3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang
Director Simon Curtis’ absorbing,
ripped-from-the-headlines drama could be considered the All the President’s Men of the art world.
Much the way that 1976 classic
made journalistic investigation so fascinating, scripter Alexi Kaye Campbell
breathes intrigue and tension into what — in the real world — unfolded as an
extended, research-heavy, David vs. Goliath courtroom battle. Campbell has the
advantage of the considerable tension surrounding the saga’s Holocaust origins;
the result, while sometimes sliding into clichéd melodrama, builds to a
suspenseful finale.
On one side of the dispute:
octogenarian Jewish refugee Maria Altmann (Helen Mirren) and her callow, almost
laughably inexperienced attorney, Randy Schoenberg (Ryan Reynolds).
On the other side: the entire
country of Austria, personified by condescending museum owners and Ministry of
Culture officials.
The situation at issue: actual
ownership of five paintings by Austrian master Gustav Klimt, most notably his
legendary Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer,
a work iconic enough to be recognized even by people who know nothing about
art.
As it happens, Adele Bloch-Bauer
was Maria Altmann’s aunt ... and therein lies the tale.
Curtis and Campbell divide their
narrative between the late 1930s, leading up to and immediately following
Hitler’s annexation of Austria; and the late 1990s, beginning with a stack of
letters found by Maria, in the twilight of her comfortable years in California,
following the death of her beloved sister. The letters’ contents raise
intriguing questions, prompting Maria to seek advice from Randy, a budding
attorney and the grandson of a family friend.
Randy initially wants nothing to
do with what he perceives is a ludicrous, hopeless case; he’s much too busy
trying to fit in at the prestigious legal firm where he has just been hired by
the authoritative senior partner (Charles Dance, in a brief but suitably
intimidating role). But Maria, imperious in her own right, plays the “Jewish
heritage” card ... and, before he quite realizes what has happened, Randy is
hooked.
An exploratory visit to Austria
hardens his interest, after he and Maria are rebuffed by the aforementioned
cultural officials. Despite the restitution law passed by Austria’s Green Party
in 1998, they discover — with the assistance of Austrian investigative
journalist Hubertus Czernin (Daniel Brühl) — that this supposed display of
“justice” is little more than a PR ploy, which the country’s nationalists have
no intention of applying to any truly revered artworks.
And nothing is more revered than
Klimt’s masterpiece, regarded, as Czernin explains, as “Austria’s Mona Lisa.”
Ah, but never underestimate the
stubbornness of youth. Now well and truly irritated, Randy begins a herculean
effort to sue Austria in U.S. courts, under the aegis of the Foreign Sovereign
Immunities Act: an audacious ploy regarded by all — even Maria, at her bleaker
moments — as a fool’s errand.
Meanwhile, six decades earlier...
Interwoven flashback sequences
depict the loving Bloch-Bauer family during happier times, focusing on Maria’s
marriage, at age 21 (now played by Tatiana Maslany), to opera singer Fredrick
“Fritz” Altmann (Max Irons). Not quite a year later, the 1938 Anschluss brings
the Nazis into power in Austria — where they’re greeted with parades and
flowers, in a scene Curtis orchestrates for maximum nausea — and the Jewish
Bloch-Bauer family finds itself under siege.
(We must remember that Austria,
at times, was even more gleefully enthusiastic than Germany, when it came to
persecuting its Jewish citizens. The collective Mauthausen-Gusan concentration
camps, among the worst, were based in Upper Austria.)
We know that Maria, at least,
will escape; her eventual new life in California is obvious proof. But how this
will come about — and who else will or won’t be able to join her — generates
considerable anxiety, particularly because Curtis teases us, by repeatedly
cutting away from impending catastrophe, to return to the more recent half of
the story.
Mirren is delightfully regal,
stern and fussy, easily inhabiting the sort of aristocratic matron that she and
Judi Dench play so impeccably. Although it’s amusing to watch the way Maria
chides and scolds Randy into a better version of himself, Mirren’s stand-out
scenes come during her character’s dejected, doubtful moments, particularly as
months and then years pass. She’s an old woman, after all, and we can see the
grinding toll of frustration and weariness.
No scene has more snap, though,
than when Maria initially rejects Randy’s suggestion that they visit Austria
personally; the acid-tinged scorn in Mirren’s voice is palpable, as Maria
point-blank refuses to ever again set foot in the country that treated her
family so horribly. We understand the venom, and know that she means it ...
except that, for the story to progress, Maria must change her mind. Mirren
sells that moment just as
persuasively.
Reynolds is mis-cast. He probably
was selected for his ability to wear nervous inexperience like a badly fitting
suit, and he handles that well enough. But sadly — and quite damaging, to the
story’s potential power — Reynolds never shakes his image as a light romantic
lead. His features have no dramatic heft, and we keep expecting him, always at
the wrong moment, to burst into one of his characteristic grins. He simply
doesn’t sell the role.
The actual E. Randol Schoenberg
may have been somewhat raw when he agreed to represent Maria Altmann —
although, frankly, I doubt that — but he clearly would have been serious,
resolute and talented. Reynolds’ underlying vibe undercuts the film at every
turn.
He shares a few scenes with Katie
Holmes, as Randy’s patient and devoted wife Pam; theirs clearly is a warm and
loving relationship, and the Reynolds/Holmes chemistry isn’t bad. But Pam
remains an under-written sidebar character, whose presence seems superfluous
(obviously not the desired effect).
Just in passing, Randy also
happens to be the grandson of celebrated Austrian composer Arnold Schoenberg: a
detail given symbolic heft a few times throughout this film.
Maslany, in great contrast, is
resourceful fire and fury as Maria’s younger self: no surprise there, given the
actress’ talents as the multiple-role-playing star of TV’s Orphan Black. Maslany is an impressively skilled young actress, and Maria’s climactic scenes
with her parents are powerful indeed.
Brühl, who recently delivered
memorable work in both Rush and A Most Wanted Man, works hard at a
difficult role: not because the part itself is particularly demanding — he’s
quite convincing as journalist determined to right wrongs — but because he also
serves as this film’s “explainer.” Brühl is saddled with a lot of expository
dialogue that bridges both historical and contemporary gaps, and that always
risks blunting our involvement with events, due to too much said-bookism.
Brühl, happily, minimizes such
damage.
Several familiar faces pop up in
cameo roles, notably Elizabeth McGovern, as a sympathetic California judge; and
Jonathan Pryce, spot-on in his take-no-prisoners depiction of Supreme Court
Chief Justice William Rehnquist.
Although I understand the
dramatic value of this film’s extended Holocaust sequences, the trade-off is
unfortunate; in order to hold the film at a comfortable two hours, Campbell’s
script glosses over or completely omits quite a few factual details. Randy’s
wife Pam isn’t the only character treated cursorily; the same can be said of
Maria’s husband Fritz, who sorta-kinda just disappears at one point.
And while we get several glimpses
of the adorable Beverly Hills clothing shop that has granted Maria a livelihood
for a great many years, no mention is made of the fact that Maria Altmann was
responsible for introducing women in California — and, indeed, the entire
country — to the wonders of cashmere sweaters.
Come on ... I can understand the
wisdom of omitting sidebar characters such as Fritz’s brother Bernard, but
failing to mention that Maria became the veritable “face of cashmere” for several
decades? That’s just silly.
Campbell’s script needs
fine-tuning, although the story as presented certainly benefits from the
heartfelt sincerity of all involved. And, as often is the case with earnest
dramas lifted from actual events, its greatest value may be in the mainstream
light it shines on a genuinely fascinating legal saga, and the possibility that
curious viewers will seek out journalist Anne-Marie O’Connor’s absorbing book, The Lady in Gold, along with the two
documentaries made before Maria’s death: Stealing
Klimt and Adele’s Wish.
Meanwhile, Curtis’ engaging film
is a thoughtful reminder that we must remain ever vigilant, lest old atrocities
are compounded by fresh insults concealed beneath a cloak of “enlightenment.”
No comments:
Post a Comment