Les Misérables (2012)

Les Misérables (2012)
Directed by: Tom Hooper
Written by: William Nicholson (screenplay), Claude-Michel Schönberg & Alain Boublil & Herbert Kretzmer (book and lyrics), based on a novel by Victor Hugo
Starring: Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfried, Eddie Redmayne, Samantha Barks, Sacha Baron Cohen, Helena Bonham Carter, Aaron Tveit, Daniel Huttlestone, Colm Wilkinson
(157 minutes, Color)

By the time that Les Misérables came out in theaters, I'd known the musical upon which it's based for a good decade.  I had almost all the lyrics to the mementous songs memorized, and had seen the Broadway touring production of the musical itself.  I'm an unabashed fan of Schönberg and Boublil's show, and have always been appreciative of how faithful it is to Hugo's source novel (unlike other adaptations that have been made through the years).  Understandably, I had very high expectations for the film adaptation of Les Mis.  When I saw the film, however, I was floored.  It was completely unlike anything I foresaw.  In my highest hopes, I think I only ever expected a straight stage-to-screen translation of Les Mis, much like the blandly satisfying screen versions of musicals like The Phantom of the Opera, Rent, and Dreangirls.  Those films largely satisfied their core audience: fans of the stage shows, but alienated other viewers who were turned off by the movies' lack of risk-taking and cinematic underachievement.  Les Mis is the antithesis of all of those films.  In fact, I was retiscent to even use it in the same sentence as the other titles.  Tom Hooper's adaptation of Les Mis is indeed, that: a true molding of the source material to fit the silver screen, and not merely translate or re-create what's been seen on stage for more than twenty-five years.  It's one of the great movie musicals, up there with the likes of Singin' in the Rain, West Side Story, and  The Wizard of Oz. 

Something marvelous happened when I went to see Les Mis: the insatiable Les Mis fan inside me disappeared entirely the moment the first chord of the film was struck.  He was replaced by the little kid watching Star Wars for the first time, or shrinking down into his seat upon hearing Williams's Jaws theme; that is, the film-buff part of me that always gets excited when watching a movie for the first time.  I try my best to approach all movies with a blank slate, and Les Mis forced me to do exactly that.  Hooper's production fits so perfectly on film that it would be hard for an uninitiated viewer to imagine it onstage.  In fact, for me a return to the stage would feel like a limitation of the wondrous scope Les Mis is now finally able to tap into; the broadest scope the story has seen since its inception in 1860s France.

The story, now classic and oft-lovingly imitated, revolves around Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), a convict who is released by Javert (Russell Crowe) from prison 19 years after he committed the crime of stealing a loaf of bread (numerous attempts at escape prolonged his sentence).  Valjean robs an old bishop (Colm Wilkinson, who originated the role of Valjean in the stage production) soon after his release, but after the Bishop shows him mercy, Valjean vows to redeem himself and begin a new life.  He becomes the mayor of a small town where Fantine (Anne Hathway) is forced into prostitution to feed her absent daughter Cosette.  Valjean promises a dying Fantine that he will fetch Cosette and raise her as his own daughter, despite the fact that Javert, now an inspector, seeks to arrest Valjean for breaking his parole.

The story continues from there (that's actually only the first third of the film), but the opening sequences contain such a raw power I have to elaborate on them.  Like the stage production, Les Mis is more an opera than a musical.  It is almost entirely sung-through, and while some songs stand alone from the advancement of the plot (mainly the ballads), most of the music accompanies the action of the story.  This could be tough for any movie-goer to get used to, but Hooper is a master in submerging us in production.  Here's why: he made the revolutionary, brilliant choice to have his actors sing every word of every take live on set.  The obvious reason is that it would be impractical to dub almost every sentence in a two-and-a-half hour movie.  The deeper reason is that Hooper didn't want to alienate his audiences with bombast.  "Singing live has such a profound effect on the emotion and realism of the story," Hooper commented.  "When singing to playback, it feels fake."

Indeed it does.  A common complaint of movie musicals is how detached they feel.  Audiences appreciate them for their escapism and spectacle, but rarely are they as consistently engaging as other film genres.  The live singing in Les Mis allows every song in the 157 minute running time to contain immense power.  All of the actors are courageous and prepared here.  I've never seen a movie with such a hard-working cast.  Not only are their voices up-to-par with the challenging score, but they truly act through their music.  Take, for instance, Hathaway's rendition of the well-known "I Dreamed a Dream."  Since its first performance, "Dreamed' has been the big, show-stopping number of the production.  Hathaway chose to take it in the complete opposite direction, however, and show restraint in her performance that is also paralleled in the accompanying orchestration (added after shooting was finished).  Her "Dreamed" is not a soaring ballad but a quiet, despairing condemnation of life's false hopes.  Hathaway brings frailty to her song.  She sobs, coughs, and moves her audience to tears.  In doing so, I imagine she has now set the standard for how the song will be performed by all Fantines in the future.  After her earthy, heartwrenching portrayal, previous actresses simply going for the high note ring false.  Hooper's live-singing decision saved the film from being an emotionally-detached spectacle.  Listening to the music or viewing the stage show, I never felt the emotion of Les Mis's story or characters like I did while viewing the movie.  These actors reach into your soul.

As Jean Valjean, Hugh Jackman gives us a man who is haunted by his past all through his life, even after his redemption.  Stealing a loaf of bread to eat is a petty, harmless crime, of course.  What haunts Valjean is the man he became in prison.  One of the final lines in the film is his admission to an adult Cosette (Amanda Seyfried) that he only truly turned from hating once she was in his care.  In the quiet number "Suddenly," added for the film, Valjean describes his overpowering emotions when the little Cosette comes into his life.  She gives him something to live for, and in his face, we see both fear of responsibility and giddy hope.  Despite the astounding cast surrounding him, Jackman carries much of the film on his shoulders.  The story demands it to be so.  Jackman is more than up to the task, however, physically and emotionally.  Whether it be in lifting a massive cart to save a man's life or quietly admitting the sins of his past, Jackman brings a soulfulness to Valjean rarely seen in film.

After he takes Cosette away from her corrupt caretakers (Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter), Valjean seeks refuge in a nunnery.  While Cosette grows, revolution ferments in Paris.  As a young woman, she falls in love with revolutionary Marius (Eddie Redmayne, previously unknown to me, is one of the film's biggest surprises and highlights), which changes the dynamic not only of her personal life, but also her relationship with Valjean.  Tragic Eponine (Samantha Barks) has her eyes on Marius as well, and Javert has come to Paris to put down the young dissenters.  The stage is set for bloodshed and despair.

Oh, and what despair there is.  This story wasn't titled "The Miserable Ones" for nothing.  A large number of our characters are dead by the film's end, having sacrificed themselves for the higher causes of love or social change.  The violence in the film isn't graphic or bloody, but the audience feels it.  We feel for Javert when he is thrown into such deep moral conflict after he must lead the charge in silencing the poor.  One small moment that was among the film's most moving for me finds Javert placing a small military medal upon the corpse of a child killed in the crossfire.  Crowe is the best Javert I've seen.  He brings suitable strength and rigidity to the role, but in his two big songs he conveys the conflicted and mildly self-loathing interior of Javert's soul.  His singing voice is earthier and deeper than his cast members, making his deep portrayal one of the film's most memorable.

The film's opulant visual portrayal of France would be stunning in and of itself, even if it weren't accompanied by Hugo's emotional story.  Eve Stewart's production design is modeled in a sense of heightened reality.  While accurately retaining the sensibilities of period France, she makes her corners sharper, her buildings taller, and her roofs curved.  The audience gets the feeling that we might not be seeing the exact Paris of 1830, but instead, the vibrant memory of the simultaneous squalor and grandeour of the time.  People say that memory is never truly accurate, that you never remember something the same way twice.  When we're in our memories, however, they feel even realer than when the event happened.  That's what it's like to be inside the France of Les Mis.  From the opening scene, where hundreds of grungy, bitter convicts hoist a massive ship into harbor in the torrential rain, to the final number, where hundreds gather around a mind-blowingly massive barricade in the memory of souls lost, Les Misérables lives in the moment, and it brings its audience with it. 

Les Misérables is one of the grandest movies I've had the pleasure of watching.  Its existence is a testament to the enduring power of artistic innovation, dedication, and integrity in a decade where we see so much sludge and disappointment at the movie theater.  This movie wasn't made to make a profit.  It wasn't made hastily or easily.  When watching it, one can see that everything in the movie is there for a reason.  Hooper pulled out all the stops in this one.  He made it the right way, and didn't settle for anything less than magnificence.  His cast, especially, is flawless.  There's not a weak link in this ensemble of talented performers.  They mold the classic story and make it fresh again, and what's more, they improve upon their source material to make something of rare beauty and perfection.  From this point on, movie musicals are gonna have to up their game.  It isn't often that a movie connects with its audience on such a fundamental level.  Les Misérables has undoubtedly made a place for itself on that perennial shelf where only the best movies reside: that reserved for the true classics that exemplify every nostalgic, fond, and impactful sense of the word; those that live on forever.

 

 

Les Misérables is rated PG-13 by the MPAA for suggestive and sexual material, violence, and thematic elements.  The movie is gritty and heartbreaking, as tragic fates befall characters that the audience identifies with and cares about.  Many protagonists, including a young boy, are shot and killed.  One main character commits suicide.  A woman is forced to sell her body to provide for her child, and in one brief, heartwrenching scene, we see her in bed with one of her customers.  Bawdy, albeit mostly mild, innuendo accompanies comedic numbers revolving around a pair of conniving innkeepers. 

The Green Mile (1999)

The Green Mile (1999)
Directed by: Frank Darabont
Written by: Frank Darabont
Starring: Tom Hanks, Michael Clarke Duncan, David Morse, James Cromwell, Michael Jeter, Bonnie Hunt, Barry Pepper, Dabbs Greer
(189 minutes, Color)

Tom Hanks as Paul Edgecomb

The Green Mile is a patient movie that lures us slowly into its world. The vast majority of its action takes place in not just a single building, but a single room, and much of its duration is populated by events that may seem insignificant or mundane. By the climax of the movie, the audience realizes that these mundane moments have paid off. We are a part of the film's soul, and we hang on its beck and call. Courageous writer and director Frank Darabont wields complete control over his audience and their emotions. In the hands of a less gifted artist, this scenario would be nothing more than a set-up for failure and disappointment. Under Darabont's guidance, The Green Mile confronts us with harsh realities of life and death, taking us with confidence to that fleeting and most moving of places the majority of films fail to locate and explore effectively: mortality.

The Green Mile is a film about death. Its action takes place in cell block 13 of a massive, looming 1930s prison in the Southern United States. This block is where prisoners awaiting the death sentence, the "walking dead," spend their final months. It's referred to by its supervisor, Paul Edgecomb, as The Green Mile. The floor is a dingy shade of lime. The electricity comes and goes. The block is hot and stuffy, and is never occupied by more than a few inmates. Throughout the entire movie, you can count the prisoners on one hand. Edgecomb is joined by three other guards, plus a rookie named Percy. Their job is to keep the prisoners orderly until their day of judgement, and most importantly, keep the inmates calm. On death row, when subjected to stress, people break.

The guards approach their jobs with a callous respect. They are firm with the prisoners but treat them with dignity. They practice executions a few times the day before they occur, running through their lines and motions as if practicing a show for a crowd. And there is a crowd. Executions on the Green Mile always draw spectators. During one practice session, the fake victim, an employee of the prison, is asked if he has any last words or requests. "I want Fae Wray to sit on my face," he spits out. The guards chuckle, and eventually all are laughing. Edgecomb quickly reins them in with a solemn dictate. "Tomorrow we'll be doing this for real," he chides. "You know how it is in church, when you think of something funny and try not to laugh? That can't be the case here."

Edgecomb is good at his job, and he does his best to keep emotion at an arm's length. He is confronted by horrors every day during his work. He makes his living by overseeing the ultimate judgement handed down to the most reviled of society. He approaches it like any job. He goes home after hours and kisses his wife. Sometimes he is kept up at night, but not often. Edgecomb is certainly an arm of the law.

Played by Tom Hanks, however, he's more than that. It's refreshing to see a character fleshed out so fully by an actor's miraculous performance. When the movie begins, Edgecomb suffers from a urinary tract infection that plagues him for much of the film. He grows impatient with his medical condition, as well as the increasing demands of his job, which unfairly leave him unable to deal with the antics of the cruel and violently immature Percy. It's essential to the story that Edgecomb is never a caricature, and Hanks assuages that fear early on in the film. Edgecomb is always in control of his emotions, but the genius in Hanks's performance is that he lets the audience glimpse how hard Edgecomb works to be in control.

It's important that aspect of Edgecomb's character is established by the time the film's fantastic events begin occurring. The newest inmate of The Green Mile is a massive black man named John Coffey. "Like the drink, only not spelled the same," a shy Coffey explains to Edgecomb upon their meeting. Coffey towers above all of the prison's guards and his fellow inmates. He is so large and broad it seems he could crush a man's head in his fist. He has recieved the death penalty for the brutal rape and murder of two young white girls. Coffey was found sobbing with their broken and bloodied bodies in his arms, sobbing and apologizing for not being able to "take it back." During his first night in Block 13, Coffey presents Edgecomb with one request: that some lights in the corridor be left on overnight. Edgecomb looks up at the giant incredulously. As it turns out, John Coffey is afraid of the dark.

Throughout the first portion of the movie, Coffey is a gentle, consistent presence in the background of the action. The movie steps aside at first to focus on other characters: Edgecomb and his wife battling his ever-worsening medical condition, Hal Moores, the prison supervisor, confronting his wife's brain tumor, and a French inmate named Eduard Delacroix (nicknamed Del) finding small joy in taming a mouse he names Mr. Jingles. Another recently incarcerated man by the name of Will Wharton is reprehensibly vile and causes problems for Edgecomb and the others. Percy, the rookie guard with powerful relatives, displays a near-deranged obsession with death, bordering on sadism. Aside from his general ineptness, he treats the prisoners with malice and upsets the order of the Mile, which leaves Edgecomb longing to be rid of him. Percy has one request before he agrees to move on to another job: not only does he want to be present during prisoners' executions, he wants to give the order to flip the switch. Rarely have I encountered such a purely vile character in a movie.

Michael Clarke Duncan as John Coffey

All of these events swirl around John Coffey as he remains quietly in his cell. Coffey's state-appointed attorney compares Coffey to a stray dog when speaking to Edgecomb. "You may not think that John Coffey would ever kill. Well, I never thought my dog would bite." Nevertheless, his behavior gives the impression of an unassuming teddy bear: simpleminded, hardly capable of brutality and scarcely aware of his own strength. As Coffey's character and abilities are gradually revealed throughout the course of the film, the lives of all those who come into contact with him are irreparably changed for better and worse.

This movie is based off of a serial novel, published in increments, by Stephen King. As with most of King's work, the plot of this one wades into the realm of the supernatural before its end, but The Green Mile gently eases itself into fantastic plot points without losing its realism. The script exists as an incredibly adept tight-rope walk between tangible events and a moving spirituality, and unlike many other King adaptations, it is incredibly faithful to the source material while simultaneously creating a unique film environment of its own. Frank Darabont is in no hurry to reveal the story's secrets in his script. Before the supernatural events surrounding Coffey are seen, much less explained, a third of the film's three hour running time has passed.

The Green Mile was a box office success upon release, but much was made of its pace and running time by critics and audiences alike. I was grateful for the extra running time. Whereas so many modern films have great potential for character development but ultimately fail to achieve it, The Green Mile allows us to settle comfortably into its rhythm, so by the time extraordinary events begin occurring, we feel like we've known the characters for months or years. Darabont has created a gritty film where every minute that passes is realistic, and patiently so. This isn't a script that cuts corners or limits itself to only showing moments of unmissable importance. When looked at individually, several scenes of the movie may seem dispensable. Taken as a whole, no scene in the movie could possibly be cut any more than a gaping hole could be left in a quilt. Darabont sets out to tell a whole story, and he accomplishes his mission without any excuses or cheapening of the material.

The plot of the movie embraces the impossible, but it keeps itself grounded by not losing itself in fantasy, instead focusing on how various people deal with spirituality when it presents itself. Instead of allowing supernatural elements to distract from his film's finer emotional points, Darabont uses them to elevate the film's final impact. Another big factor in the film's final resonance is Michael Clarke Duncan's remarkable performance as John Coffey. His portrayal of Coffey embodies something present in all of us: a tiny part of our souls, lost or forgotten in many of us, overwhelmed by life's toils yet thoroughly resistant to them.

Ultimately, The Green Mile is about the varying relationships of different people, and the harsh realities around them. The movie ponders death and how we face it. The characters in the movie, like all of us in the audience, are constantly surrounded by it. Its presence is surely more tangible to those on Death Row, but its inevitability is no less certain to the rest of us. Darabont's characters take different attitudes towards death, and it is presented in many forms over the course of the film. The execution scenes are unflinchingly graphic and painful to watch, easily earning the movie its R rating. The victims of the death penalty aren't willing to die, and despite their months in jail awaiting their fate, aren't prepared. Edgecomb and the other guards view the death penalty as a necessary proponent of the law. They have empathy, but they execute their jobs with precision. Nonetheless, it's plain to see that those executed are deprived of life's joys. Death is cruel and unfair to them. Elsewhere, however, it is seen as a reprieve. In all of its forms, it is heralded by impossible choices. Edgecomb and the other guards must face the most difficult choice of all. Despite his unique traits, John Coffey is still a criminal on death row, and under the eyes of the law, there is but one fate that can be delivered to him. Whether that regulation is carried out is up to the guards to decide.

The Green Mile's main story is told in flashback by an old Edgecomb, who resides in a nursing home. His curse is his longevity: he has outlived his loved ones and now must face life by himself. He orates his amazing experiences to another resident, remarking with wonder on how simultaneously miraculous and melancholy life can be. Life brings sorrow and despair, he muses. But ultimately, there is healing.

The Green Mile earns its R rating for violence, language, and some sex-related material. The movie's thematic elements are very mature and revolve around issues like death, criminal and violent behavior, spirituality, and faith. Rape and murder are frequently mentioned. The on-screen executions are downright brutal to watch. One execution goes wrong and the victim's face (under a hood) explodes into flames from the electricity before he dies. Profanity is used less frequently than in most R rated films, but when it is used, it feels especially harsh.