Two actors – Maurice (Peter O’Toole) and Ian (Leslie Phillips) – reside in a small London flat. Their best days are behind them, but they make sure to spend what is left celebrating their longevity and having as much fun as they can while they await the inevitable. This normally takes the form of long hours spent in the local coffee shop and attending the occasional play, normally the most avant-garde, experimental works done by young upstarts, almost to remind them of their own youth. Their dynamic is tested with the arrival of Jessie (Jodie Whittaker), Ian’s great-niece, who has recently moved to London to pursue a better future than her previous pastoral life would have allowed her. Sent tentatively as a caretaker for Ian, who is growing more frail as the days go on, she seeks out modelling work, believing she has what it takes to make it in high society. However, it seems that her only admirer is Maurice, who is utterly beguiled by the young woman – initially captivated by her striking beauty, he soon learns to adore her rebellious personality, her rambunctious disregard for convention, and her fiercely independent spirit, as it reminds him of his own youthful days, when he too was a renegade, defying conventions. His interest in her resides somewhere between attraction and fascination, and he finds that the closer he tries to get to Jessie, or “Venus” as he soon dubs her, the more he understands her, with the pair striking up a profound friendship that sees them benefitting equally from the others’ experience in certain aspects of life, as well as the lack of it in others.

Every film is made with a certain intention, one that supersedes all others – for some, the story is the focus, and for others, it’s the spectacle. However, in looking at Venus, it becomes clear how this occupies another category of film, the kind designed specifically for an actor to showcase his or her talents. In this case, it’s the legendary Peter O’Toole, who gives what most consider to be his final great performance, his cinematic swan song before shifting towards a more simple career of smaller parts in much larger films. Venus affords us the opportunity to see the actor in his element once again, nearly half a century since he first commanded the screen in his incredible debut, Lawrence of Arabia. There are few films that could be considered less similar than these two, but yet they have one element in common: they feature O’Toole and his incredible control of character, being designed specifically to demonstrate his immense talents. Roger Michell, an unheralded filmmaker who frequently helms this kind of passionate drama that is defined by its broad humanity, brings to life the incredible script by Hanif Kureishi, evoking the melancholic spirit of a bygone era intersecting with the modern world, in what is a beautifully poetic, and often outrageously hilarious, character study that ventures deep into the soul of its characters, extracting a potent understanding of existence that would not have been possible with the blend of compassion and audacity brought to this intimate film by all involved in its production.

It is certainly possible to look deeper into this film, but every path the discerning viewer takes will bring them straight back to the incredible work done by Peter O’Toole. Everything about this film is centred around his performance, with the clear motive being to allow him the chance to once again take control of the screen, after nearly two decades of being relegated to supporting roles, with only the occasional film affording him the chance to showcase his prowess as a leading man. Venus is structured entirely around O’Toole, and it is not difficult to see why this is considered some of his most poignant work. When looking at a film produced towards the end of a performer’s career, there’s a number of factors that one needs to take into account, most of which is the ambiguous space between their style – a stagnant performer demonstrates an inability to grow in their craft, while one that has changed so much over the years normally renders their earlier work inconsequential, which is not particularly effective either. Venus features a very different performance from the actor – he’s certainly far older and has grown more frail, yet the same brilliance that launched his career decades before were still incredibly notable in this character. Whether it be his striking blue eyes that convey emotions that no coherent words could ever produce or his masterful subtlety in even the most outrageous of situations, O’Toole demands our undivided attention with this performance, often emerging from a cloud of cigarette smoke with the endearingly impudent smirk and acerbic wit that made him such a beloved presence throughout his long, varied career.

However, while it is tempting to view this film as being just a showcase for O’Toole wonderful talents, there is a deeper message underpinning Venus, one that requires a more functional engagement on the part of the viewer, particularly in how the story evokes certain themes that require our own discernment in order to bring about a certain set of interpretations. The film is primarily concerned with the idea of masculinity, with the central character of Maurice being an individual who believes that he is gradually losing control of his manhood, both physically and psychologically. A recurring theme in the film is his likely diagnosis of prostate cancer, which renders him impotent, a fact that is not played for laughs, but rather for the function of commenting on his growing disillusionment with certain aspects of the world around him. Part of this is shown through his fascination with the character of Jessie, who is portrayed as an object of desire, albeit in a way that doesn’t pander to the unsettling idea of the “older man-young woman” relationship that is often the subject of broad comedy, but rather speaks to the underlying concept of the male gaze, and how it is interrelated to Maurice’s perception of his own masculinity – the further he descends into physical emasculation, the more he tries to assert his self-proposed authority over the younger woman, whether it be through conveying his apparently endless wisdom, or plying her with endless gifts and benefits that he believes solidifies their friendship and allows the possibility for romance.

Venus navigates difficult narrative territory in this regard – unfortunately, this is a film that carries the burden of being centred around a protagonist with a set of what most would consider perversions, which are often passed off as being quirks of an older gentleman, with the presence of a young, desirable woman evoking his dormant rapscallion tendencies. The film is mercifully not facilitative of such a perspective, never condoning Maurice’s behaviour, but rather using it as a way to explore his inner psychological state, being a stark and uncompromising portrait of a man who is grasping to whatever remains of his youth, which he defines as being represented by his apparently excusable lechery. Venus never crosses the moral boundary, keeping the theme well within the confines of decency, portraying the central idea that Maurice doesn’t necessarily desire Jessie sexually, but rather wishes to take advantage of her naive outlook. He doesn’t lust for her body, but rather her youthful spirit, as it allows him a momentary return to the days in which he did not have to worry about anything other than the youthful concerns that define the lives of many younger people, who eventually come to learn that these worries were unnecessary in contrast to the challenges they would have to face in the future.

The touching moment towards the end of the film, where Maurice visits his estranged wife and professes his love for her, shows how he is a man in denial, and that the new addition to his life is merely a diversion from the inevitable. Maurice is someone who believes in his own immortality, which forms the second major theme of the film, and the one that perhaps makes the most significant impression. Venus is a film about ageing more than anything else – beneath the protagonist’s desire for a younger woman is the idea that he is searching for the vivacity he has lost, with his genuine belief being that if he immerses himself in the life of someone who he sees as embodying the youthfulness he yearns for, he will somehow evade the fact that he is at the end of his life. The film gradually follows Maurice, and Ian to a lesser extent, as they come to terms with their own mortality. Their friendship, which is the core of the film, is based on the fundamentally different outlooks – Ian knows that he is on borrowed time, while Maurice gleefully avoids any such thought, with neither character being particularly accurate in how they view this stage of their life. Over the course of the film, we watch as Maurice finally realizes the extent to which he is simply ignoring the truth, and the eventual acceptance of it is where the film loses its more outrageous tendencies and becomes a beautifully-complex meditation on the fragility of life, where the extents of passion and its place towards the end of one’s existence, play a part in resigning to the eventual fate, where it’s down less with despair and more with tender acceptance.

Venus is a remarkable film – an intimate character study, albeit one that functions as much more than simply a vehicle for Peter O’Toole, even if it is clear the main intention was to provide the legendary actor with another astoundingly complex character, which he embraces with remarkable gusto and sincerity, the same kind that made him such an enduring actor in the first place. Michell finds the perfect blend of irreverent comedy and heartfelt drama, undoubtedly the result of his dedicated interpretation of Hanif Kureishi’s achingly beautiful and frequently hilarious screenplay, in which the writer’s understanding of profoundly human issues are laid bare, and explored with remarkable restraint by a cast of actors who endeavour to venture deep into the soulful nature of the story. The film may appear slight, and the relatively narrow execution sometimes inhibits the more exuberant metaphysical themes, but by the time the film reaches its peak, both narratively and emotionally, it is difficult to not be utterly beguiled by its unconventional perspective and nuanced message. It is a joyful film about serious matters, composed with elegance and sincerity, brought to life by a group of individuals who set out to look into the human condition in an honest, earnest and entirely unforgettable manner.