Cinema: When Acting Becomes Alchemy

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And then, in the final modern scene, Mike's film world falls to pieces. This is the Pinter-Reisz equivalent of Fowles' unhappy ending: a "wrap party" to celebrate the film's completion. Mike cannot bear the prospect of losing Anna. Where can she be? She is in the room where the final period sequence was shot, examining herself in one of Sarah's mirrors. But Anna engages in no searching of soul or image—just a glance and a primp and she's off. Mike reaches the room as the car motor's rev signals Anna's departure. He calls out for her: "Sarah!" It is too late. Mike, the modern man, has lost his French lieutenant's woman. Charles, the Victorian aesthete, has been deserted by a surpassing actress. A heart is broken, the mirror has cracked, the film spins off its real.

It was John Fowles who suggested that the film's final line of dialogue be "Sarah!" He deserves to share credit with Pinter and Reisz for assembling this multilayered meditation on the blurring lines that connect actor, character and audience. But the creation might have remained stillborn without the contribution of Meryl Streep. This Sarah, this Anna, this warring family of sirens demands an incandescent star. With this performance, Streep proves she is both. Virgin, whore, woman, actress, she provides the happy ending to The French Lieutenant's Woman and new life to a cinema starved for shining stars.

—By Richard Corliss. Reported by Arthur White/Lyme Regis