Douglas is disappointed to find that Lewis's attic is without access to a magic land.

His mother, on the other hand, finds a way into this sweetly stuffy bachelor's heart. A sassy New Yorker with a Bronxy accent that tends to come and go, Gresham breaks through his defenses and Lewis finally realizes he loves her. It's too bad that she is such a crass American caricature -- as exemplified by her first meeting with the Lewis brothers. "Anybody here named Lewis?" she yells at startled scone munchers in a prim English tea room.

Winger, much better cast here than in "A Dangerous Woman," holds her own against Hopkins -- and nobody but nobody suffers with such obvious bravery as she can. Between them, she and Hopkins lend great tenderness and dignity to what is really a rather corny tale of a love that was meant to be. The rest is shadows.

The economy and wisdom of William Nicholson’s script never lets the towering performances overshadow it; the performances are never self indulgent enough to let the words seem loud. Indeed, if we can hear anything, it’s the beating of our own hearts. The tiny brush strokes are as poignant (and significant) as the large. Can this be cinema? Clearly not: cinema is a shoot-em-up, take-em-down medium; it’s middlebrow, made for us dunces by Clever People: the Loveys stoop for Plonkers.

If there is a complaint (and there isn’t), it’s that there doesn’t seem a need for Gresham to gatecrash Lewis’ ivory tower; he leads a simple life untrammelled by the slings and arrows that beset the likes of you and me. But Lewis loves one thing more than anything: the truth. Attenborough and Nicholson knew that (and Hopkins, it seems when watching him, has always known that), and the majesty of this masterpiece is that truth is mortal, and truth is sweat; truth is, indeed, a woman.

And should we dare to truly love, perhaps we’ll feel the heat of it - all that reality. At least we would, if the Golden Age of British cinema wasn’t over, and this film had been released in 1952, when it was set, not 1993, like it says on the box. Phew. . .relief. If this had been a modern film we’d be forced to think that we Brits did this kind of thing better than anyone. And we can’t have that.

Nick Green

This is from the 15 September, 2003 online newsletter "The Hollywood Reporter East", in the section called "Reporter At Large" by Chris Gardner.

Looking back:

The most celebrated British filmmaker alive, Richard Attenborough--aka Lord Attenborough, aka Dickie--was feted in London by friends, family, colleagues and the British Film Institute on Sept. 7, kicking off a season of his movies at the National Film Theatre to celebrate his 80th birthday. Attenborough received a standing ovation following a screening of his 1969 film "Oh! What a Lovely War". "Too long and too slow," was the Oscar-winning director's verdict on the satirical pastiche of songs, sketches and dramatic scenes that formed his directorial debut. In a Q & A following the screening, Attenborough says that Edward G. Robinson, with whom he co-starred in "Journey Together" (1945), was his acting mentor; that "Shadowlands" (1993) was the film he was "least embarrassed by"; that "Chaplin" (1992) and "Grey Owl" weren't as good as they should have been because of too many writers and his own misjudgments; that he remains determined to make a film about Thomas Paine; and that his multiple-Oscar winner "Gandhi" (1982) was the biggest film of his life. "Don't let anyone tell you that the Oscars don't matter--they matter", Attenborough says. "They transformed my ability to work (as a director) overnight."