“Oscar and Lucinda.” Directed by Gillian Armstrong. Written by Laura Jones from the novel by Peter Carey. Running time: 133 minutes. Rated R (for brief violence and adult content). Nightly, March 30-April 2, Railroad Square Cinema, Waterville.

Gillian Armstrong’s “Oscar and Lucinda” is a delightfully quirky film firmly rooted in Victorian repression, that rather damp, tight-as-a-corset period that has been depicted time and again in film with some generally favorable results.

Armstrong’s film is no exception. By mixing the unlikely elements of love, glass, gambling and religion into a great big Australian goblet, she has forged a complex film rich in humanity and passion, wit and tragedy — qualities that lift it into the realm of art.

Faithfully adapted by Laura Jones from Peter Carey’s 1988 Booker Prize-winning novel, “Oscar and Lucinda” is a film driven by characters driven by their addiction to gambling.

Shy, pluckish Oscar (Ralph Fiennes) is an Anglican minister desperately trying to reconcile his religious vocation with his addiction to betting on horses; he is a timid man who feels most fully alive when doing the very thing he feels most guilty about — gambling.

Lucinda (Cate Blanchett), his bold, fiercely independent counterpart, is a woman of impressive financial means who looks gentle enough on the surface, but who exposes herself as a shark when it comes to playing cards. Destined to meet, they find one another on an ocean voyage from England to Australia. Sparks fly. Soul mates in their addiction, they promptly and hungrily launch into a game of cards in her stateroom. Stakes mount. Desperate to up the ante, they settle on their greatest wager of all over lunch in Australia.

Lucinda, who owns a glass factory, will build a crystal palace of a church for Oscar to deliver to her friend, the Rev. Hasset (Ciaran Hinds), in New South Wales, which is miles from Sydney and almost unreachable by land. Still, can Oscar reach it by land?

Sealed with a handshake, their wager unwittingly proves to forever change their lives in ways that will remind some audiences of the climactic moment in “Titanic,” but with an unforgettable, spiritual twist.

“Oscar and Lucinda” is an offbeat film that delights in exposing the ridiculousness of the Victorian era. It rewards with clever dialogue, a rich, luxuriant look and excellent performances from Fiennes and from Blanchett.

But it is Armstrong, who directed 1994’s “Little Women,” 1979’s “My Brilliant Career” and 1993’s “The Last Days of Chez Nous,” who deserves final mention. Already known for bringing strong female characters to screen, her greatest accomplishment thus far may be in this film: Armstrong has captured a pious society caught in the throes of social and moral change — no small feat when you consider the changes afoot at the turn of the century. Don’t miss this.

Grade: A

Video of the Week

“The Edge.” Directed by Lee Tamahori. Written by David Mamet. Running time: 118 minutes. Rated R (for language, violence, gore).

When billionaire Charles Morse (Anthony Hopkins) flies into the Alaskan wilderness with his supermodel wife, Mickey (Elle Macphereson), her fashion photographer, Robert (Alec Baldwin), and Robert’s assistant, Stephen (Harold Perrineau), for a photo shoot set against some stunning scenery, the three men eventually leave Mickey behind to go in search of an American Indian hunter lodged deep within the Alaskan woods.

Big mistake. Morse’s private plane sails into a flock of geese, crashes into an icy lake and rapidly sinks in a thrilling scene that leaves the pilot dead and the three men left to fend for themselves in a remote land inhabited by grizzly bears.

Written by Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright David Mamet (“Glengarry Glen Ross”) and directed by Lee Tamahori (“Once Were Warriors”), “The Edge” is a great-looking film that offers some genuine bite, but no surprises. Within 20 minutes, the plot is revealed in a bizarre blueprint of dialogue that maps out precisely what will happen in the next 98 minutes. We know Morse’s plane will slam into that unfortunate flock of geese, we know these men will be stranded in the midst of the Alaskan wilds, and we know they will be attacked by a cunning grizzly bear. So, why see the film? Because, in spite of its shortcomings, it’s not bad entertainment. It uses Mamet’s cutting dialogue to maximum effect, and Tamahori is smart enough to get the most out of the film’s real star — not Hopkins or Baldwin, but Bart the Bear, whose performance as Gentle Ben on crack is haunting. See this one on an empty stomach.

Grade: C

Christopher Smith, a writer and critic who lives in Brewer, reviews films each Monday in the NEWS.