[In the following excerpt, Kauffmann compares Valmont to Stephen Frears' Dangerous Liaisons, arguing that Valmont is the weaker of the two films.]

In less than a year since Dangerous Liaisons comes another film made from the Laclos novel. This one is called Valmont (Orion), after the leading male character; was directed by Milos Forman, whose last work was Amadeus; and was adapted from Laclos by Jean-Claude Carrière (with, uncredited, Forman). Carrière has had one of the most active of screenwriting careers since he began in 1961, a career especially famous for his many collaborations with Luis Buñuel and especially blotted by his collaboration with Peter Brook on the atrocious Swann in Love.

Here Carrière falters again. Valmont is called a free adaptation of Laclos. This is like calling Riunite a free adaptation of Mouton Rothschild. The time and milieu are unchanged in the film—late 18th century, French aristocrats—and so are some of the events. But there are radical alterations. I mention only two. Madame de Tourvel, the virtuous young wife who is seduced by Valmont solely because he has bet that he can do it, does not go mad and die: she is forgiven by her husband. Cécile, the virgin whom Valmont seduces en route to his main quarry, does not enter a nunnery: pregnant with Valmont's child, she marries her middle-aged fiancé.

After these changes and more, what is left? Only flouncy intrigues, after which Valmont—without the real punishment of falling in love with one of his victims—goes to his death in a duel self-sacrificially, as if nobly cleaning his slate. Dangerous Liaisons, which was adapted by Christopher Hampton for the screen better than he did it for the stage, moved toward Laclos's theme. Under the glitter, it's the Tolstoyan theme “God Sees the Truth but Waits.” To put it otherwise: in the social sphere, cruelty is the most expensive pleasure, and emotional exploitation is the most expensive cruelty.

In the earlier film, the aristocratic tone, essential for the vicious boredom in the work, was unfulfilled by an all-American cast. Here there's a range of accents from Fabia Drake's muffins-and-tea English accent as old Rosemonde to the flat heaven-knows-what accent of the inept sprat who plays Danceny, the youngest lover. It's hard to believe that all these people are living at the same time in the same class.

Colin Firth is more credible than John Malkovich as the irresistible lover, Valmont. Annette Bening as the diabolical Meurteuil, though she doesn't suggest the whir of Glenn Close's computer brain, is a sly and pretty viper. The best performance comes from Fairuza Balk, charming as Cécile, the initiate into love and into the intrigues thereof.

Miroslav Ondricek, the cinematographer who has been working with Forman since 1964 (in Czechoslovakia), delivers the requisite dazzle. The sound track nicely catches the rustle of the silks in Theodor Pistek's good costumes. But none of the visual qualities equals those in the prior film.

Forman says that he and Carrière were well into the screenplay when the earlier film was announced; that, knowing his tempo, he couldn't beat it to the theaters; that he kept on working because nobody told him not to. But he knew that he would have to compete, and it's not clear why he thought he could, what he thought he had to offer that, Laclos or not, would reward a viewer. In every way, the effort seems wasted.

Worse than that. Forman says he hasn't seen the other film, directed by Stephen Frears. Perhaps that's just as well. Frears directed with a more lithe and responsive line, making the movement of each scene fit the scene's intent. Valmont is the work of a director who has sometimes been clever, but not here.