Magical and exquisite to look at but halting in its narrative flow, this a film of stunning images rather than scintillating dialogue; episodic in structure in keeping with Virginia Woolf's time-travel novel. The serene and beautiful Tilda Swinton, almost mute, is mesmerising as the androgynous Orlando.
It took me a while to find my footing with Orlando, as It’s not the story and therefore film I’d expected, and that slow adjustment feels almost deliberate. Once it gets under your skin, though, that’s you done. Sally Potter’s adaptation of Virginia Woolf is gripping, beautiful, and stubbornly mystifying: a journey through history, gender and identity that still feels startlingly modern. Split into chapters — Death, Love, Poetry, Politics, Society, Sex, Birth — it keeps circling the same idea: everything changes, and absolutely nothing does.
Tilda Swinton is extraordinary. Her direct looks to camera feel conspiratorial rather than gimmicky — less a trick than a quiet signal that she’s always in control. Quentin Crisp’s Elizabeth I sets the tone perfectly: theatrical, knowing, utterly committed. The costumes and production design deserve a chapter heading of their own.
Potter honours Woolf without turning the film into a museum piece. I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it. I just know I loved it.