Full Review

The story -- which alternates between the years preceding and directly following World War II -- revolves around Rickie (Paul Bettany), a tightly wound sophisticate languishing in a suffocating marriage to Madeleine (Olivia Williams), his radiant but emotionally frigid socialite wife. After the death of her father, Madeleine invites her bohemian artist sister, Dinah (Helena Bonham Carter), to come live with her and Rickie and their young son Anthony at their stodgy townhouse in London's Montagu Square.

From the outset, Rickie finds Dinah's uninhibited personality an intriguing respite from the monotone stagnation of his bedchamber. At a stuffy dinner party Dinah unenthusiastically announces that she is to marry. The news, in what passes as emotion in British cinema, registers a quiver of disapproval on Rickie's stiff upper lip.

Later that evening, Rickie privately tells Dinah to break off the engagement. She complies without hesitation, confirming the mutual unspoken pining she harbors for him. This of course leads to an illicit affair that not only jeopardizes Rickie's marriage but poses the threat of disgracing his reputation among the tweed-and-Tory circuit -- a far more damnable offense to the socially conscious eyes of Madeleine's priggish friends.

Though passionate, the dangerous liaison takes a toll on Rickie's ailing health. Their rapturous romance is dealt a crushing blow when Dinah becomes pregnant, but suffers a devastating miscarriage. Ecstasy spirals into despair, as the lovers become entangled in a web of deception and the ensuing war casts an ominous pall of death over their lives.

The film closes on reconciliation, but the hopeful optimism is somewhat muted by a revelation hinting that the death of one character may have been a suicide.

Though much of the narrative is fueled by the sexual infidelities, it is primarily a story about the two sisters' relationship, with Rickie serving as the emotional linchpin linking their disparate lives. And while the film's outer trappings categorize it as period piece, its fundamental moral sensibility -- or more accurately, amoral sensibility -- is surprisingly modern.

Regrettably, the filmmaker has chosen to create a world without any reference to religion or transcendent moral authority, where the only barometer for "right" or "wrong" seems to be social acceptability, represented by Madeleine's Victorian reserve, or subjective moral autonomy, represented by Dinah's nonconformist insouciance. In all fairness, the film neither condemns nor condones the characters' actions, but chooses to remain silently on the sidelines and abstains from passing judgment.

On a positive note, "The Heart of Me" speaks to audiences about the importance of forgiveness and how allowing resentment to fester can be emotionally self-destructive. The theme of forgiveness is poetically captured in the line from William Blake's elegy, "Broken Love" -- a verse which plays a pivotal role in the film -- "And throughout all eternity, I forgive you and you forgive me." To its credit, while refusing to censure the characters' licentiousness, the film does show that actions have consequences, that they demand accountability and that self-indulgence runs the risk of tragedy.

Due to several sexual encounters with nudity and an ambivalent attitude toward adultery, the USCCB Office for Film & Broadcasting classification is A-IV -- adults, with reservations. The Motion Picture Association of America rating is R - restricted.

Movies have been evaluated by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishop's Office for Film and Broadcasting according to artistic merit and moral suitability. The reviews include the USCCB rating, the Motion Picture Association of America rating, and a brief synopsis of the movie.

The classifications are as follows:

• A-I -- general patronage;
• A-II -- adults and adolescents;
• A-III -- adults;
• A-IV**
• L -- limited adult audience, films whose problematic content many adults would find troubling. L replaces the previous classification, A-IV.
• O -- morally offensive.