3.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for dramatic intensity, violence and sexual content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.26.12
Anne Hathaway’s performance, by
itself, is worth the price of admission.
 |
| Having finally realized that his failure to intervene earlier has cost Fantine (Anne Hathaway) her dignity and a great deal more, Valjean (Hugh Jackman) promises to do better. Sadly, aside from the fact that his actions on Fantine's behalf likely will be too late, he doesn't even know about her young daughter, also in desperate need of rescue. |
Her climactic solo on “I Dreamed
a Dream” may be the best musical moment ever captured on film. Nay, one of
cinema’s finest five-minute scenes, period.
Words cannot convey the power of her
performance, which director Tom Hooper wisely, amazingly, captures in a single long take. Hathaway starts out gangbusters, never taking cover in the multiple
edits that have become ubiquitous in too many of today’s lesser musicals, and she
simply gets better, stronger, more poignant and powerful as the tune continues.
This is no standard-issue pause
for song; Hathaway emotes throughout, never losing her character’s
heartbreaking anguish, instead using the lyrics themselves, pouring body and
soul into every syllable, as the scene builds, and builds, and builds, until
achieving a level of intensity that grabs us by the throat. Her work is
positively wrenching.
When she concludes, finally, we
sink back with exhaustion. Truly stunned. Blown away. Aware of having witnessed
a movie moment for the ages.
Wow.
I can’t say that Hooper achieves the
same level of excellence throughout all of this long-awaited, big-screen
adaptation of Les Misérables, but he certainly draws similarly superb
performances from most of his cast. His film is highlighted by numerous
show-stopping songs: some solos, others displaying the exquisite harmonies
woven into Claude-Michel Schönberg’s often complex score.
Hugh Jackman is well cast as the
stalwart Jean Valjean, the tragic hero whose destiny changes first with an act
of kindness by a clergyman, and then again after accepting responsibility for
an orphaned little girl. Hathaway is sublime as the doomed Fantine; Sacha Baron
Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter provide ample comic relief as the greedy,
grasping Thénardier and his wife.
Their production number, “Master
of the House,” is another marvelous set-piece, this one an imaginatively
choreographed display of larcenous behavior that evokes fond memories of
Fagin’s “You’ve Got to Pick a Pocket or Two,” in 1968’s Oliver!
Much further into the story,
Eddie Redmayne — as Marius — delivers an equally moving rendition of “Empty
Chairs at Empty Tables,” giving this lament to absent friends a level of grace
and emotional intensity that rivals the final verse of the classic “Danny Boy.”
However...
All this said, all the things
that Hooper and his cast get right, the film suffers mightily from one of the
worst cases of miscasting I’ve ever endured: Russell Crowe’s misguided presence
as Javert, the dogged policeman who hounds Valjean through time, place and
numerous changes of identity.
Crowe can’t sing.
Not a note.
He whisper/talk-chants in the
manner of Rex Harrison, which might have been acceptable in a lightweight
musical comedy, but sure as hell doesn’t work here. Crowe’s solos — the
midpoint “Stars” and the dirge during Javert’s eventual epiphany — are
hopelessly weak, but at least they embarrass nobody but himself. The true harm
comes during performances with other players, when Javert’s contributions
should blend harmonically, powerfully, with (for example) Valjean.
Scenes that should be thunderous,
musically, fall flat: utterly sabotaged by Crowe’s flimsy efforts at song. A
musical hasn’t been this badly served since a young and tuneless Clint Eastwood
was forced to “Sing to the Trees” in the 1969 film adaptation of Paint Your
Wagon.
What was Hooper thinking?
Given the care with which every
other role is cast — a talent he displayed equally well with 2010’s The King’s Speech, bringing an Oscar to Colin Firth in the process — I can’t imagine why
Hooper went so tone-deaf by selecting Crowe.
The mind doth boggle.
The damage actually extends
beyond Crowe’s lack of musical chops; his acting also is a weak link. Javert
needs to be striking, terrifying, implacable; Crowe makes him merely dogged and
plodding, something of a mumbling, 19th century Columbo. Absolutely the wrong
reading for the role. I waited, in vain, for the ferocity that Crowe brought to
his work in, say, The Insider or A Beautiful Mind. Never happened.
He isn’t merely a weak link; he
rusts the entire chain. Absolutely tragic.
In all other respects, Hooper’s Les
Misérables is a lavish, impeccably acted adaptation that will, I’m sure, be
admired by the fans who’ve flocked, lo these many years, to touring productions
of the original Cameron Mackintosh stage production.
Hooper opens up the action imaginatively
and impressively, with production designer Eve Stewart and art director Grant
Armstrong bringing 19th century France to glorious life in terms of both
opulence and squalor. (One gets a very strong sense of slums and sewers, during
the course of this story!) Cinematographer Danny Cohen similarly varies lens,
focus and film stock grain, depending on the demands of a given scene; the movie's
appearance, from one moment to the next, deftly complements the emotional
thrust of each song.
The saga begins dramatically in
1815, in Toulon, as Valjean — known only as Prisoner 24601 — and his fellow convicts
haul a massive ship into port, ocean water crashing about these poor wretches,
all laboring under the watchful gaze of Javert. Jackman leads the ensemble in
the opening number, “Look Down,” which establishes the grim Valjean/Javert
dynamic that will fuel the story to come.
This becomes Valjean’s final act
in chains, as he’s subsequently granted parole; Javert, however, fully expects
this “bad man” to behave according to type and land back in jail. It very
nearly happens that way, save for the benevolence of a bishop who displays
faith in Valjean’s ability to turn his life around.
This prologue succinctly
established — this musical, of necessity, greatly compresses the events in
Victor Hugo’s 1,500-page novel — events move forward eight years, to
Montreuil-sur-Mer, where Valjean has re-invented himself as Monsieur Madeleine,
the respected town mayor and factory owner. One of his workers, Fantine, has a
secret illegitimate child whose existence becomes known to all the other women.
They turn on her, and Fantine loses her job, becoming a prostitute in order to
keep paying the avaricious guardians — Thénardier and his wife — who abuse
little Cosette (Isabelle Allen) while spoiling their own daughter, Éponine (Natalya
Wallace).
Fantine’s descent into desperate
depravity is depicted strikingly via song (“Lovely Ladies”) during a horrific
sequence that climaxes with her forlorn rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream.”
 |
| Valjean (Hugh Jackman, right) believes that he's safely concealed behind a new identity, as a much-admired mayor and factory owner. But a flicker of recognition blossoms into much more, as the relentless Javert (Russell Crowe) becomes more and more convinced that this "respectable aristocrat" actually is former Prisoner 24601, who broke parole and vanished years earlier. |
Valjean, meanwhile, has
encountered Javert anew, who wonders whether they’ve met before. Circumstance
eventually forces Valjean to behave according to the nobler path he has taken;
the result is that he and Cosette — having secured her release from the
Thénardiers — are forced to flee.
The scene shifts again to 1832
Paris, where Valjean and a now-grown Cosette (Amanda Seyfried) have taken
refuge. The city is in turmoil, with the ill-treated poor literally dying in the
streets, and revolution on the minds of politically active students such as
Marius and Enjolras (Aaron Tveit). This situation is encapsulated during an
energetic anthem delivered by a plucky, indomitable street urchin named
Gavroche (Daniel Huttlestone, a veteran of the West End production of this
play).
Huttlestone brings fresh spirit
to a production already boasting numerous strong performances; his Gavroche is
a lively, instantly likable lad.
By chance, Marius spots Cosette
one day; the mutual attraction is immediate and powerful. This comes as a sad
shock to the now-grown Éponine (Samantha Barks), who loves Marius herself, but
fears she cannot compete. Éponine’s parents are on hand, as well, as all the
active characters come together while Enjolras and his fellow revolutionaries
gather ammunition in anticipation of a final stand against the king’s army.
The entire epic unfolds via song
and action; very little dialogue is simply spoken. The few exceptions are, as a
result, quite touching. It’s amazing, really, how the artifice and florid
theatricality eventually melt away, and we find ourselves as wholly invested in
the story, and these characters, as would be the case with a “straight” drama.
Indeed, being able to enjoy
big-screen close-ups of Jackman, Hathaway and all the others, particularly
during their solos, brings fresh power to the experience. You simply can’t get
that level of intensity from the first- and second-balcony seats that most
folks are forced to accept during a live production, which truly works only for
those lucky enough to occupy the front 10 rows or so.
At its best, Hooper’s film
captures those front-and-center thrills, reminding us precisely why so many
fans have adored this musical for so many years.
Too bad Crowe’s colorless Javert
keeps getting in the way.
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