2 hrs & 37 min each, color, 2012
“Les Miserables,” the 1862
novel by Victor Hugo, is not only a very old and venerated work, but it has
been adapted into live action motion picture form no less than fifty-five
times, beginning with the earliest flickering, crude silent versions and ending
over a century later with this current behemoth
derived from the blockbuster Broadway production. It has seen animated representation no less
than nine times. This is the fourth
adaptation that I have viewed, the first three being the 1935 version with
Fredric March and Charles Laughton, a 1978 treatment featuring Richard Jordan
and Anthony Perkins, and a 1998 depiction that co-starred Liam Neeson and Geoffrey
Rush. I would recommend any one of those
three over this inflated, sometimes tiresome, interminable opera on film.
In all fairness I must
commend the major performances. No
better casting is conceivable than that of Hugh Jackman in the lead role of
Jean Valjean, a Frenchman during the late 18th and early 19th
centuries sentenced to serve two decades of his life at hard labor for the
“crime” of stealing a loaf of bread to feed his starving family and pursued
over many years after his release by a French police officer named Javert, who
is obsessed with capturing him, after he jumps parole and tries to create a new
life with a new identity. Especially
powerful is the work of Ann Hathaway as an abused, socially disgraced and
terminally ill young woman rescued from the gutter by Valjean, whose daughter
he vows to raise as his own. Russell
Crowe does a yeomanly piece of work as Javert .
And some of the libretto is deeply moving, thanks to the work of a team
of writers, headed by William Nicholson and Alain Boubil, and Tom Hooper’s
direction. But the total affair brings
ultimately to my mind the old saw about “too much of a good thing” that turns
to glut. There is much too much
elaboration in the lyrics. How many
words does it take to express a brokenness of heart or a consuming despair or a
blazing romantic passion? I do not think
that even Verdi or Wagner would have been this indulgent. The story could have been told, as it has
before, in half the time and lost nothing of import or consequence, even with
the use of an operatic format. And most
disappointing of all to me is the way it revolves between the sublime and the
ridiculous. The ending is the most
conspicuous case in point for the ridiculous.
If they were not going to
settle for less than two and a half hours, they could have at least graced us
with an intermission.
For the first time in my
blogging, I must state unequivocally that I have seen a much anticipated motion
picture that I wish I had not viewed at all.
“Zero Dark Thirty” is for me a completely decadent and wasteful
treatment of a recent international event – the killing of Yosama ben Laden by
Allied forces just a few years back.
Other than Jessica Chastain’s dynamic acting, I have nothing good to say
about it. I found not a shred of
redeeming value in its content. History,
past or current, has never been more distorted on the screen. An earnest documentary about the event and
what led up to it would have been much more worthy of our time. But we have a narrative in which none of the
actual individuals who took part in it are ever mentioned or portrayed. Everybody is a fictional creation. It is virtually an original screenplay. The whole impetus of the story as told is the
unconscionable bloodlust of a woman who supposedly guided the operation. In fact the film is a monument to hateful,
cruel and vicious retribution. Not only
is torture portrayed in explicit detail beyond the limits of taste but it is
given a place in the scheme of things that defies common sense.
It breaks my heart to have to
be reminded that this ugly spectacle of savagery was made under the directorial
hand of Kathryn Bigelow, who just a few years ago gave us “The Hurt Locker,” a
sensitive and emotionally penetrating movie about modern warfare in the Middle
East. That one is quite disturbing but
it opens the hearts of the combatants it portrays. It appeals to the humanity in all of us,
creating sympathy for men trapped in the dynamics of defensive warfare. There was no driving motif of retribution, no
easy target for obliteration. In “Zero
Dark Thirty” all is reduced to the simple question of how to commit the murder
on which all the combatants are intent.
And when, by the way, did we as a nation come to believe that
assassinating one person is going to have a crippling impact upon a
movement. Leaders can always be
replaced, while those assassinated become martyrs to be cherished. It is an idea we are doing battle with, not a
person. How do you fight and defeat an
idea? That is a question over which
strategists should burn the midnight oil.
To read other entries in my
blog, please consult its website:
enspiritus.blogspot.com
I welcome feedback. Direct it to bobracine@verizon.net
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