Albert Nobbs, an attendant in a well-appointed 19th-century Dublin hotel, keeps to himself. He rarely sustains eye contact, moves through his duties with solemn, ghostlike silence and does his best to fade into the Victorian wallpaper.
The hotel’s well-to-do patrons, on the rare occasion they give him a second thought, consider Albert “odd.” They don’t know the half of it. He’s not merely repressed, he’s cross-dressed, a woman secretly living as a man so as to earn a wage in the harsh Irish economy. This is a costume drama where the costume is the drama.
“Albert Nobbs” has been a passion project for Glenn Close since she won an Obie in the role back in 1982. As star, producer, co-writer and lyricist for the film’s theme song, she has poured her heart and soul into the film. She is quite wonderful, not that she impersonates a man flawlessly. Despite her masculine wardrobe and cropped hair, she’s plainly a woman masquerading.
What Close accomplishes is something deeper than surface imitation. Jettisoning all of the mawkish sentimentality that might have sabotaged the film, director Rodrigo Garcia and his star make this withdrawn, near-asexual creature both fascinating and emotionally captivating. Albert wins our understanding in her search for a dignified and normal life, and a chance at love. We feel the depth of her self-imposed misery as an outcast from society. When she faces exposure, our guts knot with tension at her plight.
The film tells its peculiar tale in a refreshingly unaffected way, simply showing us the complexities of the world in which Albert happened to live. The background bustles with characters of Dickensian richness, all played wonderfully by Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Brenda Fricker, Brendan Gleeson, Mia Wasikowska and Janet McTeer.
“Albert Nobbs” is a sorrowful film but not a maudlin one. It asks us to feel compassion for Albert but not to pity her.
The film is wise about human nature. One class is not better than another; there’s simply the pretense of being better.
Close makes it impossible to look at Albert and not see some reflection of our own humanity. That’s acting.
