What does one make of a truly strong plot? The power of Mr. Ripley lies in him being one of the most chilling characters in literature. The way a man can camouflage a life is the intimate core of it—he is intelligent, entirely methodical in the way he engineers his plans, a pathological liar, a sociopath, a psychopath, and a megalomaniac, with latent homosexual tendencies and a constant drive to transcend himself. He is not content with being merely a man; he wants wealth for himself, he wants the good life, beautiful women—but that very desire turns him into the worst that the West can produce.
Indelible reasons, for anyone.
Patricia was remarkably precise in crafting the character; the fact that you end up liking him in some way is simply part of the mastery behind creating a villain. She makes him amusing, elegant, and charming. A man who craves art and the pleasures of a romantic life is the very mask he uses to blend into society.
In contrast, Matt does a great job, though when placed beside Dickie, he leaves certain things unresolved, because Dickie is utterly radiant. The way he ends up living other people's lives became a defining trait in cinema many great stories have been built upon that idea.
It fulfills every condition expected of a great book when self-censorship is cast aside.
--So they had threesomes. -- Monica remarked. It was night, fireworks bursting overhead, and it was truly something—the two women had drunk far too much wine. Unlike Gwyneth, Monica drank wine as if it were water; she had been drinking since she was twelve, when her father first gave her some at a New Year's celebration. She drank without restraint, and Monica could finish two or three bottles without blinking, while the blonde lost her rhythm after the first.
--Ahaha, what are you talking about? -- Heat rose to her cheeks, leaving her stunned. She had no words, and it showed.
--The bare minimum, at the very least. It would be nice, you know, to have that beautiful memory our bodies entangled, letting heaven or time take its chance. -- Monica replied slowly, teasing. Ever since she began working with models, she had come to understand the mechanics of seductive power in business, always brushing against that final edge—what others could never quite reach. It was her way of captivating people with a glance, leaving some completely speechless.
--I… I don't know. I think I've had some kind of relationship, but never anything that scandalous. -- she whispered, almost like a faint cry. Even with Leonardo's rebellious streak, nothing had gone beyond a few kisses.
--It's a joke, darling. -- Monica said, taking a long sip from her glass of wine. She lingered on Gwyneth's lips with her gaze bold, seductive so much so that Matt swallowed hard, nearly choking on his drink. At first, he had wanted a romance with Gwyneth, but Monica was on another level entirely, the kind of woman who made you sigh like a thirteen-year-old boy falling for his theater teacher.
--In ten to fifteen days. -- Gwyneth replied.
--What do you mean, dear? -- Monica asked.
Gwyneth blushed; she was completely drawn in. She felt as though she were hanging by a thread, her mind and tongue frozen in an intimidating stillness. Matt kept drinking to disguise it. Billy was speaking with the director about something unknown, but the air at the table had risen several degrees—she needed air, and Gwyneth needed to breathe.
--I… I think Matt wants to dance.-- Gwyneth said, struggling through it. How difficult it could be, how indifferent it could feel when the fire reawakened something long buried.
…
By morning, once the entire project had left him exhausted, Billy sought only the comfort of his small house in the village. Enough to unwind, to sleep as long as he wished, and to feel Monica's warmth. What a fine arrangement, what a good story—it was like playing dead every now and then.
--A fine prosciutto, wrapped in spinach and cheese. -- Monica said as she entered the room, carrying a tray of food and a large jug of coffee on a serving cart. Billy tried to shake off his laziness, but his eyes refused to focus. He was completely drained, longing for a full month of rest, far from the responsibilities that pressed on him again and again.
--Smells good. -- Billy commented, taking a sip of coffee.
--Tastes even better, with a few drops of lemon and some chickpea paste. -- Monica replied. There was a tradition of heating it until firm, then serving it in a rich soup thickened with potatoes. The prosciutto was added with herbs, giving it an entirely different flavor.
--I really like that tortellini recipe you make. -- Billy whispered, thinking of how it was used in this region.
--Well, we'll have plenty of time. I know you're very American—I bought plenty of bread, eggs, bagels, and a bit of jam, so you won't miss home, so you can stay as long as I'd like you to. -- Monica replied, smiling now. She used her hands to feed him; they had been together for a week, and their feelings were beginning to bloom intensely—clear symptoms of having been apart.
--I have the script. We need to read it; by January, we'll begin work. -- she whispered, lifting two thick scripts, heavy enough that holding even one was a strain. The film was perhaps twenty to thirty points larger than expected, but being an independent production, many scenes would be shot from perspectives that did not require Billy, reducing his workload.
Unexpected as it was, the film told the story of an Irish sailor who, upon taking a job aboard a yacht under the command of a woman's husband—a disabled man dominated by his wife—finds himself entangled in a world where beauty becomes threatening and dangerously idealized.
It would first be shot in Paris, set in a time before any war. Voice-over would be entirely removed, focusing instead on dialogue—especially the language of love. She sits in a carriage by the pier, watched by sailors, and there stands Billy—a young sailor, owner of a fishing boat inherited from his father. Rough as he was, Billy embodied a hardened seaman, a man who despised anyone wielding authority over him. Yet that did not make him less compelling; he was a man driven by passion.
--It's a good film. -- Billy said, considering what it needed. First, he would shape Monica's character as a woman to whom the world bowed, and Billy, who celebrates the death of his father, lost in a storm. She is married to a nobleman of the era, an invalid, and he enters her world as part of the crew, set in the striking year of 1906, when industry was rising, and a man's conduct was something altogether different.
From that foundation,
Everything seemed beautifully timed, quietly resistant to the life of that era—yet blooming with undeniable force.