 |
2002 |
 LETTER FROM LONDON #8 |
 Robert Altman at 77 |
GOSFORD PARK |
Altman's Mess of A Movie
Sneaks into the Final Five
of TheColumnists.com
A half hour into “Gosford Park” I began to wonder whether I was in the right screening room of the London cinema where I had just paid 15 dollars to see the latest Robert Altman experiment. Despite my double espresso, I was nodding off.
Like the rest of Britain, I had been pumped up with several weeks of hype around this giant mess of a movie. Altman was all over the BBC, and professional film critics in the print media had declared the film another Altman masterpiece. Now he’s probably heading for some combination of Oscars, having been nominated in seven categories including Best Director and Best Picture.
In fact, the story never jells and Altman’s constant efforts to push the boundaries of cinema too often fail to engage. Only hardened filmgoers curious about Altman’s growth as a director will find this movie satisfying. He’s now 77, and I didn’t see much evidence of growth. He would have been wise to retire after “The Player,” a film I watch over and over for its direction and its acting, particularly the oily Tim Robbins character.
“Gosford Park,” for those who have not yet suffered through it, concerns a shooting weekend for a group of obnoxious aristocrats in the countryside of 1930s England. The invitees bring their own servants, who have their own hierarchical structure similar to that of their masters. We are expected to be amused that head housekeeper Mrs. Wilson (Helen Mirren) asks them to agree to be called by the names of their masters to simplify figuring out who belongs to whom.
The wild card for the weekend is the Jewish producer Morris Weissman (Bob Balaban), over from Hollywood on a reconnaissance mission for his next Charlie Chan movie. His reluctance to tell the other guests how his movie will end elicits one of the few memorable lines as Countess Trentham (Maggie Smith) deadpans: “Oh, none of us will see it.” Balaban’s character is pure cardboard, a straight man for a string of anti-semitic and anti-American comments from the upper class Brits.
Altman deserves some credit for daring to tackle such a touchy subject as English class, being a Missouri boy born and bred. But he had a lot of help, hiring the right screenwriter and of course the right cast.
Yet never in the history of the cinema has so much writing and acting talent been assembled for so little purpose. England can’t make cars or computers any more but there seems to be no bottom to the pool of great actors and writers (screen and otherwise) growing up in this tiny little country. How they were wasted in this project. My feeling at the end of "Gosford Park" was that most of the 40-odd members of the cast hardly got a word in. Charles Dance was praised by one desperate Altman fan-critic for the way he worked his eyebrows and leaned forward to hear better. Maggie Smith floated in and out of the story, delivering an occasional line to perfection but never staying long enough.
Stephen Fry, an actor of great scope in comedy and drama, was given a silly, shallow part as the bumbling detective who was unable to get to grips with this crowd of aristocrats. Puffing on his pipe and strolling across the salon, he seemed intent on getting off the screen.
I was offended by one Altman interview in which he cynically admitted stacking the cast with famous English names in order to maintain audience interest.
Altman always tries to make a virtue of his formlessness but this time he ends up with a meandering tale spun around the murder of Sir William McCordle (Michael Gambon). But the murder incident seemed cut-and-pasted into the script like 10 pages from some other movie. Do we care about the victim or the motives of the person who knifed him? No, and anyway Agatha Christie stories do this much better. Are we intrigued by the class divisions below stairs and above stairs? "Upstairs Downstairs" told this story much more effectively on television 20 years ago.
Yes, I know, in an Altman movie you’re not supposed to follow the story. Altman himself even said in one “Gosford Park” interview, “I don’t care much about stories in films.” Like gestalt therapy, you’re supposed to absorb perceptions and let your brain distill the value, if any. Nothing surfaced in my mind but a sense of confusion, disappointment and anger over the loss of 15 dollars.
In his self-congratulatory interviews in London, Altman boasted of his originality, especially his fluidity with the camera and his emphasis on the editing process. Yes, there was an original script, no doubt quite a good script, by veteran writer Julian Fellows. But Altman’s technique was to treat the script only as a framework for the film. The actors wore bodymikes and were allowed to interject improvised wisecracks as the story unfolded. Altman then tuned in and out of the individual sound tracks in the editing room to handpick the lines he liked best. Sounds intriguing, but it felt more like an exercise of making it up as you go along.
The sound was so fractured, apparently because of the bodymikes, that catching the lines was a constant struggle. About a quarter of them never got to my ears, worsening the confusion that Altman was causing in other ways.
One of the problems was that this great cast--with such English icons as Alan Bates, Michael Gambon and Kristin Scott Thomas--is that they are outstanding stage actors who make occasional movies. Improvisation is not part of their culture. One witticism much promoted by the film’s marketing staff came off-the-cuff from Michael Gambon when over dinner the subject of empire came up, as it will in such circles. “Empire? Isn’t that a cinema on Leicester Square?” Lame at best.
Altman made much of the innovative set. The film was not shot at a real stately home but was built for the film as the interior of a Victorian house. Openings in walls and ceilings were designed for the camera to move about freely. This added to the surreal fluidity as two cameras worked the same scenes, allowing editor Altman to splice together the flow he apparently was seeking.
Some British directors worship Altman for his long and gutsy career, his willingness to operate on the fringe of traditional Hollywood and to make movies that take chances. This leads the way for others to be more creative, one of them said in a tribute to Altman aired on British television. If that was Altman’s objective here--to make a movie for other cinema professionals and hangers-on--fine. Good luck to him at the Oscars. That leaves the rest of us free to go watch something else.
© 2002 by Michael
Johnson.
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