Ryan's Daughter

Ryan's Daughter (1970) is the much-maligned black sheep of David Lean's epic films. Trashed by critics, largely ignored by contemporary audiences, it was an anachronism when released, a Gone With the Wind in the age of Easy Rider. As a result, it has mostly languished in obscurity, never gaining the acclaim or popularity of Lawrence of Arabia or Doctor Zhivago. Fortunately, the film has been reconsidered in recent years, and deservedly so. Ryan is not a perfect film, but despite its shortcomings it's a well-constructed, entertaining and visually sumptuous film, with a slew of great performances and marvellous set-pieces. Its flaws are certainly less egregious than the far more popular and acclaimed Zhivago, a beautiful and engrossing film that nonetheless has serious problems in casting, characterization and story structure.

Rosy Ryan (Sarah Miles) is the spoiled daughter of a publican (Leo McKern) in the backwater Irish village of Kirrary, who is desperately longing for some excitement to come into her life. World War I is raging in Europe and the British government has recently suppressed the Easter Rebellion, but Rosy's concern is her affection towards school teacher Charles Shaughnessy (Robert Mitchum). The attraction is mutual, and they marry, but Rosy quickly finds herself trapped in a boring, listless marriage. Things quickly become more exciting, however, when a shell-shocked English war hero, Major Doryan (Christopher Jones) arrives in town and catches Rosy's eye (and that of the bigoted, suspicious townspeople) - and when a band of Irish rebels led by Tim O'Leary (Barry Foster) show up to retrieve a German arms shipment. The arrest of O'Leary, and the discovery of Rosy's illicit affair with Doryan, leads the villagers (Marie Kean, Arthur O'Sullivan, Evin Crowley) to accuse her of treason.

At heart, Ryan's Daughter is a throwback to the melodramas on which Lean made his name. Rather than an epic per se, it's an intimate story on a large scale, having more in common with Brief Encounter and The Passionate Friends than Lawrence or Zhivago. The film might be a bit long for the material at 210 minutes, but unlike Zhivago, it rarely drags and remains coherent and entertaining throughout.

On paper, the movie's story (a loose reworking of Flaubert's Madame Bovary) is not particularly original, its characters and plot straight out of a million bad romance novels. But Lean and screenwriter Robert Bolt do a wonderful job at constructing the story and characters, transcending the pulpy nature of the material and making it into something grand. The cast of characters are carefully drawn, including Trevor Howard's fiery, rigidly moral Father Collins and Leo McKern's cowardly publican; small parts like Barry Foster's charismatic rebel and Gerald Sim's cowardly English Captain, are equally compelling. The historical backdrop is not as essential to the story as in Zhivago, but the main romance plot is compelling enough on its own. There's nothing wrong with an old-fashioned romance, when done well, and Ryan is certainly that.

Dreamy girl Rosy, alleviating her boredom with romantic fantasies and trashy novels, is an instantly sympathetic character, her naive desire for excitement and sexual awakening universally relatable. Her relationship with the well-meaning but boring Charles is very well-drawn; Charles is constantly wrapped up in gardening, flower-pressing and studies, and impotent to boot; he is far from the romantic, exciting figure Rosy imagined as a schoolgirl. The inevitable fissures that develop in their relationship (exemplified by the scene where Charles and Rosy argue over his putting on a shirt during a break from gardening) are wholly believable and seem real, a credit to Bolt and actors Miles and Mitchum. Rosy's liasion with Doryan is little more than a lusty affair, but the film doesn't treat it as much more than that; it's a chance for Rosy to achieve a long sought-after passion, but one which ultimately has great consequences. Some of Rosy's character development - namely, her relationship with mute village idiot Michael (John Mills), who has an undisguised affection for her - is rather contrived and obvious, but for the most part she's a wonderfully realized and sympathetic protagonist.

I feel compelled to address the complaint of "racism" often levelled at the film. The film's portrayal of the small-town Irish, who gather as a mob to punish Rosy for her alleged treachery, insult British soldiers patrolling from a nearby base, and mock Michael, is hardly flattering, but their Irishness is beside the point. Ryan is a universal story, which could easily be set in the Deep South, or the Middle East, or (as Lean's original intent) colonial India - the story would be relevant anywhere a culture clash is likely to take place. To claim that the movie is a slander on the Irish is rather missing the point; Kirrary is a fairly typical close-knit, close-minded small town that could be found anywhere in the world. I suppose that filmgoers weaned on the picture-postcard depictions of Ireland in films like John Ford's The Quiet Man, a film where Irishmen are portrayed in a negative light may well be shocked.

Lean's direction is absolutely stunning, as might be expected. The film's endless shots of the Dingle beach are unbelievably beautiful; the film's visual beauty is beyond compare, with Freddie Young doing some of his very best work. Lean handles the big set-pieces with his usual aplomb, with Doryan's explosive first meeting with Rosy, Charles' hallucinatory beach journey (envisioning his wife's liaison with Doryan), and of course the famous storm sequence standing out. The entire village of Kirrary is a massive set, in and of itself an impressive fact, though not surprising since Lean pulled the same trick in his previous two epics.

Perhaps the film's most egregious flaw is Maurice Jarre's off-kilter score. It's hard to imagine that Jarre could have equalled his masterful work on Lawrence and Zhivago, but he doesn't even come close. The jaunty main theme and the rousing military march are fine in and of themselves, but seem out of place for the story (perhaps due to lack of Irish styling), and cues like Michael's whimsical theme are frankly annoying; the only pieces that seem entirely appropriate are the borrowed snatches of Beethoven (used most memorably in the aforementioned beach sequence). Jarre's score for Lean's later A Passage to India would be far quieter and economical, but still nowhere near his earlier work for Lean.

Sarah Miles is wonderful, giving a should-have-been star turn as Rosy. She is beautiful, charming and never less than sympathetic; her character is loveable and well-drawn, skillfully combining Rosy's naive innocence and untapped, yearning sensuality. Robert Mitchum is equally impressive, casting aside his he-man image and perfectly embodying the mild-mannered Charles. The supporting cast is more hit-and-miss. Trevor Howard gives arguably a career-best turn as the fiery Father Collins, Leo McKern is appropriately slimy and pathetic as Rosy's cowardly father, and Barry Foster and Gerald Sim give impressive small-part performances. However, Christopher Jones, despite considerable "presence", is not much of an actor, and John Mills gives a tiresome and grotesque performance as the village idiot Michael. Kubrick fans will spot Barry Lyndon co-stars Arthur O'Sullivan and Marie Kean as the bigoted McCardles; Evin Crowley of Upstairs, Downstairs is utterly loathable as the wicked Maureen.

Ryan's Daughter is a great film that certainly transcends its reputation as the black sheep of Lean's super-epics. It's certainly more mature and well-constructed than most films of its type, and its visual spectacle has rarely been topped.

Rating: 8/10 - Highly Recommended