"My Uncle Oswald" provides four or five hours of effortless reading and some amusing scenes, mostly of the kind film makers have taught us to call soft porn—so soft, indeed, that at times they turn out almost fluffy.

The tone is that of a gentleman telling ribald anecdotes to his male guests after dinner. The leer is civilized; the biographical confections make clever use of lèse-majesté; the dialogue gets mean and raunchy, but the physical detail is kept decorous, except for the Proust encounter. Even that's offstage.