Set Fire to the Stars

“A stranger has come / To share my room in the house not right in the head / A girl mad as birds”

This open­ing verse from Dylan Thomas’ ​‘Love in the Asy­lum’ – from which the film takes its title – per­fect­ly encap­su­lates the man­ic, roman­tic tone of first-time direc­tor Andy Goddard’s affec­tion­ate por­trait of the late Welsh poet. Described here as ​“the purist lyri­cal poet in the Eng­lish-speak­ing world”, Thomas was also a renowned hell-rais­er with a his­to­ry of alco­holism. His dis­rup­tive behav­iour was none more evi­dent than in the win­ter of 1950, when a poet­ry pro­fes­sor and soon-to-be hap­less tour man­ag­er named John Mal­colm Brin­nin (Eli­jah Wood) brought Thomas to Amer­i­ca for a lucra­tive Ivy League cam­pus read­ing tour, begin­ning in New York City.

Eschew­ing a con­ven­tion­al biopic struc­ture, Set Fire to the Stars art­ful­ly drama­tis­es a stormy episode in the life of this undoubt­ed­ly bril­liant yet deeply trou­bled lit­er­ary icon. Shot in sump­tu­ous mono­chrome by cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Chris Sea­ger, the film is ini­tial­ly played out in a nev­er-meet-your-heroes sce­nario, as Brin­nin strug­gles to keep a check on his unruly idol, who appears set on tak­ing full advan­tage of his host’s hos­pi­tal­i­ty. But things soon take a sober­ing turn, as the men­tal and phys­i­cal health prob­lems that would con­tribute to Thomas’ death three years lat­er are exposed.

With both the tour and his pro­fes­sion­al rep­u­ta­tion on the line, Brin­nin whisks Thomas off to a remote cab­in in Con­necti­cut (north Wales stand­ing in for New Eng­land) in a bid to remove him from temp­ta­tion. It’s here Thomas’ demons man­i­fest them­selves in the form of a let­ter from his wife (Kel­ly Reil­ly) which, much to Brinnin’s ire, he is deter­mined not to open. This pres­sure-cook­er set­ting brings out the best and worst in both men, yet despite their rela­tion­ship being pushed to break­ing point the dra­ma lacks a prop­er emo­tion­al punch.

This is the kind of self-destruc­tive genius part Antho­ny Hop­kins would have rel­ished in his younger prime, but to that end Celyn Jones (who co-wrote the script with God­dard), a dead ringer for Thomas, is aston­ish­ing­ly good here. So too Wood, who match­es Jones blow-for-blow while keep­ing the film ground­ed in its more con­trived moments, name­ly the scene where Thomas invites a pro­to-Beat cou­ple (Shirley Hen­der­son and Kevin Eldon) to join Brin­nin and him for a booze-and-sto­ry-shar­ing din­ner party.

Though it fails to ele­vate Thomas’ prose and choos­es to rein­force rather than demys­ti­fy his uncouth, uncon­trol­lable per­sona — you sense God­dard is rather in love with the leg­end — this is a smart, styl­ish film with strong per­for­mances all round and a tidy jazz-infused score from Super Fur­ry Ani­mals front­man Gruff Rhys.