A more resplendant James Joyce lives forever on the pages of his own books, and serious essays and expose’ and even some of that upon the lingered canvas of his lovely fiction. A little known fact, which that a film which suggests that James Joyce had a major love interest. Although she seemed dark, dull and boring, of course the unseeming subject Nora who served the passion of the flesh, really helps you to understand that real alive life, and a brand new life always a failure before, during and after a building perched on the sand of time which runs more thin than the often of a couple whose love hoped to endure. A terrible flirt who only plays him, and tears at the heartstrings of the master Irish writer, Joyce watches from a stage on one eve. His partner of lust alone stares back at him, another date already nibbling on her ear. While some men may find this a fascination, Joyce or the actor who played him during the film reveals how very painful, and what a distinct waste of human or heavenly time all of this is. Embarrassed by his own self, according to this film, but a real life Joyce does a more historical sustain as opposed to an overage of mock shown by each fold of scenario here. The lighting aspect of the film, a consistent darkened image, so sad and other world, everywhere the two lovers stroll one senses no real love at all. As the film seems to say that Joyce wandered around on the streets of Dublin senseless and consumed, James Joyce, the real man likely consumed his hours writing and thinking more about the craft and the words for all of that. That he feared living where he was for fear of murder of having an ongoing affair, Nora and Joyce relocate. After taking a train elsewhere, he assures his fawning mistress of his care for her. In the meantime, she composes love letters of kindness, not passion to him. “I’ve had enough Jim. I just want to go home,” she tells him one day. The somewhat homely woman, and no raving beauty also lets him know that following him from one hole to the next seems to be going nowhere. And other things about her secret personality seem more crude and flower of the moment than patient & long-suffering and kind. A strange entrance into the supposed gate of love, the mistress does show promise for a return to the theater, and as she socializes on the edges of the private writing group of Joyce, the story rest on an insinuation that the puff-lipped girl does only lounge about herself, and cares even less about him than his friends. “How can I love him when I don’t understand half of what he says to me,” complains Nora to a neighbor, and yet the foreign place where they abode does not speak the language they do either. In the meantime, just as the practice despite the pre-Victorian and turn-of-the-century life of the day, Nora hangs all of her petticoats upon a clothesline outside of the villa Joyce rents for she and he. They all seem to start fitting in with each other and despite Nora giving birth to a new child, only months before during her pregnancy she thought about leaving him. Parts of the film teeter from between surrealism, and yet the primary focus of the Irish thematic moving picture does deliver what is hoped, and a rather rich slice of historic pie. Silent distopia of loneliness and sadness and all of the life things which happen between, as if to fill in all of the other missing details about the love life or lack of it of James Joyce, Italian films play at the movie picture house. It seems that despite Joyce clothing Nora and nothing but the best of finery, she continues to bring fathom to each table of the man. Ingratitude, displeasure, and mal-content though seem eminent for her. It seems that peace, calm and prosperity weigh on Nora, as she ever plots and plans to go elsewhere.