Hugh Jackman tries to provide some kind of saving grace in screen version of hit Broadway musical LES MISÉRABLES
LES MISÉRABLES (Tom Hooper, 2012)
In theaters now
www.lesmiserablesfilm.com
For more than thirty years, Cameron Mackintosh’s musical theater production of Victor Hugo’s 1862 novel, Les Misérables, has been entertaining audiences in Paris, on London’s West End, on Broadway, and on tours around the world. Fans have been eagerly anticipating the film version for decades, and now that it’s here, they can let out a big sigh of . . . what, relief? Regret? Revolution? Revulsion? Oscar-winning director Tom Hooper (The King’s Speech) has put together a lavish, star-studded spectacle that ends up biting off a whole lot more than it can chew, which doesn’t go over well in the slums of early-nineteenth-century Paris. Hugh Jackman is wonderfully cast as Jean Valjean, a valiant man who has spent nineteen brutal years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread. Russell Crowe tries hard as Inspector Javert, who is determined to bring Valjean to justice after he breaks his suffocating parole. Changing his life — and his name — Valjean becomes a model citizen, even mayor, and seeks to help the disadvantaged, including Fantine (Anne Hathaway), a former employee of his who will do whatever it takes to provide for her young daughter, Cosette (Isabelle Allen). The first half of the film, which goes from 1815 to 1823, develops well enough, with strong, emotional performances by Jackman and Hathaway and a haughty “Master of the House” number led by Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen as innkeepers taking care of — and taking advantage of — Cosette. But things start falling apart quickly once the story jumps to 1832 and an older Cosette (Amanda Seyfried) has fallen in love with young revolutionary Marius Pontmercy (Eddie Redmayne), while Javert is still hunting down Valjean. The budding romance and coming battle are simply dreadful, as are the songs. (“Do You Hear the People Sing?” We wish we didn’t. “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables”? Alas, just about every seat in the large theater was taken.) The overly melodramatic final scenes, which seem to never end, suck any life that was left over from the first hour or so, which had at least created a compelling mood and intriguing characters. Unable to decide whether it’s a historical epic or a timeless romance, Les Misérables ends up being neither.
“The idea of looking at a bunch of people over time and how they evolve, that was a really nifty idea,” Nick says in 56 Up, the eighth film following a group of British men and women every seven years since they were seven in 1964. “It isn’t the picture really of the essence of Nick or Suzy. It’s a picture of everyman. It’s how a person — any person — how they change. It’s not an absolute accurate picture of me, but it’s a picture of somebody, and that’s the value of it.” Michael Apted, who was a researcher on the first film and has directed each one since, meets with thirteen of the original fourteen subjects (Charles has not participated since 21 Up), including Peter, who sat out the previous three films but reappears now in order to promote his band. Apted and editor Kim Horton masterfully blend old and new footage, focusing on one or two subjects at a time, interweaving clips from throughout the years as each person relates where they are today in their life. With age comes greater understanding of not only where they’ve been and what they’ve experienced but of the worth of the series itself, which has been both positive and negative for various individuals, some of whom have found themselves being publicly ridiculed in the media at times. Suzy playfully compares the series to a bad book that she can’t put down, a story she has to finish even though she hates it. The heart of the show has always been an examination of the class-based system in England — the Jesuit motto “Give me the child until he is seven and I will give you the man” has been used in the series since the beginning — and it is fascinating to see how the dreams of the wealthier, more privileged children ended up coming true while those of the poorer kids tended to disintegrate early on.
Referring to the endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, Samsara is a visually stunning journey around the world, but one that will leave viewers wanting more. Director Ron Fricke and producer Mark Magidson, who previously teamed up on 1985’s Chronos and 1992’s Baraka, traveled to twenty-five countries on five continents over the course of four years, photographing famous landmarks, ancient and modern landscapes, old and new architecture, mountains, parks, oceans, cities, and many of the myriad peoples who populate the planet. Featuring an at-times overbearing score by Michael Stearns, Lisa Gerrard, and Marcello de Francisci and no narration or titles whatsoever to show what’s on the screen, Samsara can be breathtaking as well as confusing as the images roll by, shot in 70mm and projected digitally at 4K. Threads of narrative weave their way into the film, including sections on religion, war, poverty, and food production, exploring the Buddhist ideas of interconnection and impermanence, although the unfolding “story” appears most often to be somewhat random. And oddly, individuals regularly stare directly into the camera for uncomfortable periods of time, as if accusing the viewer of something that is not necessarily clear. Fricke and Magidson, who both edited the film, take the audience to such locations as Epupa Falls in Angola, Paraisopolis Favela in São Paulo, Mariesminde Poultry Farm in Denmark, Château de Versailles in France, Kanikwei Coffin Shop in Ghana, Thiksey Monastery in India, Kawah Ijen Sulfur Mine in Indonesia, Teatro Alla Scala in Italy, the Tsuchiya Shokai Doll Factory in Japan, Petra in Jordan, cliff dwellings in Mali, Mingun Temple in Myanmar, Mecca in Saudi Arabia, Cebu Provincial Detention Center in the Philippines, the demilitarized zone in South Korea, Cascade Go-Go Bar in Thailand, Cappadocia in Turkey, Burj Khalifa Tower in Dubai, the Kilauea volcano in Hawaii, the Ninth Ward in New Orleans, and Aadlen Bros. Auto Wrecking in Sun Valley, among so many other fascinating sites that reveal a wide expanse of what is going on in the world. Prisoners dance, cars whirr down elevated highways, chickens get slaughtered, tribes from Ethiopia and Namibia live off the land, poor children pick through garbage, a man stands next to his robot double, and a group of Buddhist monks make an exquisite sand painting. Yet as fascinating as Samsara can be, it still feels somewhat lacking, as if it could have been better in IMAX 3D (even if that wasn’t a logistical possibility), and the scarcity of detail supplied about the places visited is frustrating in today’s info-rich society. Samsara is screening January 6, 13, and 20 as part of Symphony Space’s ongoing Thalia Docs series.
Lovingly restored five years ago by Janus Films in a new 35mm print, Albert Lamorisse’s The Red Balloon, which won the Palme d’Or at Cannes and an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, tells the story of a young boy (Pascal Lamorisse, the director’s son) who makes friends with an extraordinary red balloon, which follows him through the streets of Belleville in Paris, waits for him while he is in school, and obeys his every command. But the neighborhood kids are afraid of this stranger and go on a mission to burst the young boy’s bubble. Lamorisse gives life and emotion to the balloon (more than twenty-five thousand were used in the making of the film) in a masterful use of simple special effects well before CGI and other modern technology. The Red Balloon, which also features the splendid music of Maurice Leroux and the fine photography of Edmond Séchan, is kicking off the new series “Film Forum Jr.” on January 6 along with Robert Cannon’s Oscar-winning 1950 animated short Gerald McBoing McBoing (followed by a Gerald McBoing McBoing sound-alike contest) and Claude Berri’s Oscar-winning live-action short Le Poulet. The new Film Forum series will be screening family-friendly movies at 11:00 on Sunday mornings; upcoming programs include Buster Keaton’s Sherlock Jr., Creature from the Black Lagoon in 3D, the Marx Brothers’ Horse Feathers, and the original Frankenstein and King Kong.
Based on a 1720 Bunraku puppet play by Monzaemon Chikamatsu, Masahiro Shinoda’s Double Suicide is a stagy style-over-substance adaptation that features some beautiful sets, a compelling score by Toru Takemitsu, but an overly dramatized, talky production in which the characters’ devotion to duty and honor ultimately grows weary and frustrating, even if that’s part of the point. Kichiemon Nakamura stars as Jihei, a paper merchant who is in love with a courtesan, Koharu (Shima Iwashita, Shinoda’s real-life wife). Jihei is willing to risk everything — his business, his reputation, and his family, including his wife, Osan (Iwashita in a dual role), and their two children — in order to redeem Koharu and take her away from the red-light district. But wealthy entrepreneur and crude loudmouth Tahei (Hosei Komatsu) threatens to redeem Koharu first, forcing Jihei to decide between his family and Koharu — knowing that either decision could lead to tragedy. Much of what little action there is takes place on claustrophobic sets that evoke the theater, with men dressed in dark clothing, their faces covered, serving as Koroku, or puppeteers, helping things along without directly influencing what comes next. Considered a classic of the Japanese Nouvelle Vague, Double Suicide was named Best Picture at both the Kinema Junpo and Mainichi Film Concours awards. Double Suicide is screening January 5 & 19 as part of MoMA’s “Art Theater Guild and Japanese Underground Cinema, 1960–1986” series, held in conjunction with the excellent exhibition “Tokyo 1955-1970: A New Avant Garde,” continuing with such other films as Nagisa Oshima’s Shinjuku Dorobo Nikki (Diary of a Shinjuku Thief), Yukio Mishima’s Yukoku (Patriotism/The Rites of Love and Death), Shohei Imamura’s Ningen Johatsu (A Man Vanishes), and a program of short works by Donald Richie and Shuji Terayama.
