The character portrayed in this film is an evenly balanced, thoughtful, and sensitive young man, not the tempestuous, feverish, burn-the-candle-at-both-ends figure I've come to believe John Keats was. Perhaps it's my lack of biographical knowledge that takes me by surprise me in this portrayal...
I almost forget that in days gone by, the word, spoken and written, was so cherished. It seems that people loved to gather in the evening after dinner to recite poetry, speeches, verses, as well as perform music or theatrical tidbits. I get it. There was no radio, television, or internet. The word was everything. Letters were the windows to the soul and far away places.
Today words are everywhere. Perhaps they are like tourist sights to those who are local residents. They are there, but in the course of the daily routine, are part of the background, noticed but not truly seen.
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