I remember sitting in a half-empty theater back in 2014, watching Clive Owen stumble through a prep school hallway with a bottle of vodka tucked into his coat. It was the first time I'd seen the Words and Pictures movie, and honestly, I didn't expect much. Most mid-budget adult dramas about teachers are either saccharine "O Captain! My Captain!" clones or bleak exercises in misery. But this one? It felt different. It felt prickly.
It’s been over a decade since Fred Schepisi brought this story to the screen. You’ve got Clive Owen as Jack Marcus, a brilliant but fading writer battling the bottle, and Juliette Binoche as Dina Delsanto, an abstract painter struggling with rheumatoid arthritis. They’re both teaching at a posh New England prep school. They’re both miserable in their own specialized ways. And then, they start a war.
The War Between the Pen and the Brush
The central conceit of the Words and Pictures movie is a school-wide competition. Jack argues that words are the ultimate vessel for human thought; Dina counters that images capture the truth that words merely dance around.
It’s a bit of a gimmick, sure. But in the hands of Owen and Binoche, it becomes something more visceral. Jack is a man who uses language as a shield. He’s the kind of guy who corrects your grammar while his life is literally falling apart around him. He’s facing a performance review because his literary magazine is dying and his drinking is no longer a "charming quirk" but a professional liability.
Dina is his polar opposite. She was a star in the New York art world before her body betrayed her. Now, she uses a wheelchair and specialized tools just to get paint onto a canvas. She doesn't have time for Jack’s word games because she’s fighting for every inch of her creative life. When they clash, it’s not just a debate. It’s a collision of two people who are terrified of being irrelevant.
Real Art, Real Struggles
One of the coolest things about this film—and something most people miss—is that Juliette Binoche actually painted the works seen in the movie.
That’s not a stunt. She’s a legitimate artist. When you see her character, Dina, struggling to manipulate a brush or using a floor-based technique to compensate for her joint pain, those aren't just "acting" choices. Binoche worked with professional artists and consultants to understand how rheumatoid arthritis (RA) changes the physical mechanics of painting. It adds a layer of authenticity that saves the film from becoming a Lifetime-movie-of-the-week.
Jack’s struggle is less physical but equally ugly. Alcoholism in movies is often glamorized or solved with a quick montage. Not here. Owen plays Jack with a desperate, sweaty edge. He’s mean. He’s manipulative. He uses his wit to belittle students and colleagues alike. You don't necessarily "like" him for most of the runtime, and that’s a bold choice for a romantic lead.
Why the Script Actually Matters
Gerald Di Pego wrote the screenplay, and you can tell he has a deep-seated love for the English language. The dialogue is dense. It’s fast. It’s the kind of writing that expects the audience to keep up.
There’s a scene where Jack is trying to explain the power of a single word to his students, and he’s not just teaching; he’s pleading. He wants them to see that if they lose their grip on language, they lose their grip on their own identities. In an era of 280-character thoughts and emoji-heavy communication, that message feels even more urgent today than it did in 2014.
But let’s talk about the "Pictures" side.
The film challenges the idea that images are just "decorations." It argues that a single frame, a single stroke of color, can communicate a trauma or a joy that a thousand-page novel couldn't touch. The "war" between the two departments becomes a way for the students to actually engage with the world. They stop looking at their phones and start looking at the texture of the world around them.
The Problem with the Ending (Maybe)
If I have one gripe—and honestly, most critics agreed back then—it’s the tonal shift toward the end. The Words and Pictures movie spends eighty percent of its time being a sharp, cynical look at aging and disability. Then, the third act kicks in, and it leans a little too hard into the "inspirational" tropes.
We get the big assembly. We get the "winner" of the war. We get the resolution that feels just a bit too tidy for two people who have such deep-seated trauma. Jack’s alcoholism isn't "cured" by a pretty painting, and Dina’s RA isn't going away. The movie tries to give us a happy ending when a "hopeful but messy" one might have fit better.
Still, the chemistry between the leads saves it. Owen and Binoche have this crackling, intellectual eroticism that you rarely see in modern cinema. They aren't falling in love because they're pretty (though they are); they’re falling in love because they’ve finally found someone who can hit back just as hard in an argument.
Behind the Scenes: The Directorial Touch
Fred Schepisi, the director, is a veteran. He did Roxanne and Six Degrees of Separation. He knows how to film people talking in rooms without it feeling like a filmed play.
He uses the New England setting perfectly. The cold, crisp air of the campus mirrors the isolation both characters feel. The school itself—filmed largely at St. George's School in Vancouver, which doubled for Maine—feels like a pressure cooker. It’s a place where "excellence" is a requirement, making the flaws of the protagonists stand out even more.
The cinematography by Ian Baker (a long-time Schepisi collaborator) moves between the sharp, clinical lines of the school and the messy, chaotic splashes of Dina’s studio. It visually reinforces the "Words vs. Pictures" theme without hitting you over the head with it.
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A Masterclass in Acting
Clive Owen doesn't get enough credit for his range. Most people know him from Children of Men or Sin City, where he’s the stoic tough guy. In the Words and Pictures movie, he’s vulnerable. He’s pathetic. He’s brilliant. Watching him try to maintain his dignity while his hands shake is heartbreaking.
And Binoche? She’s a force of nature. She manages to convey the frustration of a master technician who can no longer control her tools. There’s a specific scene where she’s trying to open a jar, and the sheer rage in her eyes tells you more about her character than any monologue ever could.
How to Watch It Today
If you’re looking to catch up on this gem, it’s usually floating around on various streaming platforms like Amazon Prime or Hoopla. It’s the perfect Sunday afternoon movie—the kind that makes you want to go buy a fountain pen or a set of watercolors immediately after the credits roll.
Key Takeaways for the Aspiring Creative
- Art is a fight. Whether you’re writing or painting, it’s not supposed to be easy. If it’s easy, you’re probably not doing it right.
- Vulnerability is a strength. Both Jack and Dina only start to heal when they stop pretending they have it all together.
- The medium doesn't matter. Whether you use words or pictures, the goal is the same: to make someone else feel something.
The Words and Pictures movie isn't a perfect film, but it’s an honest one. It treats its audience like adults. It assumes you know who Sylvia Plath is. It assumes you care about the difference between a metaphor and a simile. In a landscape of "content" that’s designed to be scrolled past, this is a movie that demands you sit down and pay attention.
Go find a copy. Watch it for the performances. Stay for the debate. Even if you don't care about art or literature, you'll care about Jack and Dina. You might even find yourself picking a side in their war.
Actionable Next Steps:
- Host a Debate: If you’re a teacher or a student, recreate the "Words vs. Pictures" challenge in your own circle. It’s a fantastic exercise in critical thinking.
- Explore Juliette Binoche’s Art: Look up her actual paintings. They provide a fascinating context to her performance in the film.
- Audit Your Own Creative Output: Are you leaning too heavily on one medium? If you’re a writer, try sketching. If you’re a visual artist, try journaling. Breaking your routine is how you grow.
- Check the Soundtrack: Paul Grabowsky’s score is subtle but effective; it’s worth a dedicated listen on Spotify to see how he weaves the two themes together.