Reviews

The title says it all. WHAT LIES BENEATH is entirely based on the exploitation of the nagging suspicion, common among contemporary women, that all men, no matter how reassuring the appearances, are potentially threatening - and very dangerous.

Is that to say that guys will hate it? Not really, because this is enough of a good movie to sustain the interest from the beginning till (almost) the end. The best scenes are those that make up the first hour or so. They reminded me of the opening sequences of THE EXORCIST where, through an adroit blend of perfectly natural occurrences and (possibly) supernatural manifestations, the audience is progressively manipulated into a state of heightening apprehension. Nothing happens, truly, but your nerves are set on edge and, soon, you start feeling the shivers. The means to achieve that end are efficient, if often trite and rarely original.

The Çturning pointÈ is usually fatal to stories which start as mysteries, but do not have enough of the truly mysterious in them not to turn into something else (usually a conventional thriller) after an hour or so. This production is no exception, but, nonetheless, it still has enough pseudo-supernatural elements in it to remain afloat (more or less) for yet another half an hour. However, in the end, the doomed ship cannot escape its destiny and, after a while, it sinks in deep implausibility. The ending itself is high camp, although chances are that, by then, part of the audience will be so much Çinto itÈ that they will not even notice how cheap the conclusion is. Depending on their Çbelief systemÈ, they may even buy it!

After screening WHAT LIES BENEATH, I heard someone saying that ÇHarrison Ford has taken a big risk in making this flickÈ. I beg to disagree. As numerous Hollywood precedents show, a well-established actor, even a natural one like Ford, can easily afford to make exactly that move, hardly more than a trial balloon, with little or no consequence for the rest of his career. But there, precisely, is the rub : Ford, pushing on 60, currently needs a new lease on life for his career, an important film - as important as the RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, or WITNESS or even PATRIOT GAMES in his earlier days - that would enable him to bring his cinematic persona up to his current biological age bracket. Unfortunately, as WHAT LIES BENEATH clearly indicates, he is both too much of a natural and not enough of a character actor to successfully redefine himself through a dramatic break with the past. Somehow, the avuncular Harrison Ford of the years to come will have to evolve out of Indiana Jones.

Michelle Pfeiffer, on the other hand, gives one of her best performances in this film, playing her role with so little affectation that one comes to forget that she is... a big name.

For a much more satisfactory treatment of the same concept (but with a different ending), see Alfred HitchcockÕs SUSPICION, with Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine. For a more positive view of the relations between men and women in a context of violence threatening to a woman, but dealt with in a comedy mode, see FOUL PLAY, with Chevy Chase and Goldie Hawn.

I went to see this film with some considerable apprehension, for I feared that it might not be that much better than TEA WITH MUSSOLINI. Actually, it is even worse!

What was so special about that small colony of English expatriates in Florence before the Second World War that the British movie industry might feel justify to devote as many as three feature films to it - first A ROOM WITH A VIEW, then TEA WITH MUSSOLINI, and now this well-packaged turkey? By what I can see, that bunch of obnoxious WASPs was almost exclusively made up of cantankerous old hags and their paunchy hubbies.

As I surveyed the sorry lot in the scene (lifted straight out of TEA WITH MUSSOLINI) where they are rounded up for a chat with the local fascist goons, I actually began to MISS Maggie Smith, Joan Plowright and the rest of the eccentric female cast of TEA. At least, THEY had colour. Here, the only patches of colour are provided by Derek Jacobi, as a stylish old queen in exile, and Anne Bancroft, as a wily American princess who thinks that she might one day outwit even the Nazis (and might very well end up doing so, if only she could stop drinking all of those gin sodas and thus gives herself a chance to live that long).

Edward Fox also provides some comic relief in the role of a British senior civil servant (perfect in that role, old boy, perfect!) just about to take up an important position as a provincial governor in colonial India and who talks as if he expected that the locals would actually WELCOME his presence there. But even he gets boring after awhile - about midway through his 3-minute scene.

As for the two principals (Sean Penn and Kristin Scott Thomas, both on automatic pilot), you cannot really feel sorry for them, as they spend the first half of the movie involving themselves in the most stupid mess, and then the second half painfully extricating themselves out of it. If those two idiots get a little bruised in the process, they have no one to blame but themselves. It may actually offend your sense of justice to see the relative ease with which they get off the hook in the end.

Anthony Davies looks and sounds pathetic enough as a penniless refugee but the actor obviously has no a clue about what a pathetic AUSTRIAN refugee is supposed to look and sound like.

Finally, the Italian actor Massimo Ghini, who played the role of ZeffirelliÕs father in TEA WITH MUSSOLINI, has now been promoted to the rank of fascist chief of police. Hardly an improvement.

The movie - that goes without saying! - is full of gorgeous views of Florence and the surrounding countryside.

I resent the fact I had to spend eight bucks on this crap and this is my revenge.

Believe it or not, but this has always been my main problem with THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY : MichelangeloÕs patron, Pope Julius II, as excellently portrayed by Rex Harrison in this film (all thunder, passion and humor), is clean-shaven, whereas he should sport a long grey beard.

Mind you : a clean-shaven face has long been a characteristic physical feature of Catholics clerics, up to the highest echelons of the ecclesiastical hierarchy - all of the Roman pontiffs in the last three centuries were clean-shaven. History records that Julian de la Rovere himself (the future Julius II) remained beardless through most of his church career, including the early years of his pontificate. But then he grew a long beard and that is how his famous portrait, by Raphael, reproduced in history books, depicts him. As a result, when people who know about the period see Julius in their mindÕs eye, they see him wearing a huge beard. But, evidently, this was not the case with the people responsible for this film who, for whatever reason, chose to present the terrible pontiff as no one imagines him...

This is all the more surprising that, as far as historical films go, this one is an achievement of sorts. Not only has the filmmaker done a meticulous and impeccable job of reconstructing the externals of history (costumes, sets, props) in all of their minutiae, but he has even succeeded in explaining to modern viewers some peculiarities of the mentality of the time which they might find baffling, although they made perfect sense to contemporaries - most notably, the notion that a pope might put on a suit of armor and take to the battlefield in order to protect the independence of the Church, threatened by ravenous secular powers.

The filmÕs tale of the clash of two gigantic egos - that of pope and artist - which was to lead to the production of the worldÕs most magnificent fresco, the painted ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, is, on the whole, faithful to history. The events have been scripted, of course, but only on a few occasions (e.g. MichelangeloÕs visit to the allegedly dying pope and the latterÕs suspiciously swift recovery, a scene which smacks too much of comedy) does the desire to spin a good yarn tends to get the better of common-sense and propriety. Also, a few details have been ÇfixedÈ. Thus, it is suggested that Michelangelo had to renounce the love of a beautiful woman (the sister of Cardinal Giovanni de Medici, JuliusÕ successor, as Leo X) for the sake of art, whereas available evidence (that of his own poetry) suggests that the artist had little interest in the opposite sex, and much preferred the company of attractive young men. But, clearly, the notion of a gay Michelangelo is evidently more than what Hollywood (to say nothing of Charlton Heston!) could bear in 1965...

Beyond externals and script, however, the main merit of this fine production is the honest effort made by Carol Reed, guided by author Irving Stone, to penetrate the inner-face of the artistic and religious experience of both pontiff and painter, each one - the pragmatic Julius and the mystical Michelangelo - conscious, in his own way, of being the instruments of a Force infinitely superior to their limited selves, and yet One who seems to need them. At times, the means used to achieve that objective verge on the campy - and, here, one immediately thinks of the notorious scene where Michelangelo, standing alone on a mountain-top, recognizes the face of God the Creator in the cloud patterns towering above the setting sun. And, more often than not, the intended profundity of the dialogue begins to sound hollow when you start assessing the text on its own merit. But, in the context of the film itself, IT WORKS - thanks, in no small measure, to the two principals. The high point in the film, and a high point in the acting careers of both Heston and Harrison as well, is reached in the unforgettable scene where Michelangelo, entering the Chapel in the middle of the night, surprises the ailing pope crouching on the top of the scaffolds, immersed in the ecstatic contemplation of the panel depicting the creation of Adam, completed the previous day. Michelangelo climbs up and, as he approaches his nightly visitor, Julius, with his candle, points to his picture of the Creator :

ÇIs that truly how you see Him, my son?È he asks, in utter bafflement (for the old priest is currently going through one of those moments of despair when ÇGod appears to be deafÈ). ÇNot angry, not vengeful. Strong, benign, loving...È

ÇOh, He knows anger too,È replies the artist, somewhat apologetically. ÇBut then,È he goes on with quiet conviction, Ç the act of creation is an act of love...È

I watched this film because, after seeing THE PATRIOT (2000), I wanted to see an another perspective on the American Revolution.

The contrast is refreshing. Whereas Mel Gibson and his bunch of cut-throats often sound and act as if they had come straight out of THE TURNER DIARIES, John Wayne and his own band of irregulars live according to the principles of another gospel - that of law and order, western style. The film is indeed a western, in spite of the geographical and historical settings - the mountains of Western Pennsylvania, 15 years before the Boston Tea Party. More specifically, it is a glorified version of the typical B-movie western of the era, which often starred John Wayne, was often shot in exactly the same locations, and always featured the same formulaic story-line and motley collection of stock characters, such as the soft-spoken community leader, the wild mountaineer who talks and acts so funny, the tomboy love interest, who would like so much to be treated like a guy, but cannot, because she is *only* a girl, etc. The main difference, of course, is one of scale and production value : this is not a cheaply mid-length program filler, but a full-blown feature film in which enough talent and production value has been invested to sustain interest from the beginning to the end, even some 60 years later - and this in spite of a few dated scenes and some awkward moments of political incorrectedness (e.g. the questionable philosophical adage Çthe only friendly Indian is a dead IndianÈ is quoted approvingly).

The film, as suggested above, is based on the central classical theme of the western genre : the implementation of law and order on a wild and untamed country. In this case, however, the familiar story is told with a novel twist. The author of the screenplay has remembered that American law is, in fact, English law, but adapted to the peculiar circumstances of the new country. The pre-Revolutionary setting has provided him with an opportunity to oppose the two understandings of the same legal tradition - the new, American, understanding of English law represented by James Smith (John Wayne), a nation-builder and a free spirit who does not always play by the rules, but abides by the spirit of the law in his attempts to curb illegal liquor and arms trading with Indians, and the old, British, view, as represented by Captain Swanson (George Sanders) an upright, but unimaginative and incredibly obtuse military officer of a far-away Crown who does not seem to know of any other way to apply the law, but to the letter, regardless of common sense and consequences. In his own words : ÇI am a soldier, sir. They could have been carrying the murder of my own father if they had a permit for them. I would have defended them with my own life.È The point of the story is both that the clash between the Britain and America was inevitable and that they would eventually be reconciled because of their deep shared faith in the same ideals of justice - ultimately, it will be observed, it is the British General Gage who steps in to resolve the dispute between soldiers and colonials in a remarkably fair and even-handed manner.

We are very far from the exercise in quasi-racist British-bashing characteristic of THE PATRIOT! However, the two films have this in common that they fail to make their British villain credible. In the case of THE PATRIOT, this is due both to Robert RodatÕs script - all in black and white - and the acting, for Jason IsaacsÕ main asset, sad to say, seems to be his uncongenial face. George Sanders, on the other hand, is one of the greatest character actors specializing in villainy that Hollywood ever had. (Even his stints in BATMAN and THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. are very much worth seeing!) He had the face - and so much more : the style (ÇRemove this barbarian from the courtroom!È - Who could have said it more contemptuously?) Unfortunately, there is little that he can do to lend genuine human substance to the cardboard unidimensional character entrusted to his art. The scriptwriter seems to have meant to depict a specimen of obdurate military stupidity (British style) closely patterned on the Captain Bligh of Charles Laughton from four years earlier (MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY, Oscar for Best Picture in 1935), but, evidently, he lacked the means of his ambitions. Sanders still makes the best of the uneven material and he has his moments, most notably the scene when, besieged in his fort with his troops, Swanson orders that the soldiers who caught napping be flogged, and yet treats kindly the one man whom he actually finds sleeping on duty.

There is something wrong with this movie. Not that it is badly made or lacking in production values. Indeed, all that money can buy has been generously bestowed on it and, if you are willing to disregard certain things, you will probably spend a good evening. But certain things simply cannot be ignored.

The problem, as others have said, is one of historical truthfulness. Not that one should be too pedantic about the details history : I see nothing inherently wrong in inventing characters and refashioning events, when this is well-done. What, however, is wrong, very wrong, is to accuse people of the past of crimes they did not commit. Nobody will dispute that there is a streak of ruthlessness in the British character and that, during the American Revolution, history records many instances of confiscation, looting and destruction of insurgentsÕ property by British troops, as well as hangings of people actively involved in the patriotic cause. At the same time, that ruthlessness had limits and to suggest that atrocities such as those described in the latter part of the film (systematic slaughter of innocent civilians, including the entire population of a village) could have been been perpetrated by British officers, let alone condoned, if only tacitly, by Lord Cornwallis, is a calculated insult to a great nation to which America owes its deepest cultural roots and which remains one of its closest allies. Furthermore, in the film, those scenes of atrocities are utterly useless, for, already within three minutes of his first appearance, Tavington has done more than enough (and within the limits of the harsh rules of war as they were understood at the time) to fuel Ben MartinÕs spirit of revenge for the rest of the film - and a spinoff TV series, if they care to make one.

Another major problem with THE PATRIOT relates to the rather dubious brand of patriotism which it preaches. Once upon a time, Hollywood knew how to make films celebrating the love of America in such a way as to infectiously communicate it to millions throughout the world. Think of such fine productions as SERGEANT YORK, ABE LINCOLN IN ILLINOIS, MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON, among numerous others. Alas, it seems that the recipe has since been lost and that the only forms of expression of patriotism known to contemporary American movie studios are loud, vulgar and unimaginative. Truly, there must be more subtle ways to advertise the love of the US than to wave the Star-Spangled Banner to the sound of blaring fanfares over and over again!...

The most questionable aspect of that newfangled patriotism is its utter insensitivity to the feelings of people of other nations, whose lives are presented as expendable (think of the many tasteless jokes about redcoat-killing in THE PATRIOT...), whereas American lives are treated as sacred and infinitely precious - as if only Americans were fully human... Such a view is both offensive and morally repulsive. I suggest that American movie producers make it a priority to look for ways more respectful of human dignity to enhance a national patriotism which can otherwise be so admirable, and especially for the way in which it succeeds in transcending ethnic and racial differences.

PS For the record : Lord Cornwallis was not an elderly military genius, as depicted in the film, but a YOUNG man (born in 1738, he was not yet 43 when he surrendered at Yorktown...), who owed his position more to his birth than to his professional competence, as well as a liberal gentleman who, in subsequent years, did much for the advancement of the civil rights of Irish Catholics (THAT should be of some interest to Mr. Gibson!)

For those who may care : this movie is historical baloney, pure and simple. It is true that, in the late 2nd century of our era, there was a wise Roman philosopher-emperor named Marcus Aurelius whom the unfortunate circumstances of his time forced to wage incessant wars on Germanic tribes and that, after his death, near the front, he was succeeded by his son Commodus, a madman who fancied himself the incarnation of Hercules and often performed in the arena. But the connection stops there, and that is a pity, for the true facts of CommodusÕ reign, which lasted some 15 years (A.D. 177-192), would probably have made a much better story than what we have here.

As for Maximus, he is a pure invention. The only character by that name in that period of Roman imperial history is the young son and heir of the short-lived emperor Maximinus Thrax (A.D. 235-238). There are, it is true, some similarities between the career of that Maximinus and that the fictional Maximus, for Maximinus was both some kind of a muscle-man and a good general, who won many victories on the German front. However, when you read more about him, you also find out that he was also a brutal tyrant who enjoyed killing large number of people, when he was not busy dispatching bulls with his bare hands - his favourite past-time... (I could never quite understand why Hollywood feels the need to change the facts of history when they are so sensational!)

Tons of money were poured into the making of GLADIATOR, and one wishes that the producers would have made better use of those resources. The sets are impressive, but hardly accurate - except for the reconstruction of the Colosseum, which corresponds more or less to the current scholarly consensus on what that extraordinary building looked like. (Notice the awnings on the top-tier. Their purpose was to provide shade to the audience. It is only recently that scholars have begun to work out the complex details of their structure and operation.) But the Roman skyline, full of elegant fluted domes, is all wrong. That is the skyline of SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Rome, as rebuilt by the Renaissance popes and their successors. In ancient Rome, the only large domed building was the Pantheon, which survives, and it did not at all look like that. Also, as anyone who has been there will tell you, Rome is located in hilly, not mountainous, country.

They also botched their Marcus Aurelius. Richard Harris is a fine actor, but a bit old for the part and there is a big problem with his hair, which is long and straight, whereas the hair of Marcus Aurelius, whose features immortalized on his coins are familiar to anyone who knows anything about Roman history, was short and curly. That may sound like an insignificant detail, but it would be like making a film of the life of Adolf Hitler and forget the moustache... For a spitting image of Marcus Aurelius, check Alec Guinness in THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

In my opinion, the best, and perhaps only true good, moment in GLADIATOR is the impressive opening sequence, a graphic illustration of the kind of ruthless and savage campaigns which the Roman emperors of the period had to wage over and over again to stem the barbarian tide on their Danubian border.

The rest of the movie is only slightly better than mediocre, with Derek Jacobi looking like if he were a guilty man, very embarrassed to be there and very anxious to take his money and run. I am sure that many people will disagree with that harsh assessment, for this film has clearly been designed as an audience-pleaser.

To those interested in more than well-packaged trash, I suggest to go to the nearest video store and rent a copy of Stanley KubrickÕs SPARTACUS, a vastly superior gladiator film, and one that will give you a remarkably accurate sense of the greatness that was Rome, Çan eternal thought in the mind of GodÈ.