I never did get the chance to see the theatrical production of Les Misérables; such are the vagaries of the calendar. Fortunately, there is this magnificent film from the director of the superlative crowd-pleaser, The King’s Speech. The leap from stage to screen is entirely sensible for the sort of big-spectacle theatre. What cinema lacks in the energy of a live performance, it makes up for in a kinetic energy all its own as well as a natural affinity for grandeur. What an epic story Les Misérables is, the human condition writ upon a canvas with bold strokes of revolution, hope and love amidst humanity’s cruel capacity for inhumanity.
Epic, but rooted in the intimacy of suffering characters revolving around the antagonistic relationship between two men. At one pole is Inspector Javert, an acute portrait of the fanatic whose monolithic faith in the letter of the law blinds him to its spirit of justice. Relentless, his single-minded obedience fuels a resolve that, however formidable, is brittle for all its inflexibility. At the other pole is his quarry, Jean Valjean, a man grotesquely punished for the crime of stealing a loaf of bread to feed a hungry child. When he emerges from slavery, his physical chains are replaced by arguably worse societal and legal chains. No one could fail to understand the feelings of anger and hatred he feels. Yet an act of kindness by the sort of Catholic priest we’d much rather read about than the likes of Cardinal Mahoney diverts Valjean onto a nobler path. As an antidote to Hollywood’s endless parade of violent revenge fantasies – entertainment that reflects the worst of our cultural impulses – Les Misérables magnificently illustrates how hope can emerge from even the thickest grime of despair through the grace of compassion and forgiveness.
If nothing else, the cinematic presentation of the popular musical evokes a strong desire to delve deeply into Victor Hugo’s novel, to absorb the historical context and character portraits that must necessarily be curtailed by nature of transplanting a story from one medium to another. But there are, to our good fortune, richer dimensions to the film than directing viewers to its twice-removed source material.
The Sound of Music with a Message
Of course, we see in the film the strength of music. After overcoming the initial hurdle of film characters breaking into song, a feeling of surprise absent in Bollywood audiences, it is possible to appreciate what is easily taken for granted: The way music offers the psychological depth that, in a novel, is provided by prose. Although not a novel insight – pun intended, natch – it is a credit to director Tom Hooper that the music can assume such a starring position without compromising cinematic quality. The partnership of film and music is made viscerally, eye-poppingly clear in the opening scene in which slaves, overseen by pitiless guards, work in a downpour to bring a ship to dock. They tug on heavy ropes, their exertion visceral and frightening…and begin to sing “Look Down” in a moment of genuine emotive power.
Following exposure to mere snippets of the score by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Shonberg over the years, to finally experience the work in its entirety decisively exposes the juvenilia of a Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber score and underlines the bland pop-stylings in vogue among musicals these days. The music rates among the best of contemporary musicals. There are a few fragile elements in the cast, although none are ruinous and all are easily forgiven given the remarkable potency of the film’s dominant players. Hugh Jackman, of course, delivers a consistent and reliable performance, having established himself as an eminently likeable, affable fellow with a natural affinity for playing everyman characters that despite their grounded natures are nevertheless extraordinary in some respect. The film stands firmly upon the earth with Jackman in the lead. But what, I’ve often been asked, of Russell Crowe in the role of dogged Inspector Javert? Whatever the buzz might suggest, Crowe is fine. No slouch, his performance lends a commanding, willful presence to his character. While Crowe’s singing does not offer dazzling feats of vocal virtuosity, his somewhat prosaic delivery seems well suited to a character lacking imagination and emotional self-awareness.
The standouts, however, must be Anne Hathaway and Eddie Redmayne. As Fantine, a woman driven to desperate prostitution after being expelled from one of the previous few jobs available, Hathaway offers a portrayal of the downward spiral that culminates in a devastating rendition of “I dreamed a dream.” If there ever was any doubt as to Hathaway’s merit to join the ranks of this generation’s great actresses, these should be erased on the basis of that single-take, tear-jerking soliloquy of ravaged dreams. Eddie Redmayne thrives in his role of Marius, a law student who finds company with young revolutionaries despite his pedigree among Paris’s upper class. Whether proclaiming his love for Cosette – Fantine’s daughter – or grieving the loss of his friends in “Empty Chairs and Empty Tables,”,Redmayne delivers in full the aches of the human heart.
A Directing Coup?
For these and other powerful moments, Hooper chooses to film the characters in close-up, foregoing the safety of distance in favour of the urgent and unsettling intimacy that comes from occupying the characters’ personal space at their most vulnerable moments. It works with wrenching effectiveness, as demonstrated by the haunting presence of Hatheway’s destroyed Fantine even after the film’s end.
There are, inevitably, a few quibbles, such as untamed accents across the ensemble. As adorable as Helena Bonham Carter is, her portrayal of the conniving innkeeper, Mrs. Thenardiers, opposite Sasha Baron Cohen seems transplanted from her turn as Mrs. Lovett in Tim Burton’s film adaptation of Sweeney Todd. Yet none of these nit-pickings interfere with the story’s tidal force. In the end, this film not named “Shiny Happy People” effortlessly transcends minor objections to deliver a musical and narrative journey in which thoughts are inflamed and emotions are wrung through the trials of being human.
Assistant Editor Frédérik Sisa is the Page's resident art critic as well as editor of The Fashionoclast. His personal blog is inkandashes.net, and he can be reached at fsisa@thefrontpageonline.com.
