I was
approaching the highly anticipated adaptation of the musical Les Misérables with some caution. It’s my second favorite musical after Phantom and I know it almost as well;
the Phantom movie from 2004 is good
but hardly a replacement for the stage show.
I’m also quite fond of the 1998 non-musical version of Les Mis with Liam Neeson as Valjean and
Geoffrey Rush as Javert. While I enjoyed
the film, I have to say I don’t think it translates flawlessly from the
stage. It’s a bit on the long side. The actors work hard, but some of the magic
is missing.
****SPOILERS*****
Certainly the
film has the opportunity to shoot some things visually we’d never be able to
see on stage. I’m not sure, though, that
the film really lived up to its potential.
Certainly, the opening was a surprise.
To actually see the convicts
in the dockyards of Toulon was a surprise and a visual treat. The 1998 non-musical Les Mis did have a stage-setting moment of a quarry rather than a
dockyard, which gave atmospheric importance to this section of the story. This version is probably more stirring[1] but
raises expectations unnaturally high.
One of the reasons (I think) Les
Mis works so well is that it can conjure places and eras we’ll have never
seen on a darkened stage with minimal sets: the lauded turntable, etc. It is not necessary to see the degradation of the chain-gang convicts because “Look Down”
sufficiently expresses their feelings.
After all, given the decision made for the actors to sing in situ, it must be extremely difficult
to drag a ship into harbor and sing at the same time.
I had similarly
mixed feelings about Valjean’s Soliloquy.
After I got over my initial, unexpected joy at seeing Colm Wilkinson
(the original London stage Valjean) in a cameo as the Bishop of Digne, I
wondered why the Soliloquy had been staged in such an uncomfortable, claustrophobic
fashion. If that was the director’s
intention, I suppose it worked; I can understand why Hugh Jackman said in
interview that this project terrified and drained him. Being in almost unrelenting close-up during
this demanding song, performing live to the camera, is very different (I would
imagine) from normal film acting AND the way this song is performed on
stage. Setting it merely in the Bishop’s
chapel as Valjean repents over the stolen candlesticks seemed a true waste of
resources. The filmic scope improved a
bit when Valjean began to walk through the mountains on his way to starting his
life anew (to the strains of the connecting music between the Soliloquy and “At
the End of the Day”). As for Jackman’s
singing . . . I had had no worries on that score because I had heard him sing a
few musical songs in the past. He is a
certainly a solid tenor with the ability to reach up to Valjean’s high notes; I’m
not that keen on his vibrato. For one
thing, if you listen to John Barrowman’s, Michael Ball’s, and Jackman’s
versions of “Sunset Boulevard,” (as Aya and I did) you’ll be in no doubt who is
the best singer (hint: it’s
Barrowman). At least, this is my opinion
and my personal preference for musicals.
I think Jackman made a good movie Valjean, so good for him for making
the professional and personal leap into such a challenging role. But his performance wasn’t revelatory to the
point that I thought, “OMG, I’ve got to buy the soundtrack.”
One thing that
surprised me in this film version of Les
Mis was how well the ensemble pieces worked. They are a staple on stage, of course, and
have survived more or less intact on screen.
Film gives the chance for close ups rather than choreography, and that
works quite well in “At the End of the Day.”
The 1998 non-musical Les Mis was
filmed primarily in the Czech Republic and used that to stand in for the dark,
wintry Montreuil-sur-Mer, on which it lingered for a lot of its duration. This version of Montreuil was similar, though
once again it brought into focus the connection with the sea. (Obviously there are always sailors in “Lovely
Ladies” who sing “Seven weeks at sea can make you hungry for a poke” but for
some reason it never sunk in that Fantine might have joined the ranks of
seaside whores, quite literally “making money in your sleep” in old ship
carcasses.)
With a
cinematic flick of the wrist, Valjean is made even more sympathetic by virtue
of the fact that his (probably) natural inclination to hear out Fantine’s side
of the story before letting the Foreman dismiss her was interrupted by the
appearance of Javert. This mirrored, again,
the 1998 version, which placed a heavy emphasis on Valjean being flustered and
scared by the sudden reappearance of Javert.
It also allowed for the transposition of “I Dreamed a Dream” until after
Fantine had sold her hair, her teeth (I’d forgotten about that part; how
awful!), Cosette’s locket, and was deep into her degradation. Valjean and the cart was necessarily brief; “Lovely
Ladies” worked surprisingly well on film.
Anne Hathaway has proven her mettle in surprising ways in 2012. A few minor points regarding the way she sang
“I Dreamed a Dream” annoyed me, but the once again claustrophobic approach
seemed highly appropriate this time. In
keeping Fantine in ECU throughout this song, Hathaway was able to dredge up an
extraordinary palette of emotion. I had
thought perhaps film might permit us some flashbacks, even if they were very
vaguely painted into the background of this hollowed out old ship carcass, but
the filmmakers did not decide to do that.
I’m not sure
that we’ve ever been given a legitimate reason that Valjean is out near the
docks when Bamatabois attacks Fantine—this version seems to suggest he’s out
delivering alms to the poor. Javert is,
of course, on his beat. I was surprised
to see that this version used the version Hugo originally wrote, apparently
from anecdote, of Bamatabois stuffing snow down Fantine’s bodice. This trio is very nice, especially
Hathaway. “Who Am I?” is sung, in my opinion,
better than the Soliloquy, though the last few bars, which work in a whirlwind
fashion on stage as Valjean speeds by coach to the trial to clear the wronged
man, stretch credulity a bit. The
onlookers, instead of giving weight to “M’sieur Maire”’s testimony, think that
he’s gone mad.
I’ve not yet
said anything about Russell Crowe as Javert.
He was the actor I was most worried about translating into the singing
role. I am aware he is (or was?) in a rock
band, but as we know with Gerard Butler, that does not necessarily translate
into musical theatre excellence. I
really like the way the 1998 Les Mis handled
the Fantine-Valjean-Javert thing. It’s the
only version I’m aware of in which there is a hinted, completely unspoken
romance between Valjean and Fantine, and while I’m sure that’s not canon, it
was handled so well—making the scene of confrontation when Javert came to
arrest Valjean, taunting the dying Fantine—extremely moving. Of course there was nothing of the sort in
this version, and although Hathaway was perfectly good, she seemed very
suddenly to die[2]
(how strange that THIS was where they took the opportunity to use
hallucination/flashback!).
For obvious
reasons, “Confrontation” is probably my favorite song in all of Les Mis.
I love the counterpoint. But
back to Javert. Geoffrey Rush made a
somewhat vicious, self-righteous Javert—which was great—but he did not have the
benefit of song. Javert, except when
given the device of singing, is not the sort of fellow who would express his
feelings or even his thoughts aloud—hence why he was given a deputy in the 1998
version, so he could have at least some dialogue. Crowe, therefore, makes a very different sort
of Javert. He seems constantly in a
state of shock, or else withdrawal from the world. Despite the fact that Valjean demonstrates
his colossal strength, it is not the same physical sense we get when Liam
Neeson is playing Valjean and Rush is playing Javert—Crowe looks like he could
beat up Jackman (perhaps), so when Valjean sings, “I am warning you, Javert / I’m
a stronger man by far / There is power in me yet / My race is not yet run,” we
sort of have to take his word for it.
In any case, I
really liked this version of “Confrontation.”
Well-played, well-sung. Crowe is
no Philip Quast musically, but his baritone was much more pleasant and easy on
the ear than I expected and has a sort of nice “round” sound to it.
Perhaps the
most successful rewriting-for-screen in the whole movie took place at the
Inn. Set some time around December 6th
(as the St Nicholas in the sleigh suggests), the environs were convincingly recreated. For the first time, it really felt like we
were in 19th century France.
Sacha Baron Cohen really surprised me by playing Pirelli in Sweeney Todd, and Thénardier is a very
similar role. “Master of the House”
surprised me by having me roaring with laughter—visually, cinematically, this
song worked better than any other in the film.
The “Waltz of Treachery” was also very good; even if this Valjean didn’t
outwit the Thénardiers quite the way the Neeson one did, he certainly kept his
wits about him and didn’t let them hoodwink or rob him.
Here—in a very
Christmas-y sort of insertion—we had the new song, “Suddenly,” which was very
easy to pick out. It’s sweet and all,
but hardly necessary.
One of the more
thrilling moments in the 1998 film is Javert chasing Valjean and Cosette across
the Paris Wall, which to a point was recreated here.
With filming transposed
to Paris, the scale was increased even further.
With a winning actor to play Gavroche, the crowd scenes in the ensemble
number worked very well. I was surprised
to see Marius’ grandfather introduced (necessary, I suppose, for later
scenes). The chaos on the streets and in
the students’ tavern was well-done. I
liked the short glimpses we got of Marius’ garret to which Éponine was always
trailing. Of all the leads, Samantha
Barks is the least well-known. I love Éponine
and have always regarded her role as the one I would most like to sing. It was tragic but understandable that the
1998 movie eliminated her entirely (the better to make Cosette, played by Clare
Danes, sympathetic—which it did). Barks
is perfectly good as Éponine in all senses, almost making you wish the
character had more screen time. To see real
(well, “real”) rain, for the first time, during “On My Own” and “A Little Fall
of Rain” was kind of thrilling.
I do have to
give a mention to “Stars[3].” Moved from its traditional place in the
libretto, it used the film medium to its fullest, giving us a gorgeous (no
doubt CGI-ed) view of Javert singing from the rooftops of Paris, looking out at
Nôtre-Dame and walking, very literally, the straight and narrow, in a
deliberate set up for his Soliloquy later.
It was beautifully sung and I enjoyed it.
Eddie Redmayne
may not compare to Hans Matheson as far as looks go, but he has a very strong
singing voice and I thought he had enough charisma and youth[4] to be
Marius. His “Empty Chairs at Empty
Tables” brought tears to my eyes (though once again I was a bit disappointed at
the literal quality of the staging). “Red
and Black” was a beautiful song sung by some great young singers. The fairy tale quality of Valjean and Cosette’s
cottage and garden was beautifully brought to life, emphasizing Cosette’s
frustrated girlishness and Valjean’s difficulty in parenting skills even more
than the 1998 version. Cosette can be a
thankless role as there can be little to bring to the part—like Johanna in Sweeney Todd, she has a lovely and/or
piercing first soprano but also some of the loveliest song in the whole
oeuvre. Interestingly, unlike Johanna
who has “Green Finch and Linnet Bird,” Cosette never really has a soliloquy,
making her more difficult to really know than Éponine. In any case, Amanda Seyfried had a very pure
voice and warm diction, making her Cosette quite loveable.
Once again, I
found the staging of “In My Life” / “A Heart Full of Love” rather strange. I was trying to think of a comparable song in
Phantom, and in fact the one I was
thinking of, the trio in the Graveyard scene from Act II, was made a
non-singing scene in the 2004, perhaps for this very reason of staging. The constant use of cutting and close-ups made
for a rather strange quality during songs like this, where—in my old-fashioned
and probably stage-bound opinion—all three singers should be in shot. Occasionally this approach worked really
well, but sometimes . . . not.
Right about the
time of Lamarque’s funeral, I began to wonder how much longer the movie was
going to go on and whether it would be truncating any of the songs or changing
the ending slightly in order to sum things up a bit. Really, it did not much do this. It lurched on, making those unprepared in the
movie theatre wonder when it might ever end.
All of the sequences during the barricade scenes worked quite well on
film and communicated the senselessness of it all in a way that the stage
version sometimes can gloss over. “One
Day More,” in fact, worked very well on film—for the most part, it’s suited to
rapid cuts and shots of people moving—as demonstrated on the affectionate
parody back in 2008 which anticipated Obama’s election.
“You are wrong,
and always have been wrong,” Valjean sings to Javert, sparing his life in the
barricades. “I’m a man, no worse than
any man / And there are no conditions / No bargains or petitions / There’s
nothing that I blame you for / You’ve done your duty, nothing more.” This was a beautiful moment in this
film. I’m always a bit worried at how a
singer will take to “Bring Him Home”; the key is so high! Nevertheless, it was a moving song, even if slightly
prosaically shot. I wondered,
ultimately, how Enjolras’ death on the barricades in that extremely stylized
turntable moment was going to work onscreen.
Okay, so he fell out a window. There
was, however, a subtle moment that meant a lot.
In surveying the dead after all of the conspirators/patriots had been
shot, Javert pinned a medal on the dead Gavroche. This brought so much shading and nuance to
this character—it was almost shocking.
The sewers,
however, were visceral in every sense, though disappointing not to have “Dog
Eats Dog” (though, with so many more songs to sing, I can understand why it was
cut). I found myself wondering, after
Javert’s suicide, what more they were going to include. Dazzling as Marius and Cosette’s wedding was,
amusing as the (truncated) “Beggars at the Feast” was, I wondered if it might
all have been summed up and condensed down.
With so many characters dead and the only real point of interest being
Marius finding out that Valjean saved his life (big whoop), if I were not
familiar with the musical, I would be quite frustrated and bored.
However,
Valjean’s retreat into the convent was quite moving. “Alone, I wait in the shadows / I count the
hours til I can sleep / Cosette stood by / It made her weep to know I’d die /
Alone, at the end of my day / On this wedding night I pray / Take these
children, my Lord / to Thy embrace / and show them grace.” Lovely and satisfying (musically) as all of
this is, dramatically it certainly seems an anti-climax. I did wonder how on Earth the film was going
to deal with the spectral appearance of Fantine—it did so quite literally,
allowing Valjean and us only to see her as he died and was led off to the
barricades. The final chorus is
extremely rousing on stage and makes some sense, but as a finale to a film just
never quite achieves what it’s meant to.
You feel like singing along, and yet it is extremely hard to take at
face value the souls (or whatever) singing in the streets of Paris, and you
become, instead, aware that they are actors filming a movie. Whereas on stage, the music never stops and
it seems utterly natural to use the musical cues and characters in a symbolic
way to end the show.
Well, that’s my 2¢ anyway.
[1]
My heart did swell in joy when they actually used the Overture, something sadly
neglected in the movie version of Sweeney
Todd.
[2]
I was shocked thinking that very few films would allow a major character to die
1/3 of the way through like this!
[3] Again,
one of my favorite songs from Les Mis but
also indelibly associated in my memory with the Forbidden Broadway parody “Scars,”
in which the Javert actor sings, “Once I played Hamlet / Now night after night
/ I jump off a plastic bridge . . .”
[4] Joel
Schumacher famously cast Emmy Rossum as Christine in Phantom because he believed only a very young naïve girl would do
what Christine did. Marius has some
similar growing up to do, which he does.
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