Les Miserables

There are moments in Tom Hooper's Les Miserables (2012) that achieve genuine pathos. Here a colorful supporting turn, there a genuinely affecting ballad, a flash or two of genuine spectacle. But ultimately, Les Mis's highlights are weighed down by insufferable pomposity.

Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread, skips out on parole in 1815 France. He reinvents himself as M. Le Mer, Mayor of a small town, but keeps crossing paths with Inspector Javert (Russell Crowe), his old tormentor. Valjean raises Cosette (Amanda Seyfried), the orphaned daughter of misbegotten Fantine (Anne Hathaway). In 1832 Paris, Cosette falls for Marius (Eddie Redmayne), member of the ABC Club of student revolutionaries. Everyone grows entangled in a failed student uprising, which leads to bloodshed but leaves nothing resolved.

In its stage incarnation, Les Miserables has been pleasing audiences worldwide since 1980. On the basis of the film, it speaks little of theatergoers' taste. Victor Hugo's dense, intricate historical novel is boiled down to the crudest soap, replacing its social commentary and rich characters with overbaked melodrama. Perhaps the endless singing and naked, cloying emotionalism work better on stage. On film it makes for a tiresome 157 minutes.

The material's operatic approach is a major gripe. True, there are several show-stopping tunes on display. But the constant singing dulls their impact, investing even the most banalities with false grandeur. For every memorable song there's two clunkers. Worse, the big character numbers sound the same notes endlessly, without variation or development. After hearing Javert ponder his devotion to the law for the 40th time it loses impact.

This repetitive character non-development takes its toll, leaving its protagonists one-dimensional. Valjean's conversion from vengeful thief to honorable man is interesting in Hugo's novel. On film, he scrambles through plot points - here Valjean's a thief, now a Mayor, then a Paris recluse - without noticeably developing. Similarly, Javert's obsession with Valjean never achieves the required grandeur. He's not a tragic villain but a doltish brute. Young lovers Marius and Cosette are invested with soaring, tragic pathos that they haven't remotely earned.

The stars try their hardest. Hugh Jackman sings beautifully but can't do much with a thoroughly dull character. Russell Crowe on the other hand is utterly, inexplicably awful, performing all his songs in an inexplicable gruff whine. Eddie Redmayne (My Week With Marilyn) and Amanda Seyfried (Mean Girls) show admirable pluck inhabiting featherweight characters.

Les Mis's gems lurk in the corners. There's Anne Hathaway, truly heartbreaking for the 15 minutes she's onscreen. Her one-take, bravura performance of I Dreamed a Dream inspired a tear in even this cynical blogger. There's Sacha Baron Cohen and Helen Bonham Carter's hilarious doubles-act as Cosette's adoptive parents, performing the incomparable Master of the House. There are no-name supporting players like Samantha Barks and Aaron Tveit who steal their scenes. However limited their screen-time, these characters provide sorely needed life.

But even they can't overcome Tom Hooper's awful direction. Never mind Hooper's anemic staging of conventional set pieces: 20 students standing on broken chairs isn't a revolution, it's a frat party. The musical numbers are endless close-ups, no matter how dramatic or colorful the song, complete with his trademark egregious angling and baroque framing. In John Adams and The King's Speech it's merely an irritating quirk; here it's a deal breaker. Isn't one of the pleasures of a musical spectacle? Why all the rich costumes and expensive sets if we're staring endlessly at Russell Crowe's atonal maw? Would it kill Hooper to hire a choreographer for some real dance numbers?

In short, Les Miserables stinks. And at two-and-a-half interminable hours, the smell grows unbearable.

Elizabeth I

Our journey through Tudor England continues with Elizabeth I (2005). Tom Hooper presents an intelligent, stirring miniseries that avoids the speculative melodrama and soggy romanticism of recent Tudor efforts. With a smart script and the sterling Helen Mirren, it's a first-class work.

In 1578, Elizabeth's (Helen Mirren) throne is reasonably secure, but she still desires marriage. Unable to wed lover Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester (Jeremy Irons), Elizabeth woos the Duke of Anjou (Jeremie Covillault), but the match falls through. Catholics plot against the Queen and the Spanish Armada comes calling. Ministers William Cecil, Lord Burghley (Ian McDiarmid) and Francis Walsingham (Patrick Malahide) argue that the captive Mary Queen of Scots (Barbara Flynn) remains a threat, and Elizabeth agonizes over whether to execute a "God-anointed Queen."

After Leicester's death, his stepson Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex (Hugh Dancy) becomes the Queen's new favorite. Essex abuses his position to gain military commands, secure tax revenue and place friends in power. Burghley and Walsingham pass away, and Essex goes to Ireland to suppress an uprising. An isolated Elizabeth leans on Robert Cecil (Toby Jones), Burghley's son, for guidance when Essex's ambition escalates to rebellion.

Elizabeth I's sober approach lifts it above other recent Tudor epics. Nigel Williams's script bristles with biting wit, sharply drawn characters and a real sense of Elizabeth's time. Hooper and Williams make familiar personages and events seem fresh, precisely where Elizabeth: the Golden Age faltered. The show keeps the romance tasteful: Elizabeth shares only a few hesitant kisses with her favorites. In Elizabeth I, however, the personal and political are closely interwoven.

This series provides a complex, credible Elizabeth. Queen Bess inherited not only Henry VIII's political skill but also his uneven temprament. Her emotions and allegiance veer wildly, a level-headed monarch one moment, a vain, shrieking harpy the next. Her love for Leicester is genuine, but her infatuation with the much younger Essex reeks of desperation. She forgives him for repeated indiscretions and grants him unearned power. This Elizabeth sacrifices love with the utmost reluctance, allowing her private ills to seep into her statescraft.

Elizabeth's favorites play a dangerous game, trading on their Queen's affection for titles and influence. Frustrated by Elizabeth's caprice, both Leicester and Essex take mistresses and foolishly think they can retain the Queen's favor. Where Leicester learns to accept Elizabeth's "friendship," Essex thinks her love entitles him to kingly power, even marriage. He dies earnestly (if not honestly) proclaiming the Cecils his malefactors, when he clearly dug his own grave.

While court intrigues take a backseat to Elizabeth's personal life, there's plenty of politicking to savor. Elizabeth needs her ministers to keep things on an even keel but spars with them nonetheless. Anjou seems an ideal suitor until Burghley decides his incompetence runs contrary to England's interests. Walsingham rigs the evidence against Mary Stuart and strong arms Elizabeth into ordering her execution. Elizabeth then rewrites the warrant to make them shoulder the guilt. Robert learns that propriety and competence earn the Queen's respect; favorites come and go but a good councilor is constant.

Director Tom Hooper went on to the celebrated John Adams and The King's Speech. He's quite good here, managing a beautifully shot, large scale production without the annoying camera work of the aforementioned shows. The show is long (211 minutes) and occasionally slow, but Hooper keeps it lively with rich imagery and art direction; he stages a swordfight, a modest-sized battle scene and some gruesome executions along the way.

Helen Mirren joins Bette Davis and Glenda Jackson in the Elizabethan upper tier. Mirren isn't afraid to look dowdy or make Elizabeth unlikeable, going for the human even when repugnant. She handles Elizabeth's ranting rages, regal monologues, and desperate pining with equal aplomb. It's a difficult, complex characterization that Mirren masterfully pulls off.

Jeremy Irons gets his best role in ages. Irons has some great banter with Mirren and crafts a memorably tragic character, endlessly frustrated by his ambiguous standing with the Queen. Hugh Dancy's charismatic performance is equally memorable. Dancy is appropriately dashing, arrogant and rash, allowing his ego and entitlement to override common sense.

Toby Jones (Captain America) gets a standout role as the shrewd Robert Cecil. Ian McDiarmid and Patrick Malahide play Elizabeth's senior ministers with dry wit and professional detachment. Jeremie Covillault's sensitive Anjou is a nice departure from Vincent Cassel's effete stereotype in Elizabeth. Barbara Flynn appears briefly as Mary Stuart; Groggy fondly remembers her as Robbie Coltrane's estranged wife on Cracker.

Elizabeth I is the best Tudor film in a long time. We all enjoy Natalie Dormer's heaving bosom (or maybe you're into Jonathan Rhys-Myers?), but it's nice to see an Elizabethan epic take its subject seriously.

The King's Speech

This year's Oscar-baiting British period piece is better than most. The King's Speech is a polished, tasteful drama that's entertaining enough without becoming anything outstanding. Strong performances and a witty script elevate this above the form's usual chronic dryness.

Albert, Duke of York (Colin Firth), the second son of King George V (Michael Gambon), gives a disastrous speech at the closing of the 1925 Empire Exhibition. "Bertie" becomes a national laughingstock for crippling stutter, which exacerbates his father and troubles his devoted wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter). Albert enlists the help of Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), an Australian speech therapist with decidedly unorthodox therapy methods. The two work together on and off for a decade, with little apparent progress, but things come to a head in 1936 when Albert's playboy brother Edward (Guy Pearce) takes the throne after George's death, becoming immediately embroiled in a scandal with his American lover Wallis Simpson (Eve Best). After Edward abdicates for the woman he loves, George becomes a most-reluctant King, needing Logue's help more than ever as England slides towards war with Nazi Germany.

Since Merchant-Ivory "perfected" the form in the '80s, the British "period piece" has become a dramatic desert of deadly dull stories with pretty Brits in pretty costumes. Recent titles like The Queen, The Duchess and The Young Victoria are perfect cases in point. These films often serve as actor's showcases, particularly when they star a Helen Mirren or Cate Blanchet, but rarely have any other value for viewers, being dramatically inert if sparkly bores.

To immense credit of director Tom Hooper, who previously helmed the superb John Adams series for HBO, and screenwriter David Seidler, The King's Speech is significantly better than most of its peers. The usual pomp and circumstance of period costume and locales is mixed well with a story that's actually, well, interesting. Occasionally distant and dry, it's certainly not a masterpiece, but it still tells an interesting slice of British history reasonably well.

Seidler's superb screenplay is a major selling point. The movie sparkles with wit and quotable dialogue, miles better than the pompous platitudes that generally characterize the genre. The story is interesting: besides the King's relationship with Logue, there's plenty of drama to chew over in Edward's ill-fated reign and the approach of World War II (and with Hitler in the other corner, being an inspiring speaker becomes infinitely more important). The film makes its central relationship believable by emphasizing its novelty: before Logue, George has never spoken honestly with a commoner, and connects with the impish Australian better than his dysfunctional family. Hooper also earns points for remaining as historically accurate as dramatic necessity allows.

While undeniably involving, The King's Speech never becomes truly absorbing. Despite Rush's fine performance, Logue remains a distant character and what the relationship gives him isn't so clear, and he's not half as compelling a character as Albert. And the events of the film are more interesting cumulatively than as individual scenes, skewing detail for sensation and period detail. Pretty but static direction by Hooper doesn't help much, either. As a result, the denoument - the King's speech to the Empire on the outbreak of war - isn't the dramatically explosive set-piece the film desires. For all its virtues, The King's Speech clinical distance from its audience (and characters) prevents it from being great.

Colin Firth (The English Patient) is brilliant, making Bertie a good man tortured by a crippling disability. He nails all his big scenes and is never less than compelling, making him a shoe-in for a Best Actor nod. Geoffrey Rush plays Logue with the perfect mixture of insouciance, determination and warmth, making a somewhat underdeveloped character interesting. Helena Bonham Carter has less to do, mostly worrying about her Bertie. The supporting cast includes a roster of familiar actors playing familiar personages: Guy Pearce's (The Hurt Locker) snotty Edward VIII, who can't separate his throne from his rocky personal life, Michael Gambon (Gosford Park)'s honorable George V, unable to grasp Bertie's problems, and Derek Jacobi's (The Day of the Jackal) stuffy Archbishop. Timothy Spall's (Enchanted) gruff Winston Churchill and Anthony Andrews's (Under the Volcano) flustered Stanley Baldwin represent the political side, emphasizing the importance of Albert's endeavor.

Is The King's Speech a polished, entertaining film with a slew of great performances? Certainly. Is it the best film of the year? Not by a long shot. But don't be shocked if it nabs a few statuettes next month.

John Adams: Birthing Liberty

"A Constitution of Government once changed from Freedom, can never be restored. Liberty, once lost, is lost forever." - John Adams

And what a fragile thing liberty is. For over two hundred years, America has wrestled with the issues emanating from its historic revolt against British tyranny, inspiring the world with its example of idealistic freedom. Ever since the Founders split into the Federalists and Republicans, the issues have remained largely the same, even if specifics differ. What amount of individual freedom must be lost to the government, and under what circumstance? How strong should the federal government be, and what of the states? How large should the US military be, and how much strength should it have? Should the government tax its citizenry, and if so how much? These issues are still with us today, albeit in a wide variety of variations, and while the Founders may take issue with many of the directions in which our society has gone since 1787 (and the obvious technological advancements), they would still largely recognize the country the bequeathed.

HBO's epic miniseries John Adams takes a look at just how difficult founding America was. Focusing on one of America's less acclaimed Founding Fathers, John Adams (Paul Giamatti), the series provides a sweeping, panoramic view of colonial America and shows how our current system of government came about. It wasn't easy; it took decades of conflict, much compromise and a good amount of bloodshed to achieve, but ultimately success was achieved. America still has a long way to go before it can be a truly perfect nation, but its ability to maintain such a society for almost 250 years is greatly to the credit of its Founders.

Although Adams is the main character of the series, he is a man who lived and moved in interesting times, surrounded by a cadre of memorable figures, some brilliant, some mercurial, all fascinating - and most of them, it would seem, more well-reknowned. The Founding Fathers in particular are a well-rounded bunch of characters, transcending their air-brushed history book caricatures: Tom Wilkinson's Benajmin Franklin is an exceptionally bright and witty man, whose mercurial and perpetually amused nature first intrigues and then aggravates Adams; David Morse's George Washington is a strong natural leader with no stomach for politics; Rufus Sewell's Alexander Hamilton is a fiercely intelligent man who becomes a power-hungry trouble-maker; Stephen Dillane's Thomas Jefferson is a brilliant liberal who lets his revolutionary fervor and purity overwhelm his common sense. Some may take issue with some of these portrayals, but they all manage to avoid the usual one-dimensional cliches and pitfalls associated with portraying such legendary individuals. The Founding of the nation is a near-run thing, with many representatives - including Zeljko Ivanek's dignified Pennsylvania delegate John Dickinson - arguing against independence, and with so many great minds and colossal egos debating not only independence, but the finer points of government and power, makes one marvel at the fact that enough Compromise was reached without significant internicine bloodshed at all.

And what makes Adams stand out from this distinguished crowd? Certainly, Adams lacks the lionization that many of his counterparts received; he tends to be, if not dismissed, then minimized by historians, who prefer the flashier personalities of a Jefferson or Hamilton to "His Rotundity". This is completely unfair to Adams, his character, and his achievements. When the Boston street thugs led by his cousin Sam Adams wanted to hang British soldiers for firing into a mob, Adams defended them, not for any political benefit, but because it was the right thing to do. When Independence was still a radical idea, Adams pushed for it with all his strength. When Federalists and Republicans were at each other's throats after Washington left the Presidency, Adams stepped in and held the country together. Adams was not a perfect man, and his family troubles - from his drunken wastrel son Charles to the illness and premature death of his daughter "Nabby" - were largely, if not his fault, than his responsibility - for a man who devotes his life to politics and the world will suffer at home. And certainly, Adams' prickly personality, touched with a dash of pomposity and perhaps a hint of egotism, makes him less than admirable in certain aspects. But in the end, Adams is far more of a great man than a flawed one, for he was a man who believed in doing what was right, and loved his country above everything - even himself and, regrettably, his family.

Looking at the show from a technical viewpoint, there is much to admire. Green screen technology is fairly advanced by this point, and it's well-used throughout, creating the illusion of 18th Century Boston, Paris, London, Philadelphia, and Washington. Both the harshness of winter and pastoral beauty of rural Massachusetts, the developing, bustling colonial cities of Washington and Boston, and the ornate majesty of Europe's royal courts, are portrayed with luscious attention to deal through the marvelous cinematography by Tak Fujimoto. Tom Hooper's direction is stylish and detailed, grand yet subtle. Kirk Ellis's script does a wonderful job of weaving historical quotations with sharp, word-perfect dialogue. Attention must be paid, also, to the stirring score by Robert Lane and Joseph Viterelli, and to the marvelous, expansive production design, which makes sure that even the smallest button on the barely visible extra's trousers is absolutely perfect. Historical accuracy is not in and of itself a virtue, but when combined with all of the above, it's certainly an asset.

The best episodes of the show are those which focus on specific incidents and events. Episodes 3 and 4 are by far the weakest, simply because they try to cover too much time in too little. The focus on Adams makes this inevitable; Adams spent most of the War being shuttled around Europe, so it's understandable, but it doesn't really make for great television. But when the show maintains a distinct focus on a specific time, issue or event, it clicks - Adams' eloquent defense of the soldiers responsible for the Boston Massacre, the framing of the Declaration of Independence, the growing rift between Jefferson and Hamilton (and, as a result, Jefferson and Adams), Adams' troubled presidency and escalating family problems and tragedies. These showcase some of the finest, dramatically powerful moments in television, if for no other reason than unlike Friends or House or The X-Files or even Dora the Explorer (not to bash any of those shows), these events really happened, and these people really existed.

Paul Giamatti gives an extraordinary lead performance as Adams. All of the superlatives have been exhausted by reviewers and critics more eloquent and widely read by than me. Suffice it to say, Giamatti is astonishing. He has 10 hours with which to work - more than most actors get with a character - but he manages to deal with every aspect of his characters' complex and difficult personality, transcending a mere impersonation or even portrayal. The impersonation is quite well-done, but the performance is more impressive; Giamatti makes Adams into a wonderful character, and ultimately a sympathetic, complex human being.


Just as impressive as Giamatti is Laura Linney, portraying Adams' long-suffering, extremely intelligent and fiercely loyal wife Abigail. Their marriage is one of the greatest love stories of all time - two truly loving people in an equal partnership - and it shines through brilliantly. Abigail is a wonderfully strong character who projects a power, presence and fire unheard of in 18th Century women. Her relationship with her husband - sometimes warm, sometimes caustic, but always honest and loving - is the most endearing part of her character. She calls her husband on his faults, but to help him improve himself rather than to mock him. Linney is simply amazing, matching Giamatti line-for-line, word-for-word, as an equally weighty screen presence. Both actors won Emmys, and in each instance, it was extraordinarily well-reserved.

All of the supporting characters are nailed to a tee. Perhaps most worthy of praise are Stephen Dillane's wonderful, layered portrayal of Jefferson, and David Morse's dignified performance as Washington. Tom Wilkinson gives an endlessly fun performance as Franklin, stealing his every scene and making some of the show's drier episodes more palatable. There are also memorable guest appearances, including Zeljko Ivanek (as Pennsylvania delegate John Dickinson, one of the last hold-outs against declaring independence) and Tom Hollander (as the humbled King George III, forced to accept America's seperation and then its friendship), which add invaluable flavor and dramatic weight to the storyline.

John Adams is a great work of television, and a great achievement in historical story-telling. It's not perfect, and it suffers a bit from telescoping important historical events, but many of these are inevitable given the show's format. For the most part, it's rivetting history and well-done entertainment at once. For even a non-discerning viewer, it should be worth a look; for a history buff, such as myself, it's a definite treat.

Rating: 8/10 - Highly Recommended