The Happy Prince

There are obvious parallels between Irish playwright Oscar Wilde and his title character in The Happy Prince, which lends an appropriate name to a new biopic of the disgraced writer’s final years.

The film marks an ambitious directorial debut for actor Rupert Everett, who even undergoes a dramatic physical transformation to star in this uneven glimpse into a 19th century celebrity downfall.

It begins in 1897, after Wilde’s homosexuality scandal, two-year prison stint, and subsequent exile to France and Italy. Claiming to be a born-again Christian, he finds himself drawn back to his old acquaintances and habits out of emotional and financial desperation.

From there, flashbacks fill in some of the gaps, including Wilde’s relationship with colleague Reggie Turner (Colin Firth), his flirtations with Lord Alfred Douglas (Colin Morgan) and with his manager (Edwin Thomas), and his clumsy attempts to reconcile with his beleaguered wife (Emily Watson).

Once one of the most famous writers in England, as the opening titles remind us, the Wilde seen here is forlorn and destitute, consumed by his own vices (drugs and alcohol, for starters) and subject to relentless public ridicule. “I am my own Judas,” he laments to his dwindling circle of friends.

The film provides a different depiction of Wilde than we’ve seen on screen previously, and it’s hardly a flattering portrait, showing him as a sad and broken man whose days of fame and fortune are in the past. Incidentally, the titular short story happened to be one of Wilde’s first published works.

Everett is an obvious fan of Wilde’s way with words, and why not? He provided great material for any screenwriter, even in his darker and less prolific days. The script includes subtext about sexual oppression and socioeconomic disparities of the era, but doesn’t sufficiently develop the supporting characters.

Just as the disjointed structure could benefit from a tighter focus, the fragmented storytelling presents an obstacle to emotional depth. Then again, generating sympathy is a challenge with such consistently downbeat material — even as Everett lightens the mood with some occasional witty and sardonic banter. We feel pity more than anything else.

In many ways, it’s a commendable passion project that largely eschews vanity and glamour, even if Wilde’s life ultimately feels less compelling than his work.

Rated R, 105 minutes.