Copyright © 1999 by Michael Segers, All rights reserved
Whew! I’m behind on film-reviewing, and there’s no end in sight. The studios have the idea that the later a film is released, the fresher it will be in the minds of voters for the Oscars and other awards. So, in late December, the theaters are flooded with new films. Often, a film will open on just a few screens in New York and Los Angeles so it will not get lost in the rush—The Thin Red Line last year and Topsy Turvy this year. This December, besides typical holiday fare (Toy Story 2 and Bicentennial Man), we also have the latest efforts of directors Milos Forman (Man on the Moon), Oliver Stone (Any Given Sunday), and Anthony Minghella (The Talented Mr. Ripley).
I’ll get to Man on the Moon next week. I have seen Any Given Sunday, but I’m not going to review it. I have trouble with Oliver Stone films, and in all honesty, I don’t have much to add to your experience of this particular film. I do have one idea to share, contrasting this film to For Love of the Game. Football sequences lack some of the drama of baseball sequences, because they lack the heroic individualism (or individual heroism) of baseball.
The talented Mr. Minghella gives us a treasure trove in The Talented Mr. Ripley, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes too much treasure. This film reminds me of Hitchcock’s films, with its appeal more to the intellect than to the heart, but its lushness (no surprise to followers of Minghella’s work) works against any Hitchcockian intensity. The sheer movieness of the whole project—a tale of golden lads and lassies in a rather exotic setting (Italy in the fifties)—the depth of the writing and the fullness of the performances make this film somewhat like a Chinese dinner. I left the theater stuffed, but an hour later, I felt empty. At least, I felt that the film was.
The problem is in the title character, Tom Ripley, no matter how wonderful Matt Damon’s performance is. In fact, there are two problems. For one, the character is almost a non-character, chameleon-like taking on the colors of his surroundings. For another, it is a challenge to have a character so much at the center of a film who is so thoroughly unlikable. Of course, it is hard to like a sociopathic killer, but sometimes, we have been able at least to feel sorry for such characters (Norman Bates in Psycho).
At the beginning of the film, in New York, Ripley casually talks with a man (James Rebhorn) who is fantastically wealthy and fantastically offended by his son Dickie’s (Jude Law) unwillingness to do anything except sail his boat, listen to jazz, and run through his allowance. Ripley is hired to go to Italy to convince the wayward son to come home. Ripley falls under the charms of Dickie, Dickie’s girlfriend Marge (Gwyneth Paltrow), and the sweet life they enjoy in Italy.
The three main actors are almost overshadowed by two amazing supporting performances. Cate Blanchett moves in and out of the film as a wealthy young woman who not only claims to hate her wealth but also says that she is comfortable only around similarly wealthy people. Philip Seymour Hoffman, who recently turned in a flawless performance in Flawless, creates a model of snobbery and egotism but an egotistical snob who is the only one who sees through the deceptive Mr. Ripley.
This quintet represents the cream of young Hollywood, and they capture the bratty indolence of these spoiled heirs. Ripley does not fit in, no matter how many voices and signatures he imitates, but he never seems to notice. He is never more than a parasite who thinks he is a friend and equal.
The film’s images of Italy almost half a century ago are richly textured backgrounds for Minghella’s languidly unfolding tale. It is more difficult to create believable costumes and props for four decades ago than for four centuries ago, but Minghella and company create a complexly layered world of grand hotels, police stations, small towns and big cities.
Part of the texture of the film is the complexity of themes and its philosophical resonance. Marge’s question, “Why is it when men play, they play at killing each other?” she says more about testosterone and violence than the whole dreary film Fight Club did. The film is deepened by a whole dimension of conscience. This is an extraordinarily moral film, or at least, a film extraordinarily concerned about moral issues.
This is a good, almost great film, but as I said, Mr. Ripley, for all his clothes and lies, just does not sustain this film. Earlier, I compared this film to a Chinese dinner. I might compare it to a doughnut, with a hole in the center. Make that a bagel, something to chew on.
Coming out at this time of year, this film is obviously being prepped for Academy Award nominations. My guess would be nominations for best performance for Damon and supporting performances for Hoffman and Blanchett, best adaptation of material and best direction for Minghella, and best picture.
As I’ve mentioned in earlier columns, the official web sites for movies are nothing more than advertising, but every once in a while, it is fun to see how that advertising is presented—sometimes with streaming video and other innovations. Anyway, click on these titles to visit the official sites for the three films mentioned in this article:
You can also learn about the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences, which presents the Oscars, and have a lot of fun with Rotten Tomatoes—and find a good bit of information as well. Do keep your feet dry and your heart full of noble thoughts, and though there may be no academy for it, be sure to give yourself an award for getting through another year.
The Rovin' and Ravin' Film Reviews