John Schlesinger’s “Darling” (1965) will be undergoing a two-week revival at Film Forum on the occasion of its 60th anniversary. An international production and distribution company, StudioCanal, has overseen a 4-K restoration of the picture and, as such, the black-and-white cinematography of Kenneth Higgins will likely occasion huzzahs for its pewter-like patina. Schlesinger’s compositional strategies — often daring, sometimes ostentatious — are bound to gain in impact when seen on a big screen. That’s all to the good.

“Darling” did well at the box office back in the day, particularly here in the States, and racked up an impressive array of awards. Schlesinger lost out to Robert Wise as best director at the 38th Academy Awards — nothing could stem the juggernaut that was “The Sound of Music” — but the movie earned Oscars for Julie Harris’s costume design, Frederic Raphael’s original screenplay, and Julie Christie’s turn as the title character. 

Critics festooned Schlesinger’s movie with plaudits. Film societies from Moscow to Mexico chimed in with their laudatory two-cents, being especially generous to Ms. Christie. This was also the year that the actress appeared as Larissa Ameliava Antipova in David Lean’s “Dr. Zhivago.” Ms. Christie is likely better remembered for turn as the doctor’s true love than the flighty, self-absorbed, and rootless model, Diana Scott.

It might be worth mulling if Ms. Christie garnered the gold statuette less for “Darling” than for a memorable double-dip year because, let me tell you, Diana Scott is an appalling character. Unlikable or abhorrent dramatis personae need not stem the tide of a viewer’s engagement — our cultural heritage would be considerably slimmer without them — but when a protagonist’s failings are unredeemed by an aesthetic rationale, the cinematic row can be tough to hoe.

Which was likely the point of a movie that tries to score points by underlining social inequities — the arrogance of capital, say, or the legacy of colonialism — by centering it on a character who is neither Candide-like in her innocence or a tabula rasa, but, rather, an attention-deprived sounding board of inordinate loveliness. Ms. Christie brings a fair share of actorly flourishes to her performance, and Harris saw to it that she looked fabulous even when in a state of deshabille. 

Still, Diana Scott remains too much a coefficient of the filmmakers’ cynicism. Working in conjunction with Frederic Raphael, whose script is often sharp and funny, Schlesinger establishes a cynical tone from the opening titles — in which fashion signage is posted over photos of starving Africans — and doesn’t let up. Would that his ire were more consistently applied, veering, as it does, between sharp social commentary and boorish condescension. If Mr. Raphael’s screenplay depended on Diana Scott having human dimension, then Schlesinger’s hand pretty much quashed it.

“Darling” follows Diana through a 1960s picaresque that is to London what Jean Luc-Godard’s “Breathless” (1961) was to Paris and Federico Fellini’s “8-1/2” (1963) was to Rome. Fans of the picture commend its period portrait of Swinging London, but there’s less of Carnaby Street in Schlesinger’s picture than the “kitchen sink” realism of which he was a proponent. Diana’s husband, Tony (T.B. Bowen), is an immature yob; her lover, Robert (Dirk Bogarde), an intellectual of humble means. When she trades up for a jet-setting advertising executive, Miles Brand (Laurence Harvey), any hint of modishness is summarily placed in the rubbish bin.

Should the idea of two hours spent watching Ms. Christie pout, emote, and otherwise take on the guise of a brat sound tiresome, be aware that Bogarde and, especially, Harvey are in fine fettle. The former’s portrayal of a man broken by a raft of bad decisions is as moving as it is pathetic; the latter plays it to the hilt as a man whose charms are no less seductive for being reptilian. Whether their considerable efforts are worth a few hours of your time will depend on just how much jaundice a body can withstand.