Such indignities aside, Maurice is the ultimate fantasy role for the twilight O'Toole, who spends half the movie pitching woo and the other half reciting Shakespeare. It's never quite clear just how famous Maurice is meant to be; like most septuagenarian actors, he spends much of his screen time lying inert in hospital beds, and we never see anybody stop him in the street to request an autograph. He seems to have played most of the great roles in his day, though, and Jessie, riding to the set with him in a stretch limo and watching him work, seems duly impressed. That doesn't stop her from bringing her age-appropriate boyfriend 'round to his flat for a quick shag, but her features remain hard and opaque with this anonymous bloke. In Maurice's tender presence, they soften and shine.
Unlike the relationship in The Mother, this one never actually becomes carnal. But while Michell and Kureishi clearly intended to depict a less-than-healthy adventure in mutual exploitation (with a happy ending), what we actually get is something closer to puppy love, minus the awkward fumbling that makes that sort of thing charming rather than tedious. O'Toole and Whittaker do solid work, but Venus tastefully ducks the fervid emotions suggested by its title. With so little at stake, the film can't help but come across as something of an actors' showcase—one last shot at the lovely bugger. It's a film that tells us only that a man as intelligent and gifted as Peter O'Toole still requires validation from the people who thought Crash was last year's best picture.