★★★☆☆

RUPERT Everett takes on the difficult task of writing, directing and starring in a biopic of one of the 19th century’s most famous, unique and troubled authors – Oscar Wilde. It’s a worthy, painterly effort that injects just enough heart to hold together the erratic and occasionally indulgent narrative.

Named for the 1888 story he intended for his children, the biopic takes an at once light-footed yet sobering look at the troubled final years of Ireland’s famous writer, a figure almost too towering for any one film to handle. Indeed there already has been one of note back in the late 90s starring Stephen Fry.

Everett’s retelling of Wilde’s later life sees the actor himself ham it up, chew the scenery, wittily spit it out from under obvious make-up and a fittingly affected manner of speaking. It’s a larger-than-life performance, caricaturish but winning, for a man who fit that description as much as anybody.

Everett’s directorial debut shifts in time as much as it does in tone but nominally it’s set in the very late 19th century leading up to his death. With the help of loyal friend Reggie Turner (Colin Firth), Wilde has been living incognito in a small Paris hotel under an assumed name following a stint in prison for “sodomy and gross indecency” – in other words for being an open and flamboyant gay man in polite Victorian society.

Things are further complicated when he receives a surprise visit from Lord Alfred “Bosie” Douglas (Colin Morgan), the man with whom his illicit affair led to his imprisonment. His family back in London, namely his wife Constance (Emily Watson), are outraged that he would once again take up with this much younger man; his continuing of the relationship causes him further emotional and financial hardship when his allowance is cut off.

The readings of the titular story, coupled with wistful musings and sorrowful recitations, leads the film to jump around and meander down alleyways that add spice but labours the point of the narrative.

You get the sense that Everett adores the real-life man, leading to a biopic that constantly threatens to lose its shape because he doesn’t want to tear the film away from merely revelling in his warts-and-all company, or from shoe-horning in his famous quotes at every turn.

Nevertheless there’s something charming and sincere about Everett’s dogged, visually handsome passion project about a clear personal hero, one that however misshapen the mould may be doesn’t fit into one that’s expected. If nothing else Everett showcases the importance of being earnest.