Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for violence and sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.14.14
Fans of Neil Gaiman’s novels,
particularly Neverwhere and Stardust, will adore this film.
Director/scripter Akiva
Goldsman’s luxuriously romantic fantasy offers the same mythic qualities: a
setting that’s familiar yet not quite of this world; an incandescent yet oddly witty
love story; and mortal characters — of a sort — caught within a timeless duel
between agents of good and evil.
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| Despite having broken into her home with the intent of stealing its valuables, Peter (Colin Farrell) finds his plans thwarted after meeting Beverly (Jessica Brown Findlay). Her response, to this uninvited stranger? Why, to offer him a cup of tea, of course! |
It’s such an odd concoction that
one false move — a single line of dialogue too precious, delivered with perhaps
too much smug arrogance — and the entire narrative would collapse under the
weight of its own contrivance. And yet Goldsman unerringly walks that fine
line, delivering a warm, gently humorous and richly poignant adaptation of Mark
Helprin’s massive 1983 novel.
Indeed, the first miracle is that
Goldsman has captured this huge book’s essence in a film that runs a mere 118
minutes. But perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised, given his Academy Award victory
for adapting A Beautiful Mind, and his obvious fondness for historical dramas
(Cinderella Man) and speculative fiction (The Da Vinci Code, I Am
Legend).
Even so, this film’s mere
existence represents a second miracle: a most unexpected roll of the dice by
Warner Bros. Helprin’s captivating epic is the sort of story that rarely works
on the big screen.
The American public is
notoriously reluctant to embrace intelligent, adult-oriented fantasy,
preferring instead the empty calories of popcorn sci-fi action flicks. Granted,
Gaiman is doing his best to help reverse that trend, and Goldsman’s captivating
work here could help a great deal.
I frankly hesitate to describe this
plot to even a minor degree, because while not a mystery per se, Winter’s
Tale derives much of its charm from the many revelations — major and minor —
that emerge along the way. Indeed, even the casting offers surprises, all of
them pleasant.
Our most unusual protagonist is
Peter Lake (Colin Farrell), an orphan with an unusual origin, having arrived in
late 19th century New York under quite unlikely circumstances. This is, in
fact, the film’s core test: One must accept this startling, almost biblical
introduction as a foreshadowing of the storytelling style to come. Having allowed
this near-impossible weave of otherworldly thread, the resulting tapestry will
be much easier to snuggle into.
Peter grows up poor and
uneducated — a skilled thief who also possesses “a way with machines” — and
lives on the streets until taken under the wing of a Fagin-like protector,
Pearly Soames (Russell Crowe). We catch up with these two in 1916, with Peter
on the run after some sort of falling out; the furious Soames and his men are
hell-bent on cornering and then killing their prey ... slowly and painfully.
Let it be said: Few can top
Crowe’s depiction of cold, malevolent fury. His Pearly is the stuff of
nightmares. In more ways than one.
Peter is rescued, at the last
possible second, by a white horse that appears quite unexpectedly ... and has a
facility for astonishing jumps.
Knowing he must flee the city,
Peter and his new equine companion pause long enough for a few second-story
jobs, in order to finance the necessary escape. The horse, clearly possessing
an agenda, points Peter toward his final target: a stately mansion whose
occupants can be seen departing for some sort of lengthy trip.
But not all of them. Unbeknownst
to Peter, a young woman has remained behind. This is Beverly (Jessica Brown
Findlay), dying of a particularly nasty strain of consumption; she quells her
frequent fevers, and in fact has prolonged her life, by sleeping outdoors atop
the mansion, cooling her fragile body and breathing the crisp winter air while
sheltered by a Moroccan-style tent.
They bump into each other;
Beverly, with the calm wisdom of the terminally ill, sees nothing to fear from
Peter. He, in turn, is captivated by her radiance, as if impending death has
transformed her, supernova-like, into the best possible version of herself
before darkness claims her.
Once again, everything is crucial
in this scene, and Goldsman — making an impressive big-screen directing debut —
draws rich and expressive performances from his stars. They’re a perfect match:
Farrell’s aw-shucks Irish charm marvelously complemented by Findlay’s genteel
British vulnerability.
The relationship kindles and
ignites, for however long it can last. Peter is embraced warily by Beverly’s
father, Isaac (William Hurt), and warmly by her younger sister, Willa (Mckayla
Twiggs). The latter, desperate for her sister to survive, has concocted an
improbable fantasy derived from Sleeping Beauty, involving a princess’ bed in
the family arboretum, and the magic created by a kiss borne of true, undying
love.
If only it were that simple.
Elsewhere, chafing over his
recent failure, Pearly percolates with raw fury ... and seeks a fresh means to
find and dispatch Peter, once and for all.
On top of which, the stakes are
much higher than one apparently doomed romance would suggest: no less than a
sought-for advantage in the eternal celestial struggle between hope and
despair, angels and demons.
Pretty heady stuff, all given just
the right tone by Goldsman and his production team.
Veteran cinematographer Caleb
Deschanel’s work is both atmospherically crucial and breathtakingly gorgeous,
starting with the way he lights and films Beverly’s diaphanous rooftop tents: a
setting with a romantic intensity we’ve not seen since Nicole Kidman’s “elephant
house” in Moulin Rouge. Light and shadow are their own characters in this
parable, and Deschanel rises to the challenge with lovely tableaus, whether
moonlit walks in the snow or the stygian darkness inhabited by Pearly’s ageless
overseer.
Farrell is ideally cast as the
flawed, often puzzled, but willingly love struck protagonist: a “hero” who
hasn’t the faintest comprehension of his role in much greater events. Farrell's
half-smile and mildly amused glances are an intriguing counterpoint to his
haunted, often forlorn eyes; his expressions bespeak great sorrow, both endured
and freshly anticipated.
Findlay, easily recognized as
Lady Sybil Crawley on TV’s Downton Abbey, is the effervescent, nonconformist
yin to Farrell’s cautiously withdrawn yang. Victorian-era film heroines too
frequently display the free-spirited self-possession of a 1960s flower child,
which can be a problem; not so here, where we’re willing to forgive Beverly’s willful,
self-assured bearing because of her illness ... just as her doting father does.
Crowe, as already mentioned, is
nightmare incarnate: a figure of consummate evil whose very shadow radiates
loathsome menace. We imagine him dining on rats and spiders, or passing the
time by pulling the limbs off small furry animals. Crowe’s baleful glare stops
our hearts; his feral smiles are even worse.
Hurt is quietly commanding as the
worldly Isaac Penn, a man crushed by the knowledge that his vast fortune can’t
save those he loves. Young Twiggs is adorable as Willa, who sparkles with the
preternatural awareness of a soul far wiser than her years would suggest.
Even the smallest roles are well
cast. Matt Bomer (TV’s White Collar) and Lucy Griffiths make a strong
impression as Peter’s parents, who undertake a startling gamble to save their
infant son. Maurice Jones strikes an appropriate air of mystery as Cecil
Mature, Peter’s one true friend, who seems to know far more than he lets on.
The always noble Graham Greene also offers sage counsel when Peter needs
advice.
Later in the story, Jennifer
Connelly brings considerable warmth as Virginia, a woman with an instinctive
sensitivity akin to Beverly’s, who ... well, that would be telling.
And good heavens: Is that really
Eva Marie Saint, popping up in the third act? Indeed yes, and just as graceful,
just shy of 90 (!), as she was in 1959’s North by Northwest.
Finally, Pearly is assisted by
various lieutenants who share an unlikely last name while doing their boss’
nefarious bidding: Romeo Tan (Kevin Corrigan) and Cesar Tan (Kevin Durand).
The sumptuously dreamy score
comes from Rupert Gregson-Williams and Hans Zimmer, who deliver tender
undertones or malevolent cadences, as given scenes demand. Editors Tim Squyres
and Wayne Wahrman are appropriately restrained; Goldsman clearly understands
that quieter, old-style pacing is essential to this story’s atmosphere of magic
realism.
Production designer Naomi Shohan
recreates early 20th century New York to the last tiny degree, and also does
wonderful things with the Penn family’s twin estates.
All this said, there’s no
question that some viewers — those who dismiss adult fairy tales with a
contemptuous sniff — won’t buy into any of this. Winter’s Tale caters to undying
romantics who thrive on the heightened emotions raised by carefully structured
parables; cynics with hearts of stone need not apply.
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