Most of this film is quite beautiful. The cinematography is excellent, and the mournful soundtrack can make one's heart ache--especially should those heartstrings be first lubricated with a nice glass of wine. If able to get past the subject matter, there is much in this film to admire.
That said, it's an evil film, particularly so because it does such an effective job of sugarcoating its theme. Like the book--which it seems IMO extremely faithful to, though I read the book as a college sophomore--it makes Humbert too sympathetic. His perversion is seen as less so because he lost an idyllic love at 14 and thus suffers from "arrested development," rather than being a pedophile. (I also recall Lolita as a year or two younger in the book.) And in the book, he was a serial offender, whereas here we see only his monogamous relationship with Lo.
The performances are all excellent, particularly Dominque Swain's, who could have very easily wrecked the film by being anything less than superb. Irons is good, too--does a lot of effective "eye" acting"--and even Melanie Griffith in a truly thankless role (who wants to reprise Shelly Winters?) has one of the best deathmask expressions I've ever seen.
The scene in which Humbert kills the playwright (played by Frank Langella) is woeful. I think it's supposed to be humorous, but it's on the level IMO of Helena Bonham Carter's death in Frankenstein.
An effective film, but not one you'll feel good after watching.
