Rain. It’s the first thing you remember about Neil Jordan’s 1999 adaptation of Graham Greene’s novel. Not just a light drizzle, but that heavy, grey, oppressive London downpour that seems to soak right into the celluloid. The End of the Affair the movie isn't exactly a feel-good romp. Honestly, it’s a brutal, beautiful, and deeply frustrating look at how love, jealousy, and God can absolutely wreck a person’s life.
If you’ve seen it, you know. If you haven't, you've probably at least seen the poster of Ralph Fiennes and Julianne Moore looking miserable in the fog. It’s a period piece, sure, but it feels more like a noir thriller where the "crime" is just catching feelings for the wrong person at the wrong time.
The Setup: A Threesome with the Almighty
The plot is deceptively simple. Maurice Bendrix (Fiennes) is a writer. He starts an affair with Sarah Miles (Moore), who is married to Henry (Stephen Rea), a man so dull he’s basically a piece of office furniture. But then, during the London Blitz, a bomb blasts Bendrix into unconsciousness. Sarah prays for his life, promising God she'll stop seeing him if he lives. He wakes up. She walks out.
That’s where the real story starts. It’s a "detective" story where the private eye, played by the wonderful Ian Hart, is hired to track a woman who isn't even hiding—she’s just trying to keep a supernatural contract.
Greene was a Catholic, and he obsessed over the "appalling strangeness of the mercy of God." Jordan captures this by making the deity the "other man" in the relationship. It's weird. It’s visceral. It makes the movie feel less like a romance and more like a theological wrestling match.
Why Ralph Fiennes is the King of Misery
Let’s talk about Bendrix. He is, frankly, a jerk. He’s possessive, bitter, and fueled by a kind of toxic insecurity that feels uncomfortably modern. Fiennes plays him with this sharp, jagged edge. You want to root for him because he’s the protagonist, but then he opens his mouth and says something devastatingly cruel to the woman he supposedly loves.
It’s a masterclass in "unlikable" protagonists. Most movies today try to make their leads "relatable." Bendrix isn't relatable; he’s a warning. He represents that specific kind of male ego that would rather see a woman unhappy than see her belong to anyone else—even if that "anyone else" is a divine entity.
Julianne Moore, on the other hand, has to do the heavy lifting of the "saintly" role. It’s a tough gig. Playing a woman who chooses a silent God over a living, breathing Ralph Fiennes requires a level of internal conflict that most actors would overplay. She keeps it quiet. Her Sarah is a woman being slowly eroded by her own integrity.
The 1955 vs. 1999 Comparison
Most people forget there was an earlier version. In 1955, Edward Dmytryk directed a version starring Van Johnson and Deborah Kerr. It’s fine. It’s polite. It’s very... mid-century. But it lacks the sweat and the sin of the 1999 version.
Jordan’s film understands that for the religious themes to work, the physical passion has to feel real. You have to believe these two people would risk everything for a few hours in a rented room. The 1999 version doesn't shy away from the carnality, which makes the eventual sacrifice feel like an actual loss rather than a plot point.
Roger Pratt’s Cinematography and the "Look" of Sadness
The movie looks like a bruised plum. Purples, deep browns, and that persistent, watery grey. Roger Pratt, who also shot Batman and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, treats the London streets like a character.
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The framing is often tight, claustrophobic. You feel trapped in those hallways with them. When the camera finally pulls back, it’s usually to show the devastation of a bombed-out building, a reminder that their personal drama is happening against the backdrop of a world literally falling apart.
The "Miracle" Problem
One of the biggest hurdles for modern audiences watching The End of the Affair the movie is the miraculous element. Without spoiling the ending for the three people who haven't seen it, the film suggests that Sarah’s prayers actually have physical power.
Some critics, like the late Roger Ebert, found this a bit hard to swallow. It shifts the movie from a psychological drama into something else. But if you view it through the lens of Greene’s "Greeneland"—that specific mental landscape where sin and sanctity are two sides of the same coin—it works. It’s not a movie about whether God exists; it’s a movie about what happens to people who believe He does.
Michael Nyman’s Score: The Heartbeat of the Film
You cannot talk about this film without mentioning Michael Nyman. If you think you haven't heard the score, you probably have—it's been used in a dozen trailers since. It’s repetitive, cyclical, and deeply romantic. It mimics the obsessive nature of Bendrix’s mind. It loops and swells, never really finding a resolution, much like the affair itself.
It’s the kind of music that makes you feel nostalgic for a heartbreak you haven't even had yet.
What People Get Wrong About the Ending
People often walk away thinking it’s a tragedy about a woman who was forced to give up her lover. But that’s a surface-level take.
Honestly, the real tragedy is Bendrix’s inability to accept grace. Even at the very end, he’s still fighting. He’s still angry. He’s the "professional hater" of the literary world. The movie isn't just about the end of a relationship; it's about the beginning of a haunting.
Real-World Impact and Legacy
Neil Jordan was coming off the massive success of The Crying Game and Interview with the Vampire. This was a "prestige" project that actually delivered. It landed several Oscar nominations, including Best Actress for Moore.
While it didn't set the box office on fire—sad movies about dead Catholics rarely do—it has lived on as a "filmmaker's film." It’s taught in screenwriting classes for its non-linear structure. It jumps through time using Bendrix’s diary as a loom, weaving 1939, 1944, and 1946 together until the timeline becomes irrelevant. Only the feeling remains.
Nuance and Criticism
Is it perfect? No. Some find the pacing leaden. Others think the "detective" subplot with Parkis (the private investigator) feels like it belongs in a different movie. Parkis and his young son provide a strange, almost Dickensian comic relief that can be jarring against the backdrop of Fiennes’ brooding.
But that’s Greene. He always mixed the grotesque with the sublime.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Rewatch
If you’re planning to revisit this classic or watch it for the first time, keep these things in mind to get the most out of the experience:
- Watch the Mirroring: Pay attention to how many scenes involve characters looking through windows or into mirrors. It’s a deliberate choice by Jordan to highlight the theme of "watching" and being "watched" (by lovers, by investigators, by God).
- Listen to the Silence: In the scenes between Sarah and Henry, notice the lack of ambient noise. It emphasizes the "deadness" of their marriage compared to the loud, chaotic world Sarah shares with Bendrix.
- Read the Book First (or After): Greene’s prose is sparse. Jordan adds a lot of visual "fluff" that isn't in the text, but the core dialogue is often lifted straight from the pages. Comparing the two is a great exercise in how to adapt "unfilmable" internal monologues.
- Check the Color Palette: Notice how the colors shift from the warm, golden hues of the early affair to the cold, sterile blues of the post-war period. It’s a subtle way of showing how the life has been sucked out of the world.
- Don't Look for a Hero: You won't find one. Every character is flawed, selfish, or broken. Accept that, and the movie becomes a lot more rewarding.
The End of the Affair the movie remains a staple of 90s cinema because it refuses to give easy answers. It’s a film that stays with you, like a damp chill you can't quite shake off. It reminds us that sometimes, the things we lose are the only things we ever truly own.