Wednesday, January 16, 2013 – Day three
“Les Miserables” – directed by Tom Hooper

In the lexicon of the “gritty” musical, of those that have attempted a more down-to-earth, realistic approach to their presentation, two stand out: “Oliver,” and “Paint Your Wagon.” Both tried to bring audience awareness to actual life in the harsh conditions of reality – one through “dirty” sets and the other shot on location. This is a difficult way to film a musical because by its nature – having your characters break into song, no matter the setting – is strange, abnormal, and bizarre behavior, far from ordinary life no matter how dirty or tattered your character’s clothes are. I do not walk down the street singing out my feelings to anyone. Yet, this is the axiom by which all musicals work and we accept this as being a normal part of their genre. We have come to accept the gritty musical’s transformation from the pristine three-dimensional stage to a life-as- representativeness, converting a stage show into the realm of film’s realism – truth at twenty-four frames a second. Victor Hugo’s world and the reasons for the Paris uprising of 1832 are those that originate inside an impoverished nation pushed to the brink by a so-called uncaring aristocracy, or so we are led to believe by sympathetic writers bent on making the overthrow of the privileged the basis for heroism. The downfall of this reign had less to do with poverty and more to do with a French revulsion to a monarchy. Victor Hugo’s “Les Miserables” is a monumental work of gigantic proportion (nearly 1300 pages in length) that takes weeks to read and is considered by many to be one of the greatest literary works of all time next to “War and Peace” and other very long books we should all read. Adapted to the screen several times, I recall the 1935 Richard Boleslawski version the best in my mind. While whittled to the bone, it lays out the story as accurately as Hugo had it in his novel – an ex-convict is pursued relentlessly for years by an over-zealous prosecutor.

Bearing an open mind, I entered the cinematic world of a Broadway musical stage adaptation, completely unfamiliar with the show and its score except for the blaring song, “I dreamed a dream” whose refrains, like “Annie’s” song “Tomorrow” has been drummed into my brain by repeated versions from a variety of media outlets. Originally produced in France as a concept “album” in 1980 before being developed into a West End musical in London by producer Cameron Mackintosh and director Peter Farago, “Les Miserables” premiered in 1985 to harsh critical reviews by critics who decried the adaptation of Hugo’s novel. However, audiences loved the musical and it sold out during its initial three month run and successive openings ever since. (many, many spoilers follow) I noticed several elements of mass appeal in the show’s libretto, especially with its cheery ending of walking toward that great heavenly barrier in the sky filled with the dead now dressed in clean clothes singing with smiles on their faces patriots... and they lived happily ever after... but it all arrives much too late in my mind to redeem this musical/opera film (I think I counted six spoken lines, which would make it an operetta).

For three hours we are dragged through the mud, brown walls, tattered clothes, dirty faces, wet pavement, and perfectly white, straight teeth – all filmed in glorious television aperture with a steady cam so the director can move the camera in all kinds of places. Hooper loves faces and often takes the lens so close that they distort as if he was shooting with a fisheye lens. The main problem with crafting a film in this fashion is one of editing. Where do shots start and where do they end? The simple answer is you cut where can and when you can, making the whole production jump all over the place, like some editor’s nightmare. The only continuity that exists is when the screen flashes something like, “Nine years later” and similar flash-forwards in time. Otherwise, the film is a garbled mess of shots thrown together to form a linear flow of sort.

In addition to the depressing sets, costumes, and make-up, we are treated to really great actors (Oscar-worthy in other projects) who are being forced to screech out impossibly high notes, far out of their range and doing it live on the set. As any singer will tell you, it takes time to craft a song and give it polish. Expecting actors to deliver perfectly with each take is a ridiculous assumption and I fault the director for every sour note that fell on these poor battered ears; so many, that by the end of three hours I was ready to scream right back at the screen, my eyes full of tears, pulling my hair out, with blood shot eyes, and a red nose from crying into my popcorn (or was it bad makeup) – “No more! Please! I beg you! I’ve had enough!” But I bit my lip and said nothing until the smattering of white heads began to applaud around me. That’s when I stood up and said aloud, “Really?” My eighty-eight year old German grandmother who couldn’t sing a note could wield a bar song better than that. With all the British and American accents you’d wonder the film took place in France at all.

There was one bright note where Hooper and editor Chris Dickens managed to bring off a great moment in the film, during the quintet “One Day More” that reached a natural crescendo with full orchestra, pull back, reveal and climax. Musical filmmaking at its finest (which should have been followed by an intermission). Hooper obvious saw “West Side Story” as this scene duplicates the “Tonight” quintet in pacing and similar climax without the giant crane pull out at the end. But one song in the middle of a miserable movie does not forgive what took place before and after. The makeup, made to give everyone a ghastly appearance; the costumes, a little too much like rags, too filthy, too worn, and too monotonous; the sets – now there’s a depressing subject; and the lighting made the whole film one big downer from the very beginning. The only “bright” spot arrived with Sasha Cohen and Helena Carter as the owners of a disreputable establishment, who like Ron Moody’s Fagin (“You’ve got to pick a pocket or two”) scurried around their saloon picking everyone’s pocket who stopped by for a drink or bed. You’d think word would get around to stay away from the place. The song was light-hearted and humorous for me until they ground up everything and made something that resembled feces, feeding it to the guests. So much for my popcorn. That made me gag and took me right out of the scene.

If I try to stand back and look at “Les Miz” as a whole film, weighing the good with the poor (mostly technical problems), I found the acting well done, the singing atrocious, the songs forgettable (except “I dream...”), and the direction sloppy. I realize I am older and that younger people may find many elements of this movie enjoyable. I’m certain those same people find wrestling enjoyable, too. As a person who has spent his life listening to music, studying music, singing, playing an instrument, being in a band, being in madrigals, performing onstage in musicals, being the star of an off-Broadway musical, teaching music, having a minor in Music at college... this was not a happy experience for me. I’m sorry. Because it looked like Ann Hathaway, Russell Crowe, and Hugh Jackman went through hell for this director. If they get an Oscar, it should be for the strain of working on that set, but not because this is a great film. It’s not even a good movie musical. Now I wish I had seen the play.