Three stars. Rated PG-13, and needlessly, for mild sensuality and brief violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.15.15
This has been obvious for
(literally) centuries, but it bears repeating: Thomas Hardy was no Jane Austen.
Although Far from the Madding
Crowd — his fourth novel, and the one that brought him fame — paints a
lovingly descriptive portrait of the rolling, rugged countryside of 19th
century Southwest England, with the inflexible class divide that we’ve come to
expect from the period, Hardy fails utterly in his novel’s most important task:
the creation of a sympathetic protagonist.
Director Thomas Vinterberg and
star Carey Mulligan do their very best, in this newest film adaptation of
Hardy’s novel. In appearance, spirit and resourcefulness, her handling of
Bathsheba Everdene positively sparkles: an effervescent young woman who’d be
the center of attention at any social gathering, warding off the advances of
countless suitors.
Mulligan is adorable. Her radiant
smile is granted additional intensity by a mischievous glint in her eyes, and
her nose crinkles in a particularly endearing way when that smile blossoms into
a delightful grin that hints at the promise of ... something.
But that’s the problem: Bathsheba
is all coy suggestion, with no delivery. Her behavior is to be excused, in Hardy’s
view, by her innocence; the parentless upbringing that fueled her pride and
grit — and most particularly a determination to prove that a woman can go it
alone, despite the era’s disparagement of single women — also left her clueless
in kinder social graces such as diplomacy, tact and sensitivity.
By surface appearance, we can’t
help admiring Bathsheba. By her actions ... well, that’s another matter indeed.
Part of the problem, of course,
is the widening gap that separates our 21st century sensibilities from this
novel’s 1874 publication date, with all that entailed. During the past 50 years
in particular — since this book’s best-known 1967 adaptation by director John
Schlesinger, with Julie Christie handling the title role — we’ve grown less
tolerant of a 19th century male author’s clumsy attempt at a female
protagonist, and far more impressed by Austen’s progressive 18th century
creation of (to us) much more interesting heroines.
I spent all of this film debating
whether Bathsheba, constantly making poor decisions, deserves the happy ending
we all know is coming ... and I’m not persuaded that she does. Her blunt
behavior toward two of the men in her life is breathtakingly callous, at times
downright cruel. One wishes to reach into the screen, and smack some sense —
and kindness — into her.
That’s a serious issue, but by no
means this film’s only flaw. Hardy’s novel is dense, to say the least; the
Penguin Classics edition runs just shy of 500 pages. Scripter David Nicholls
does that weighty tome no favors with his jarringly abrupt and often clumsy
adaptation, with some details condensed to the point of absurdity. Although
Nicholls includes all of the novel’s key plot points, that’s pretty much all he
includes.
It’s somewhat amusing to note
that this film follows the novel’s Wikipedia synopsis almost to the letter, as
if Nicholls had based his shooting script on that 11-paragraph summary. We get
no back-story on key characters; others wander in and out of the narrative
seemingly at random; crucial plot points are sidestepped or ignored entirely.
We’ll never know how long
Vinterberg’s original cut ran, but this 120-minute film feels like the “best
bits” from a far longer production ... which, in turn, merely reinforces the
fact that such a narrative would have done far better as a six-hour BBC
miniseries.
Which probably would have drawn a
more appreciative audience. This film can’t possibly appeal to mainstream
viewers — what period costume melodrama does, these days? — and even Hardy’s
most devoted fans will be annoyed by the Reader’s Digest Condensed Book
liberties repeatedly taken here.
The Danish-born Vinterberg has an
eclectic résumé, to say the least, although he does seem drawn to mannered,
interpersonal conflict, particularly among intimates; that’s certainly the
right sensibility here. And Nicholls should have been perfect, having recently
adapted Dickens (2012’s big-screen Great Expectations) and taken an earlier
shot at Hardy, with a 2008 miniseries handling of Tess of the D’Urbervilles.
But there you go: The latter ran
a far more satisfying 240 minutes.
Anyway...
While helping an aunt with her
farm, Bathsheba meets Gabriel Oak (Matthias Schoenaerts), a young neighbor who,
through dint of savings and a loan, has leased the neighboring property and
stocked it with sheep. Utterly smitten, he impulsively asks her hand in
marriage; quite taken aback, she refuses.
Not much later, Gabriel’s
fortunes shift due to a ghastly tragedy; Bathsheba, apparently discomfited by
his proposal, flees to a distant village.
(What happens to her aunt,
struggling so hard to manage a farm single-handedly? What happens to the
adorable lamb that Gabriel has presented Bathsheba, as a sweet gift?)
Circumstance unites them again,
after Bathsheba inherits an uncle’s estate and farm, and Gabriel happens upon
it in time to help douse a fire. (Classic novels, never forget, are driven by
such coincidence.) Meanwhile, though, Gabriel had a blink-and-you’ll-miss-them
encounter with Francis Troy (Tom Sturridge), a dashing soldier and obvious
rogue; and Fanny Robbin (Juno Temple), the young woman who loves him, and who
is equally loved in return.
Somehow, on the basis of this
nanosecond glimpse, and with no words exchanged, Gabriel knows that Troy is No
Good. (So do we, but that’s beside the point.)
Time passes. Bathsheba settles
into her role as landowner and manager of a sizable estate staff, winning the
latter’s approval by demonstrating her willingness to work just as hard as they
do, often at their sides. Her closest confidant becomes Liddy (Jessica Barden),
a servant (maid? housekeeper?) who comes to admire and respect her new
mistress.
Their property abuts an even
larger estate owned by the reclusive, middle-aged William Boldwood (Michael
Sheen), who may be even more socially inept than Bathsheba. Thanks to a truly
thoughtless joke, Boldwood comes to believe that she fancies him; although she
has the courtesy to apologize for her behavior, she nonetheless insists that he
has no chance with her. For the moment, anyway...
Enter a Fanny-less Troy — thanks
to a truly eye-rolling contrivance: more understandable in Hardy’s novel, but
absurdly handled here — who abruptly becomes Bathsheba’s third admirer.
Raise your hands, class: If
Bathsheba is to succumb to somebody, who’s the worst possible choice?
Right first time. And,
apparently, all because of some sword tricks. Even Mulligan can’t persuade us
that Bathsheba is that shallow; this is the dumbest incident in Nicholls’
script.
And the one that hurts Boldwood
the most, of course.
Sheen almost steals the film; his
portrayal of Boldwood is heartbreaking. We grieve for this poor man, and the
awkwardness with which he attempts to explain his feelings; one of Sheen’s best
moments comes fairly early, outside Bathsheba’s home, as Boldwood, wracked by
agonized indecision, reluctantly accepts Gabriel’s suggestion to withdraw.
Gabriel, who misses nothing,
treats Boldwood with the quiet kindness that Bathsheba never realizes is
required.
Schoenaerts is equally memorable
as the stoic but obviously smitten Gabriel, forever respecting Bathesheba’s
wishes, and nonetheless remaining nearby, in order to protect her ... mostly
from herself. The impetuously self-centered young woman frequently abuses this
loyalty ... and yet, at the same time, comes to depend upon it.
Schoenaerts nails the calm,
deferential nature required of his role; I kept thinking of Cary Elwes’ farm
boy, Westley, in The Princess Bride, and the dutiful “As you wish” he spoke
in response to every request made by his beloved Buttercup. Schoenaerts grants
that archetype a more serious tone here, but the devotion is identical.
We hate Troy on sight, as we’re
supposed to; Sturridge is the pluperfect cad.
As for Fanny ... not a clue.
Temple can’t be blamed; she simply doesn’t get any screen time, and therefore
no opportunity to flesh out her character to any degree.
Events build to an eye-rolling climax
in the third act, contrivance taking the overly melodramatic turns we’d expect
from an afternoon TV soap opera. Sometimes the results are unintentionally
funny, as when Bathsheba objects to Troy’s demand for more money, on the
grounds that he’ll bankrupt their farm. Seriously? It feels, at this point,
like they’ve been married for two or three days; how much could he have gambled
away in so short a time?
Obviously, then, they’ve been
together far longer ... but that’s not the way it plays here.
Plot issues aside, things
certainly look fabulous. Cinematographer Charlotte Bruus Christensen imbues
every frame with the luxurious, pastoral splendor necessary to bring what Hardy
called his “realistic dream country” to vivid life. Production designer Kave
Quinn does equally marvelous things with the estates, farm settings and brief glimpses
of nearby villages; costume designer Janet Patterson garbs everybody to
perfection.
Much as individual moments can be
enjoyed, however — Nicholls does grant Mulligan and Schoenaerts some droll,
flirty exchanges of dialogue — Vinterberg’s film is far less than the sum of
various exquisite parts. Bathsheba remains too deeply flawed, and the narrative
much too choppy.
No comments:
Post a Comment