Minerva's Ramblings: The Phantom of the Opera at the Royal Albert Hall (2011)

 

My introduction to The Phantom of the Opera was through the 2004 Joel Schumacher film many years ago. I liked it a lot, both for the storyline as well as for the beautiful music. In fact, I liked some of the songs so much that, several years later I started looking them up on YouTube. In the process, I stumbled upon Sierra Boggess, Ramin Karimloo and the amazing 25^th anniversary performance staged at London’s Royal Albert Hall in 2011.

Since then I have become a total Phantom and Rierra fan, having watched countless performances online and read a shameless amount of Phan-fic. I have also had the pleasure of attending a local production of the musical, which I enjoyed very much. And finally, finally, I was fortunate enough to get to see the recording of the full 25^th anniversary show with the dream cast that was released recently on YouTube. One of the few good things during this pandemic is that “The Show Must Go On” has brought many of our favourite musicals to YouTube, making it possible for theatre lovers around the world to experience the next best thing to watching a live performance on Broadway or the West End.   

This was my first time watching a recording of a full performance that was specially filmed for DVD. Combining the drama of the stage with the subtlety of film, the experience was quite unlike anything I had seen before. It had all the “feels” of the stage (nothing can beat being there, but it is the next best thing!) – the spontaneity of each moment, the authenticity of each emotion and the complete immersion in the action as events unfold right before your eyes. At the same time, every little gesture and facial expression was beautifully captured, thanks to the closeup shots and different camera angles.

I am not an expert on theatre or music – far from it! But as an ardent fan, there are so many things I loved about this performance and I want to share a few of them with you.

Ramin Karimloo as the Phantom – insane, terrifying and completely human

What can I say that would do justice to his performance? It is incredible to me how a man as gorgeous as that can play such a physically deformed character so convincingly. Yet despite his outward repulsiveness, Ramin’s Phantom is not some sniveling, pathetic creature. Mask on, he exudes a dark and powerful beauty that transcends physical appearance. As he sings, “Come to me, Angel of Music” we, along with Christine, are lured into his enchanting world of smoke and mirrors. His allure as the Phantom is evident, but I love how this is achieved not by making him a “hot Phantom” with a scar (which they could have done very easily, I mean it must take real effort to make Ramin ugly!) Rather his Phantom, unmasked, is truly terrible to look at…and it is his air of confidence, power and mystery along with his angelic voice that makes him attractive. 

Given that much of the character’s face is covered by a mask and the rest disfigured by prosthetics, the use of voice to convey emotion can be the make or break of a successful Phantom performance. Perhaps there are other Phantoms who sing “better” – i.e. with greater technical precision – yet I cannot fathom anyone else being able to pour such raw feeling into their voice as Ramin. In “Music of the Night” we feel his pain and passion – he is gently pleading, seductively persuasive, hopelessly desperate and yes, dangerously obsessed. He swings from mood to mood in a way that is both terrifying and utterly believable. Ramin’s Phantom is an insane psychopath who never loses his humanity. We love him, pity him and fear him, often at the same time.

Sierra Boggess as Christine – not another damsel in distress

Sierra’s powerful acting transforms Christine into a fully developed, empathetic character. Her emotions are intense and genuine, and we feel every one of them. We are nervous when she gives her first solo in “Think of Me”; we are drawn to the Phantom when he serenades her with “Music of the Night”; and our hearts break when she leaves him in the end. Sierra is a stunner, but it isn’t her beauty alone that makes her so captivating. Her expressive face draws us in at every step, leaving us mesmerized. And it is wonderful that, thanks to the closeups, we are able to see each nuance that we would otherwise miss in a stage performance.

And that voice. Seriously, she sounds like an angel. And she doesn’t just sing – she acts with her voice. Eyes closed even, you feel her excitement in “Think of Me” and her happiness in “All I Ask of You”. Her “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” is considered THE definitive version, and I can understand why – it moved me to tears. I know the highlight of Christine’s voice is supposed to be that infamous E6 at the end of the title song (and Sierra nails it), but it is when she sings – “The tears I might have shed for your dark fate/ Grow cold, and turn to tears of hate” – that I got goosebumps.

Hadley Fraser as Raoul – sincere, loyal and brave, if a little prone to tantrums

As a Rierra fan, I have been guilty of focusing on Erik and Christine, and not giving a damn about “that guy who plays Raoul”. While I believe this was a mistake on my part, one good thing did come of it – I was more than pleasantly surprised by Hadley! Which is awesome, because…let’s face it – sure, the Phantom can sing from inside a mirror deserves your sympathy, but he is also manipulative, obsessive, violent and a murderer. While it is up to the actor playing Erik to bring these out without turning him into a cartoonish monster, it also helps tremendously when the actor playing Raoul doesn’t play him like an ass or wimp. Hadley’s Raoul is brave, sincere and kind, and what’s most important, truly loves Christine and does not just want to own her as a trophy wife. He does, however, have a possessive streak and a tendency to lose his cool at every opportunity, which, while being annoying traits also helps keep things real, and prevents Raoul from being an unbearably perfect Prince Charming.

 Hadley is also a powerful and charismatic singer, though in a very different way from Ramin’s Phantom. Where Erik’s voice can be hypnotic and unearthly, Raoul often sounds matter of fact, very much grounded in reality. I loved how this contrast is maintained throughout the musical, without being overplayed.

The chemistry – intense and electrifying

While each of the leads give excellent individual performances, it is the synergy they create when they come together on stage that is truly incredible. There are entire fan sites dedicated to Rierra and this isn’t surprising at all! The chemistry they share is pure magic…and nowhere is this more evident than in “Music of the Night”. Their facial expressions and body language are so in sync with one another that, though we know these are stage directions, it is hard to imagine that there isn’t an invisible chord binding their souls together. What is even more amazing is that all this happens without her uttering a single word.

Sierra and Hadley also share great chemistry, the sweetness of the romance between their characters acting as a foil to the dark and passionate bond between Christine and Erik. I know many fans believe that Christine’s true love is Erik and she should have ended up with him. As much as I love the Phantom (and Ramin, of course!) watching the musical made me realize what a disaster this would have been. Christine has lived much of her life under some shadow or the other – whether it be the death of her beloved father, or the mind fuckery she is subjected to by the Phantom, claiming to have been an angel sent by him. She has never really had the chance to heal from her sorrow, or to learn from her pain. Literally the last thing Christine needs in her life is more darkness and melodrama.  While it is doubtful that theirs is a perfect relationship (they are from different worlds, after all, and will have a heap of adjusting to do), Raoul does offer Christine the stability of a secure, healthy, normal relationship, that gives her the space to grow into her own person – and isn’t that great?

The three of them together feed off each other’s energy in scenes like “Wandering Child” and the “Final Lair”. “Wandering Child” is a powerful, underrated song that perfectly captures the dynamic among Christine, Erik and Raoul – and Sierra, Ramin and Hadley perform it so well. As for “Final Lair”, that has got to be the favourite scene of many, myself included. It is the highlight of the musical where the acting, singing, music and lyrics all come together to deliver a punch to the gut that just cannot be described in words. Be warned – tissues are needed!

And lastly, the music – haunting, surreal, unforgettable

While we can all agree that everything about Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera is pure genius, there is something about its music that elevates it to the next level. Starting from the overture which is guaranteed to give you chills from the get-go, the entire score is a perfect 10. It’s interesting how when I was first introduced to the film as a teenager, the song I liked most was “All I Ask of You”; now, while I love them all, the ones I can’t get enough of include “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again”, “Music of the Night” and “Angel of Music”.

And of course, the title song. With its hypnotic music, haunting melody and lyrics and sung by two of the most beautiful voices on earth, “Phantom of the Opera” is an eargasmic experience that cannot be rivalled (I was waiting for Ramin’s “strong-ER” but it never came!). Even my husband, who listens to stuff by bands with names like Cradle of Filth and Five Finger Death Punch and would not be caught dead watching a Broadway musical, found himself fascinated by this song.

 

This post is already so freaking long that in conclusion I would like to say – nothing, except that hopefully, someday, the world will be normal once more and we (some of us, at least) we will be able to see a Phantom production live on stage. And until then, thank you, thank you for the music, always, and the joy it brings us all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minerva's Ramblings: Favourite Romantic Heroes from Classic Literature

Sometime back I wrote a review of North and South, where I mentioned a few of my favourite romantic heroes from classic literature. Turned out I am not the only one falling in love with fictional characters! And so, for all my soul sisters out there, here are the ones closest to my heart.

First, a few rules –

Rule #1. I have stated my favourites strictly in terms of how ideal I think they are as romantic partners. These are different from my favourite literary characters in general. For instance, I think Heathcliff, Rochester and Rhett Butler are among the best written male characters of all time – incredibly complex and completely human. Yet, I would argue that they can be pretty toxic in terms of relationship material.

Rule #2. I have restricted myself to just one character per author, regardless of how delicious the author’s other leading men are (I have no idea why I decided to torture myself this way. Maybe because otherwise, this post may never end).

Rule #3. While some of the television/ movie versions of these characters have certainly gained a lot of popularity, my choices are based strictly on the original book versions.  

Ok so here goes! In no particular order:

John Thornton – North and South, Elizabeth Gaskell

"Oh! Margaret, could you not have loved me? I am but uncouth and hard, but I would never have led you into any falsehood for me."

Richard Armitage as John Thornton in the 2004 BBC mini-series

Clearly, this should come as no surprise. I am definitely partial to the strong, silent type, but John Thornton is so much more. A self-made man with a strong moral code, he is a just employer, caring son, dutiful brother and responsible citizen. What’s more, his harsh early life and the fact that he is required to maintain a no-nonsense attitude in his dealings with people haven’t really rid him of his softer, more humane side. While Margaret is entirely prejudiced and therefore unable to see this at first, readers are quickly warmed to this gentle, honest soul for his exceptional qualities. His admiration for Mr. Hale, despite not agreeing with his worldview, is sincere; he treats his somewhat cantankerous mother with utmost tenderness and his insufferable sister with patience; he goes out of his way to procure exotic fruit for a dying woman whose daughter has just broken his heart.

All this without even coming to his love for Margaret. I am someone who strongly believes that a shitty person, however ardently he professes his love for a woman, can never qualify as a romantic ideal because one fine day when the romance wears thin, he is going to end up being a shitty lover and husband. On the other hand, characters like Thornton are portrayed as such beautiful, though flawed, persons in their own right, that you are left with absolutely no doubt of the depth and sincerity of their love for the heroine. 

Thornton’s passionate, unconditional love for Margaret is the stuff of dreams. His reaction to his mother’s claim after the riot that Margaret is obviously in love with him – hence, why she shielded him from the mob – is heartbreakingly innocent and pure - "I dare not hope. I never was fainthearted before; but I cannot believe such a creature cares for me." Once rejected, he resolves to keep on loving her, though he knows it will bring him pain. He does everything for her well-being and happiness; offering her silent comfort at her mother’s death, and pledging his faith in her character at the risk of his own integrity.

And who can forget that very last scene, when he finally realizes she loves him back - 

"Take care - if you do not speak - I shall claim you as my own in some strange presumptuous way - send me away at once, if |I must go..." Whoever thought grabbing a woman by her hair and forcing a kiss on her lips as she struggles to escape is romantic, needs to learn a thing or two about consent from John Thornton.

Of course, she doesn't let him go! Who would?

Colonel Brandon – Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, heard her without being in raptures. He paid her only the compliment of attention.

David Morrissey as Colonel Brandon in the 2008 BBC mini-series

To everyone going “Whaaaaaaaaaattttt! Picking Brandon over Darcy?” I must confess that, after much painful deliberation among Mr. Darcy, Captain Wentworth and Colonel Brandon, I finally decided upon the good old Colonel.

Wait, what? Old??

I have often felt that Brandon is unfairly sidelined by many Austen fans, and I can think of two possible reasons why. One – while Austen makes Brandon’s feelings for Marianne very clear, we are not privy to Marianne’s feelings about Brandon. In contrast to her overflowing passion for Willoughby, the details of Marianne’s love and subsequent marriage to Brandon are glossed over in a few sentences, literally in the final passages of the book. This may give some readers the impression that theirs is not an ideal romantic pairing.

Two – Alan Rickman.

If you are still reading this, please bear with me. While I think this incredibly talented actor (and his voice!) was one of the most gorgeous specimens of humanity (what is it with me and British accents?), I believe he was somewhat miscast in the 1995 movie. Marianne certainly is very young; but Brandon himself is a desirable counterpart well within his prime. At 35, he is just a few years older than the sexy Captain Wentworth, whom fangirls gush over constantly…in fact, he is even younger than Mr. Knightley, another favourite Austen hero of many! At the time of the movie Mr. Rickman was not, neither did he look, anywhere close to 35.

However, if you are familiar with Austen’s use of irony, it is obvious that she doesn’t really mean Brandon is a consolation prize. Nor does she hint that ending up with him is a sort of “punishment” for Marianne’s “inappropriate” relationship with Willoughby, as some of the movie’s reviewers have theorized!

Austen’s Brandon is brave, honourable, respectful and considerate. Like Thornton, it is not only his relationship with Marianne, but his interactions with others is very telling of his own character. In this regard, he gets the edge over Darcy and Wentworth in my book, simply because he is a genuinely nicer person. He is a loyal friend to John Middleton. He is kind to Mrs. Jennings. He stays true to his first love, taking care of her when she is destitute and adopting her daughter as his ward. This is particularly remarkable given how “ruined women” and illegitimate children were viewed at the time. And I love his relationship with Elinor, and the mutual respect they have for one another.

Brandon’s love for Marianne is selfless. Rather than trying to possess her or win her over with grand romantic gestures, he simply remains a true friend who holds her happiness close to his heart. As Marianne matures over the course of the novel, she grows to admire his qualities and appreciate his quiet faithfulness, and eventually this turns to love. Theirs is a love borne of respect and friendship, and therefore is the truest kind of love.  

Gabriel Oak – Far from the Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy

"I shall do one thing in this life - one thing certain - that is, love you, and long for you, and KEEP WANTING YOU till I die."

Matthias Schoenaerts as Gabriel Oak in the 2015 film

Describing Gabriel Oak as a “hero” is misleading, since he is about as average as you can imagine. He is neither particularly good looking nor charismatic; he does not perform any feats of valour to impress Bathsheba. In fact, for much of the story he is almost an afterthought, fading into the background. Nothing of interest ever happens to him; it is Bathsheba who runs around getting into all kinds of interesting situations while he stands back, a silent observer (well, most of the time, at least).

It is interesting how such a passively written character could also be such a complex one. I believe that what is so special about Oak is the dynamic he shares with Bathsheba. There are many instances where authors have successfully captured the romantic or sexual chemistry between characters; however, it is very rare that a deep platonic relationship such as Oak and Bathsheba’s can be portrayed so believably as Hardy does in his novel. While the limelight is often stolen by Troy and Boldwood, Oak’s rivals in love, it is to him that Bathsheba turns to for support, be it regarding her love life or her managing her farm. And, instead of the usual romantic novel trope where the hero saves the heroine from some major catastrophe or danger, I love that what Oak most often offers is merely sensible, unbiased, honest-to-goodness advice, whenever Bathsheba needs it (and sometimes when she doesn’t – hey the guy does have his faults).

Oak is extremely self-aware. He acknowledges his deep, unrequited love for Bathsheba, yet he does not allow himself to be defined by it. He moves on with his life, works hard, treats people well and earns their admiration and respect for his intelligence and integrity, to the extent that even his rivals turn to him for advice! He is no wimp, either – he never lets Bathsheba play around with his feelings or manipulate him into getting what she wants. The advice he offers is always brutally honest and with her interest at heart, though he knows he might lose out. With Troy, he pleads with her to be cautious and untrusting, at the risk of coming across as a jealous lover; with Boldwood, however, he urges her to marry him, knowing he would make her a good husband.

Like Brandon and Thornton, Oak too has a heart of gold. He empathizes with Boldwood, and tries to help him; he does everything he can to save Fanny. Of course, he is ultimately rewarded for his patience and faithfulness, finally winning Bathsheba’s heart. In classic Oak style, however, he refuses to fall over at her feet, whereby she is compelled to come “courting him”, to which he responds what we have been thinking all along - "I've danced at your skittish heels, my beautiful Bathsheba, for many a long mile, and many a long day; and it is hard to begrudge me this one visit."

Minerva's Ramblings: Rebecca (2020)

 

When I heard Netflix was releasing a new Rebecca, I was thrilled and couldn’t wait to watch it. Then I saw the trailer, and my first impression was, oh god, the casting is all wrong. It is not that I dislike any of the actors – far from it. Lily James is a pretty good actress and Armie Hammer can be reasonably charming when he wants (and I think Kristen Scott Thomas is simply fabulous, but more on that later), but the lead pair were nothing like the book’s protagonists, either as individual characters or their dynamic as a couple.

One of the book’s major themes is the glaring incongruity between the two main characters, to such an extent it makes both the readers as well as the other characters, quite uncomfortable and more than a little mystified to see them together. In fact, this premise forms the crux of the entire plot. The new Mrs. de Winter (never named) is little more than a child. She is timid and inexperienced. She is a wallflower, and her lack of presence stems not so much from being inherently unattractive, but rather because she is at that awkward halfway stage in life, neither sufficiently childlike to be cute, nor yet woman enough to be noticed, either for her looks or her personality. Lily James, while young-looking is not schoolgirl young-looking, and while the movie doesn’t portray her as a raving beauty, it is entirely plausible to imagine that there are men who would find her attractive enough to fall in love with and to marry. I believe her constant jumping around and general skittishness throughout the movie are meant to make her more true-to-form, but without the physical appearance to go with it, her character’s actions lack motive and just make her look neurotic.

As for Maxim de Winter, he is a 42-year-old, suave, polished, man-of-the-world with an air of romantic mystery and a streak of – what? Cruelty? Sadism? Or is he simply a cold-hearted bastard? We read on, because we want to find out. In contrast, Armie Hammer comes off as your typical rom-com hero. Sure, he is a bit moody at times (his wife died a year ago, let’s cut him some slack!), but nothing a seaside drive and some sex on the beach cannot cure. Hammer’s Mr. de Winter is clearly enamoured by James’ Mrs. de Winter right from the start – so there is none of the “does he love her? What’s his deal?” sexual tension that is felt by readers and Mrs. de Winter alike throughout the book.

And with regards to the conspicuous age difference emphasized in the book – nothing. Now I understand that sanitizing and “normalizing” the entire relationship dynamic was probably a deliberate choice by the director to prevent viewers getting too disturbed – brooding middle-aged billionaire marries destitute teenager and treats her like shit is probably not your average movie-goer’s cup of tea – but the whole point of Rebecca is to unsettle readers, foreshadow like hell create tension and make them sit around nervously waiting for things to get progressively worse. Conversely, there is zero tension created in this adaptation, and whatever disagreements there are between the lead pair come across as petty bickering by your average couple over random issues.

I have not seen the classic Hitchcock version, but from what I read about it (and have seen from his other films) its forte is the atmospheric tension that is created, whether by use of light and shadow, claustrophobic imagery or melodramatic performances. I feel like in trying to get as far away from that film as possible, Ben Wheatley creates a more normal world with normal people who act, well, a lot more normally.

And that is a pity, because a normal Rebecca is no different from your normal daytime soap drama. What makes the book (I will not comment on Hitchcock as I have not seen it) a masterpiece is that everything about it is so freakishly abnormal (it is a Gothic romance/ thriller, for crying out loud!) – starting from the relationship between the de Winters, to the forbidding Manderley estate, to the ever-present yet elusive titular character, to the delightfully ghoulish housekeeper.

Ahhhh…something I enjoyed about the movie that I can finally sink my teeth into. Ms. Thomas never disappoints, and her take on the perfectly respectable, alarmingly efficient and fiendishly creepy housekeeper descending surely into madness was a delight to watch unfold. Unfortunately, in a completely normal movie with completely normal characters this whole act is somewhat out of place, and you never quite feel that sense of panic and encroaching terror as you look on with revulsion and a certain morbid relish as Rebecca (and Rebecca) closes in on you, egged on by the relentless Mrs. Danvers. 

Rebecca herself is the central character in the book. She is whom the book is named after; she is the mystery that, along with the nameless second Mrs. de Winter, we crack our brains to solve. We, along with Mrs. de Winter, are in turn awed, fascinated and repulsed by her. We hate her. We fear her. We wish we were her, with her adoring minions and her fuck-all attitude to life. How du Maurier manages to make us feel such a visceral connection to what is, technically, not even a ghost but simply a figment of imagination (Mrs. de Winter’s) and a memory (everyone else’s) is testament to the brilliance of her writing. The movie, on the other hand, never really concerns itself with who Rebecca is – is she a ghost? Is she dead? Is she alive? What does she want? The movie never raises these questions, and we never really care (neither does Mrs. de Winter, it would seem).

Without this, whatever remaining potential the movie has for dramatic tension, simply flies out the window. We are just watching an oversized, over-decorated mansion full of servants ruled by a manic housekeeper who in turn has to suffer the antics of a neurotic (with no reason to be) young woman who just so happens to be married to Mr. California with bad British accent a 1930s poster boy.

Before I dig myself in even deeper, however, let me touch upon a few general points I did like about this movie. The visuals are gorgeous, particularly in the earlier shots, where the South of France is depicted in all its lush, romantic glory. While I would have liked a more overtly gothic feel to the Manderley estate, based on the mood the director was going for (most definitely not gothic) the mansion was faithfully presented, and managed to look sufficiently grand and imposing. I also thought the costumes were beautifully done, apart from that unforgivable mustard suit, which gives us our first impression of the hapless Mr. de Winter.

Now that that’s done, all that remains is the ridiculous long-drawn-out ending, which was about as entertaining (and painful) as shaving my legs. The big reveal where we finally realize what a cruel, manipulative bitch Rebecca really was and that Maxim never loved her, hated her guts, in fact, is a HUGE moment in the book, for us as well as Mrs. de Winter herself. Along with her, we are relieved to learn that all along Maxim has been haunted and tortured by the memory of Rebecca, which is why he has been acting like a dick all this time, not because he is a dick in general. Now that he is “free” of her memory and the guilt of it all (wait, what?), he is free to love his new little wife in the way she truly deserves. We shed a collective tear of happiness and go “awwwww” (that he killed his supposedly pregnant wife and then buried her at sea is merely a plot point of minor inconvenience we love to forget as hastily as the new Mrs. de Winter).

This is, in my opinion, one of the most momentous reveals in classic literature, not just because of what is revealed, but rather more because of how it makes us feel as readers and in turn what that makes us, as humans – are we truly so blinded by the glamour of a pretty romance that we are willing to forgive our protagonist of murder? Where is our moral code? (And shockingly, where is Mrs. de Winters’?). Du Maurier forces us to look inwards, to ask ourselves these deeply disturbing questions, even as we rejoice at Maxim and his wife riding off into the sunset. The book, mercilessly, leaves us with zero closure – Maxim’s beloved Manderley, the pride of his heart, is burned to ashes, Mrs. Danvers is nowhere to be found and all we are left with are the haunting words of the Mrs. de Winter the Second, "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." We have no idea where the de Winters go from here, only that they can never go home.

The climactic scene in the movie, however, is about as flat as week-old Coke and, rather than the disturbing anti-heroic killer Maxim reveals himself to be, Armie Hammer comes off as a whiny wimp, which is a considerable feat given that he has just confessed to have murdered his wife and what he thinks is her unborn baby. 

As if suddenly realizing its viewers could care less about anything by this point, the movie then decides to go off on a tangent to compensate for all this lack of. What follows is a bewildering and ultimately pointless chase scene in which Lily James mysteriously transmorphs into Nancy Drew. To add to it, she and Mrs. Danvers have a seaside face-off, culminating in Mrs. Danvers' graceful descent into the sea, a scene worthy of giving Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon a run for its money. 

In the closing scene, we are treated to a glimpse into the life of the happy, loving couple presumably enjoying their travels around the world, now that Manderley is no more. A pretty little ending tied up with a pretty little bow, yet the sadist in me somehow longed for the richly textured ambiguity of du Maurier's book, that makes it probably one of the most haunting and disturbing reads of all time.  

Minerva's Ramblings: The Secret in Their Eyes (2009)

 

Foreign language films are not really my thing. I find that focusing too much on reading subtitles distracts me from actually watching and enjoying the film (Hindi films are the exception because I actually understand the language to the point that I don’t need subtitles). Of course, this aversion means I sometimes miss out on absolute gems, like the 2009 Academy-award winning Argentine crime drama, The Secret in Their Eyes. However, given that this was a mystery/ thriller and had rave reviews on IMDB (not always what I go by!), I was intrigued enough to want to watch it.

What first drew me in were the lead actors, and how ridiculously good they were in portraying their characters. I think the fact that I had no clue who they were, also helped. I was not watching Ricardo Darin and Soledad Villamil performing on screen – I was watching Benjamin Esposito and his boss Irene (might I add, the most beautiful pronunciation of the name imaginable) working to solve a brutal murder and falling painfully in love with each other in the process.

The murder scene is shown early on, with very little build up and hit me right in the gut with its matter of fact brutality. This is something that is not usual in Hollywood or Bollywood movies, which generally rely on creating atmospheric tension to deliberately shock audiences out of their comfort zones. The director of this film, on the other hand, makes no special effort to dramatize anything (there is no background music for most of the film) – one minute, you are drinking coffee and eating doughnuts, the next you are witnessing the mutilated naked body of a murdered woman and then right after you go back to your coffee and doughnuts. It is surreal and real at the same time, a bit like real life, you know? Disturbing, no doubt, but you cannot afford to dwell on it, because life just goes on.

It is an old photograph that draws Esposito’s attention in a new direction, and for some strange reason this gave me vibes of an Agatha Christie masterpiece, “Five Little Pigs”. For a wild moment the thought popped into my head that perhaps that was where this film was going…but no, the plot is far less convoluted than that.

The take in this film is that each of us has one great passion in life…the thing that drives us, and what we keep coming back to, no matter what. It could easily have become melodramatic slush, but it doesn’t – in fact, what this passion is, for each of the characters, remains beautifully ambiguous – it is not necessarily what we, or even the character, perhaps, may think it is.

Gomez’s passion, for instance, could very well be either football or Liliana. If, as Esposito’s assistant Sandoval claims, it is football that he cannot help returning to, despite changing everything else about his life – then what drives him to kill Liliana? Could it be that he has two passions?

But no, that would make for a very inconsistent film…and this film is consistent, if anything. For Ricardo, on the other hand, it is very clearly established that his passion is Liliana – 25 years after the murder of his wife, he is still unable to let her go.

And for Esposito?

While primarily a crime drama, the chemistry between Esposito and Irene is just magnetic, on par with some of the iconic romantic pairings seen on screen. Though the romance never overtakes the mystery, it does form the backbone of the story, so to speak, upon which characters are shaped, choices made, and emotions felt.

Esposito is such a likable person, and I feel this is as much to do with the writing of the character as with the innate charm of the actor himself. You simply cannot help but fall in love with him, and wonder what in the world Irene sees in the hapless Alfonso (who thankfully remains off-screen). On the face of it, Irene is leagues ahead – she is stunningly beautiful, poised and eloquent while he is average-looking and socially awkward. He is at least 10 years her senior. She is also his boss. I love how bold the film is, casting a male hero who is obviously so much older and physically less attractive than his female counterpart (I am referring to the characters here, not the actors themselves) – and then making it so you actually root for him to succeed. In lesser hands, Esposito would have come across as a creep. But it is the simplicity and sincerity of their mutual love and respect for each other, devoid of any pretentious play-acting, that make us feel like they belong together.

So what is Esposito’s passion? Is it Irene?

Or is it the case? Just like Ricardo Morales, even 25 years later the case continues to haunt Esposito. He starts writing a book on it, but ironically, the first thing that comes to his mind when reminiscing is not the case itself but his relationship with Irene. The case matters so much because it is a reflection of their bond, and how it evolved through their interaction over the case.

It is this theme of passion that is the key to the entire mystery. Esposito starts off in fear – not of the case itself, but of what it would cost him to revisit it – and ends up fearlessly admitting (and, one hopes, professing) his love for Irene. Interestingly, it is “closing” the case which ultimately gives him the closure to do so, which means that by the end of the movie, the case has taken on an almost MacGuffin-like quality, being the catalyst that allows both Esposito and Irene to comes to terms with a reality they have been denying themselves for 25 years.

Can I sidetrack for a minute to remark on the stunning hair and makeup on the lead characters, aging them so believably? In real life, both Darin and Villamil have an age gap of 12 years, similar to how they are portrayed on screen, and seem to be around midway between the ages of their younger and older characters. At the time of the movie Darin was 52, while the younger Esposito may have been 40 and the older, newly retired Esposito around 65. Villamil was 40 during the movie, while the younger Irene may have been 30 and the older Irene around 55. Not only is this super attention-to-detail casting, but it is extremely challenging to convincingly age someone from 30 to 55 – especially a woman – since the physical changes between those years tend be definitive but subtle – a certain hardness to the features, changes in skin texture. Merely adding a grey wig and some wrinkles isn’t going to cut it. Select a 40-year-old actress and this becomes even more difficult, since most women at that age are essentially timeless – they could as easily pass for 30 as for 50.

Getting back to the plot. Once we establish that Esposito’s passion is Irene, this leads us to even stranger conclusions. What of the eerie similarity between the photographs of Gomez staring at Liliana and Esposito staring at Irene? Why even show them unless there is some meaning, some purpose to this parallel? Clearly, Gomez is as obsessed with Liliana as Esposito is with Irene.

As the movie progressed, I knew that clearly, there had to be something beyond the obvious being shown to us on screen. Strains of unreliable narrative tease us throughout the screenplay, and while the climax at face value is twisted enough in itself, it begs the question – given that Gomez and Liliana were already having an affair (and the movie never tries to convince us otherwise) – why would he kill her?

On the other hand, remember, that Liliana is also the object of Ricardo’s obsession. This movie is all about the parallels between seemingly unlikely events, emotions and people. Just as we are shown the parallels between Esposito and Gomez, we are also shown the parallels between Esposito and Ricardo. They are kindred spirits, sharing the deep soul connection of years upon years of unrequited love, helpless to do anything else but watch the object of their passion in the arms of another. While Esposito throws all his energy and emotion into the case and Gomez finds solace in football, Ricardo is never really given an outlet for his all-consuming passion.

Could it be that the flash of epiphany Esposito has in the car is, in fact, the truth? That Ricardo kills the woman he loves as an act of mercy, and then gives Gomez what to him is the ultimate punishment – that of silent, solitary confinement for the rest of his life?

I read several reviews and “ending explained” articles subsequent to watching the film, simply because I couldn’t wrap my head around its neat little conclusion, because it wasn’t as neat as it seemingly professed to be. Admittedly, there were much fewer articles available (this being a foreign language film and being overshadowed, in the English-speaking world at least, by its Hollywood remake); yet none alluded to the possible ambiguity that I took away from the film!

Oh well. I am a sucker for ambiguous endings. They say that the beauty of art is in its interpretation. And clearly, this film is cinematic art at its best. Right up there among my all-time favourite crime dramas, this one is a must-watch, not just for lovers of the genre, but simply anyone who is a fan of intelligent filmmaking.

 

 

 

Minerva's Ramblings: North and South (2004 BBC Miniseries)

Let me start off by saying that Richard Armitage is quite possibly one of the most beautiful human beings on the planet (the other being Hugh Jackman). Whew. Now that we have got that out of the way…

Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South is a sweeping social drama that is so much more than a love story between a rich man and a poor woman. Having read the book and realized this, I was excited that this was a mini-series, which meant it had the freedom to explore the many different layers of narrative in the way a film would never have been able to.

While I loved the adaptation as a whole, a few aspects really stood out for me. Something that impressed me was its bold exploration of the thematic elements of the novel. I admit that there are some literary classics that are actually thinly veiled social commentaries masquerading as fiction. (Les Miserables immediately comes to mind – I love the main plot and characters, but there are parts – chapters upon chapters, to be specific – that have nothing to do with either and, frankly, bored me to tears). However, Gaskell does it differently with this book. She does not gloss over the social realities of her time, for instance as Austen does behind a façade of sarcasm and irony. Nor do her main characters descend into asylum-level madness or end up being the devil incarnate (yes, the Bronte sisters). Gaskell tells it exactly like it is, but also manages to avoid the overtone of pessimism and melodrama of some of her contemporaries such as Dickens and Hardy. North and South is ultimately a book that is extremely readable, realistic and uplifting all at once.

I am not one to think that a TV or film adaptation of a book must necessarily be a frame-by-frame replica of it. However, it irks me when they “dumb down” the complexities of the context, themes and characterizations of a literary classic, boiling it down to a linear storyline that could probably be summed up in a single sentence. One of the best things about this adaptation is that it does not reduce it to just another period romance, which, given the chemistry between the leads, it could have safely done. However, it goes way beyond to brilliantly portray the major issues highlighted in the novel, such as social class and prejudice, religious ideology, patriarchy, poverty, civil unrest, industrialization and urbanization. Nothing is black or white, or inherently good or bad. Every issue has positive and negative consequences; and while the spread of technology and industrialization is inevitable, those who do evaluate the social costs of their actions and strive to overcome them, are to be admired. 

Secondly, the characterization. There are a few fictional characters that I have fallen in love with during my lifetime (my therapist says this is completely normal). Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, Gabriel Oak from Far from the Madding Crowd and John Thornton from North and South (sorry Mr. Rochester, you don’t make the cut). I am fiercely protective of these men (again, normal behavior) and so was somewhat dreading having to watch a reel-life Mr. Thornton, simply because I knew there was no way any actor could do justice to the role.

Boy, was I wrong. Never would I have imagined this in a million years, but Richard Armitage somehow manages to take a swoon-worthy character and turn it into someone even more swoon-worthy. John Thornton is a character full of contradictions – fiercely proud, yet humble; blunt, outspoken, yet quiet and reserved; madly in love yet forced to hide the true depth of his feelings. While such men are a delight to read off the page, they are also challenging to play on screen. Make them too stoic and silent and they come across as dull, boring, possibly borderline creepy (those who have watched the 2015 version of Far from the Madding Crowd but not read the book would never understand the wonderfully nuanced masterpiece that is Hardy’s Gabriel Oak); on the other hand, try to make them “interesting” or, God forbid, sex them up, and you run the danger of creating a strange alien who has little in common with the original character (Gerard Butler’s Phantom of the Opera, I am looking at you).

Armitage’s success is largely attributable to his incredible ability to emote so well without saying a single word. I know this is a basic talent that all actors are supposed to possess – yet Armitage takes it to a whole new level – when he is on screen, dialogue is simply superfluous. And when he does get around to talking, that deep baritone coupled with his British accent is something else altogether. Combine that with his smoldering looks (I am trying very hard to be objective here) and what you get is pure magic. Visually too, Armitage is the epitome of Gaskell’s brooding Victorian hero, with his stern brow and serious eyes that literally just light up with love whenever he catches sight of Margaret. 

North and South was my first and sadly, only introduction to Daniela Denby-Ashe, and as soon as I saw her on screen, I knew she was going to be perfect. Though the book is often compared to the much more famous Pride and Prejudice and John Thornton to Mr. Darcy, Margaret Hale, while she does start off prejudiced against Thornton, is no Elizabeth Bennett. In line with the grittier, darker themes of North and South, Margaret is a less outwardly bubbly, more openly cynical heroine whose ideas on life, love and happiness are directly shaped by the world she lives in. As a young girl she is tossed from one extreme to another – the quiet life of genteel poverty with her parents in the village of Helstone and the luxurious, indulgent abandon among her relatives in London. To this is added another dimension as, through no choice of her own, she is thrown deep into the harsh realm of industrial Milton. For much of the story, love is the least of her worries; she is almost constantly bombarded by sickness, death, poverty and violence.

Denby-Ashe has the kind of fresh-faced wholesomeness that suits her perfectly to the role of Margaret. Walking among the grime-covered streets of Milton, it is very easy to imagine how such a face would be a breath of fresh air for the town’s miserable inhabitants. Margaret, however, just like Denby-Ashe, is no ostentatious beauty; her beauty is of the purer, quieter kind, that is somewhat out of place among the finery and frippery of London society. And it is generally her demeanor rather than her beauty that commands the attention of everyone around her – her parents are somewhat in awe of her, Henry Lennox admires her, Bessie and Nicholas Higgins adore her, and Mr. Bell leaves her his inheritance. Even Mrs. Thornton, with her intense dislike towards the woman she believes will ruin her son’s life one way or the other, maintains a kind of grudging respect for her straightforwardness and honesty.

Of course, Margaret, like any well-written heroine is not without her faults; and Denby-Ashe presents these to us in a very realistic, relatable manner – her condescending attitude towards “shoppy people” such as Thornton, who “made their fortunes in trade”, her self-righteousness in the face of her father’s idealism and her mother’s lack of fortitude, the undercurrent of bitterness and jealousy she sometimes feels towards Edith, her rich and beautiful cousin.   

While the entire cast does a fantastic job, with special mention of the late Tim Pigott-Smith as Mr. Hale, Lesley Manville as Mrs. Hale and Sinead Cusack as the indomitable Mrs. Thornton, the standout performance for me (apart from the two main leads, of course) was Brendan Coyle as Nicholas Higgins. Coyle plays this complex character with great sensitivity – a rebellious trade union leader who grows to empathize with his boss; a man who tries to do what he thinks is right, though it will cost him terribly. We as the audience are fully invested in his character, and his growth is very believable. Next to Thornton and Margaret, I found Higgins the most interesting character in the series. 

Finally, the cinematography. The story takes place in three distinct geographical settings (Helstone, London and Milton), which also represent different phases of Margaret’s life and character arc. I love the contrasting use of colour and lighting to present these places as they appear in her consciousness at different times in the story. Milton appears almost completely colourless at first, reflecting her impression of the town as a dreary place fit only for death and misery. On the other hand, Helstone, shown to us in flashbacks of over-exposed colour, is too bright and beautiful to be true. While Margaret looks back on her childhood village as paradise, she fails to see the hidden poverty, the rigid class and economic structures that existed in rural England at the time. Over time, as her understanding grows, the colours of both Milton and Helstone appear more realistic. Despite its drawbacks Milton, unlike the village, offered an opportunity for self-made people like Thornton to achieve upward economic and social mobility.  

All said, I think this adaptation stays true to the original spirit of the book. However, what makes it so special is the way in which it creates moments that make we, the audience, care for the characters. Moments that stay with us long after we are done watching. Margaret, walking into Marlborough Mills among the floating cotton fluff, cold and lovely as falling snow (one of the most hauntingly beautiful scenes I have ever seen on screen); Mrs. Thornton’s face when she learns from her son that Margaret has refused him; Thornton’s smile as he realizes that after all, Margaret did not board that train to London.

And That Kiss. Definitely one of the most romantic on-screen kisses ever, it is the kind of kiss that puts The Notebook Kiss and the Titanic Kiss to shame. I could go on, of course, but let’s just say it is the kind of kiss that would make any girl wish she were Margaret…

Minerva's Ramblings: Little Women (2019)

Watched the 2019 Little Women movie directed by Greta Gerwig last evening. Well, actually what happened was, I was browsing through Netflix when my husband said he would get a bit late coming home. And I saw this movie up and thought, hey, why not watch this now? Because this is one movie hubby is definitely not going to sit through with me!

I am almost scared to watch movies based on books that I love, especially those I was close to as a child (book lovers will know what I mean!). And Little Women is one of those. I read the Macmillan version as a little girl, loved it, and thought the STORY ENDED THERE (when Mr. March returns home from the war). I was in college when I discovered that there was in fact a second volume, AND two sequels as well – Good Wives, Little Men and Jo’s Boys. Of course, I had to hunt them down and read them. Loved them too.

Getting to the movie. I must say that I have not watched any other film or TV version of the story, and neither had I read any critics’ or user reviews either, prior to watching this one. So I went in completely blank, so to speak, which is what I usually prefer (usually, but not always). As the movie began, I was confused. Was this a re-imagination of the story? It took just a few minutes for me to make sense of the jumbled timeline – and once I did, everything fell perfectly into place. I subsequently read a few reviews criticizing the non-linear narrative structure. While I understand why it may have confused some (especially those who have not read the novel), I think this was the perfect creative choice for the director to bring something fresh to an-already familiar storyline and efficiently condense a literary saga into a 2-hour film, while remaining faithful to the book.

Let’s talk about casting. Prior to watching the movie, I was intrigued, but skeptical. I adore Saoirse Ronan and Meryl Streep, and I also like Emma Watson and Laura Dern. As soon as I saw her, I knew Streep was the perfect Aunt March (is there any role she would not be perfect in?) but was less than thrilled by the others. For Jo, I had always pictured someone with plainer, “homely” looks, and while I don’t think any A-list Hollywood actress could ever be plain or homely, Ronan’s stunning, almost-otherworldly beauty is the opposite of what I had imagined Jo to look like. On the other hand, I have always thought of Emma Watson as a no-frills, classic, modern, beauty – not the traditional soft, womanly romantic type Meg is portrayed as in the book. In fact, in the novel, Jo and Meg are juxtapositions of two distinct stereotypes – and Watson seemed a better fit for Jo, if anything. I had a similar feeling about Marmee – the quintessential gentle, motherly character with a kind yet perpetually anxious look about her – a faded, unfashionable beauty, growing old before her years. Laura Dern, while a great actress, seemed a little too everything – too stylish, too modern, too classically good-looking and certainly no faded beauty!  

One of the greatest dangers of comparing a much-loved book to a movie, is that we so often visualize the characters in our minds while reading – they feel so alive to us. And when the movie casts people completely different, we are disappointed. But that is exactly why we must look at the movie with new eyes – as an entirely different creative entity that keeps to the heart of the story, the characters and the author’s intent, but is not a clone of the book.

Looking at it this way, it was wonderful to observe how the movie was mostly successful in doing so. While Gerwig was confident enough to take it in this direction, this is also largely thanks to the versatility and skill of Ronan and Dern, who fit into their characters like slipping on the perfect glove – snugly, warmly, but remolding it ever so slightly to themselves, the actors. Great characters after all, despite their distinctive traits, have a bit of the “everyman” (or everywoman!) in them – fluid, moldable, universal. Ronan was completely, utterly believable as Jo, the awkward tomboy with the quick temper and large heart; while Dern brought out the emotional depth of a protective mother who is still trusting enough to let her children follow their heart. A scene which particularly touched me was the one where Jo cries to Marmee about her temper, after Amy nearly drowns in the lake. Marmee tells her that after all, she and Jo may be more similar than Jo thinks – “I’m angry nearly every day of my life”. This surprises Jo, and us, the audience – and in that scene I was struck by how, superficial differences aside, physically similar Dern and Ronan can be, with their long fair hair, pale skin and lanky, boyish figures; and more to the point – how different they are from the rest. Simply genius.

My initial misgivings about Watson as Meg, however, were somewhat fulfilled. Somehow, despite the girlish pigtails, I failed to see the gentle, soft beauty of Meg in her. This coupled with the fact that she was scripted as one of the less interesting characters in the movie made me feel slightly disconnected to the character. Yet in the novel too, Meg, though closest of the sisters to the “romantic heroine” archetype, is (ironically?) overshadowed not just by Jo, but Amy as well, neither of whom are traditional Victorian-era heroines. This makes me wonder if this was a deliberate choice by the director – however, I would have still liked to see a different actress as Meg.

Florence Pugh was a revelation. While Jo may be the protagonist, Amy is definitely the more complex character. As much as everyone loves Jo (at least all modern readers I know!), Amy is the girl you love to hate, but just can’t bring yourself to. Her character evolves tremendously over the course of the story, but here’s the crunch – the change is organic, rather than an epiphanic transformation as she falls in love with Laurie (thereby being both believable, as well as avoiding a common trope of romance novels). This is extremely challenging to bring to life on film, with its limited run-time. The non-linear narrative certainly helps, but Pugh pulls it off wonderfully, and we believe her every step of the way. We must also remember that playing a 13-year old child and a 20-year old woman (the movie wisely chooses to increase younger Amy’s age from 10 to 13) with equal conviction is extremely difficult. The changes must be subtle, yet dramatic, and it is very easy to go overboard – but Pugh balances it with ease.

A few words on the cinematography. I will not pretend to be any sort of expert and analyze this, but let me just say that every single shot was spectacular, fitting the mood of the story without hitting you on the head with its symbolism…from the deceptively peaceful frozen lake where Jo and Laurie go skating one snowy day, to the increasingly gloomy beach where Jo reads her stories to Beth. Likewise, the costumes. Everyone looks gorgeous, but character-appropriate, without becoming caricatures – Jo in her loose-fitting blazers and pants (looking as androgynous as it was possible to be in the Victorian era, I suppose); Meg in her flowy skirts and pretty bonnets, as befitting a proper young lady of her class; Amy in her over-the-top frills and flounces, still managing to look sophisticated rather than silly; and Beth in her simple dresses and shawls, a pretty little wildflower, often overlooked. All in all, this is a film that is breathtakingly beautiful to look at. (I later read up on the rationale behind costume designer Jacqueline Durran’s choice of costume and colour for each character, and I must say the attention to detail truly paid off).

You may have noticed by now that I have not made any comment on the male actors. I thought they were all good, but (sorry, Laurie!), this is the story of the March sisters – and Marmee – through and through. I was vaguely disturbed by the fact that the actor playing Laurie had a strong resemblance to my former nightmare of a boss, but other than that, I have nothing to complain of the performances.

And finally – it would not be possible to conclude ANYTHING about Little Women, without speaking of the Elephant. In. The. Room. The chemistry between Jo and Laurie. While I totally ship them as a fanfiction couple, I agree that while being soulmates always and forever, they would truly be miserable as a married pair (Heathcliff and Cathy, please take notes). And so, not being Wuthering Heights, each of them makes the perfectly sensible choice. I still don’t quite know how to feel about Laurie and Amy, but I believe that in the real world, it is certainly possible for someone to choose the so-called “consolation prize” and be the happier for it in the long run (moreover, Amy, despite starting off as a little brat of a girl, matures considerably over the course of the novel while Laurie – well, remains Laurie).

And so, Jo ends up with the Professor. Or does she? In a ridiculously brilliant twist that merges fiction with reality, the director leaves us in doubt, despite the sweet fairytale ending. The love that suddenly blossoms in Jo’s heart for Friedrich (he is smitten from the start, no doubt about that) that compels her to run after him in the rain at her family’s insistence – pops out of nowhere and is so jarringly inconsistent with her character, that you wonder how Gerwig could have been so careless and mainstream in an otherwise carefully-crafted film. And it makes us wonder – is this what Alcott truly wanted for Jo? Jo March, who tells Laurie, the love of her life (okay, I said it!) that she’d “rather be a free spinster and paddle my own canoe”, who tells her beloved sister Meg on the day of her wedding, “You’ll be bored of him in two years. We’ll be interesting forever”?

Mr. Dashwood gives Jo an ultimatum – marry off her heroine, or kill her. What would it have taken an unknown female author to get published in that day and age?

In our heart of hearts, I think we know.