Far from the Madding Crowd

Among the last of the old-fashioned epics, Far from the Madding Crowd (1967) is a rare misfire from John Schlesinger. This soporific adaptation of Thomas Hardy's novel simply lacks the depth and substance to justify its interminable run-time. What might have been a respectable two hour period piece becomes a plodding three-hour epic.

Bathsheba Everdene (Julie Christie) takes over her father's farm in Dorset. Hoping to advance her social station, she turns down the romantic advances of shepherd Gabriel (Alan Bates). Unfortunately, a Valentine's Day prank backfires when stuffy Mr. Boldwood (Peter Finch) grows obsessed with her. Bathsheba rebuffs him as well, but falls for the dashing Sergeant Troy (Terence Stamp), a soldier with an amorous reputation.

Far from the Madding Crowd is clearly MGM's effort to top Doctor Zhivago, casting Julie Christie in a sumptuous period romance. Schlesinger and cameraman Nicolas Roeg provide endless reels of gorgeous photography, making the West Counties both beautiful and forbidding. The movie bristles with period detail and creative set pieces: a sheep stampede, Sergeant Troy's sword demonstration, a lively carnival burlesque. Richard Rodney Bennett helps with an appropriately sweeping score. But Madding's surface gloss isn't enough to distract from its hollow center.

Early scenes establish Bathsheba as an ambitious free spirit: she dodges suitors, declares herself "nobody's property" and tells off condescending landowners at market. Unfortunately, she thereafter becomes a painfully passive protagonist, spending the last two-thirds of the film mooning over her suitors. It's hard to sympathize much with Bathsheba, either, when her cruel prank drives Boldwood over the edge. Bathsheba makes the right choice only after other options have been violently eliminated. Crudely stated, she doesn't earn her happy ending.

Further, Julie Christie makes an underwhelming Bathsheba. For one, her very "mod" hairstyle and '60s mannerisms clash egregiously with Victorian decor. More importantly though, Christie badly mishandles the part. She's all surface sensuality and smoldering glances, without depth or real understanding. After all, Vivien Leigh invested Scarlett O'Hara with intelligence, wit and longing along with her selfish vanity. Christie's Bathsheba is just a haughty hussy.

Her costars fare little better. Bathsheba's suitors are easily codified archetypes: rakish Troy, hopeless romantic Birdwood, salt-of-the-earth Gabriel. The actors are game, with Terence Stamp (Billy Budd) standing out: he at least gets something of a character arc, with Troy's life upended by the reappearance of past lover Fanny (Prunella Ransome). Peter Finch (The Nun's Story) comes off merely pathetic, while Alan Bates (Royal Flash) isn't given much personality beyond veterinary skill. Rarely have such good actors been so ill-used.

More generally, Madding lacks the substance for an epic. By reducing Hardy's novel to overstuffed soap opera, Schlesinger and writer Frederic Raphael all but ignore its social commentary and squander its tragic angles. The flimsy characters and weak story can't compensate, defaulting into all-too-predictable love rectangle antics. All that's left is pretty pictures, which aren't alone enough to carry a 171 minute film.

John Schlesinger, of all directors, knew how to draw carefully observed characters. Billy Liar, Midnight Cowboy and Sunday Bloody Sunday all evince uncommon skill at humanizing their protagonists and directing actors to their strengths. Trying to one-up David Lean, Schlesinger simply bites off more than he can chew, resulting in an ornamented bore.