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'Gosford' clowns
cleverly with class
By Jay Carr, Globe Staff
Boston Globe 01/04/2001
"GOSFORD PARK'' almost single-handedly makes up for the
dispiriting mediocrity of the movie year just ended. It's a civilized
delight in which director Robert Altman uses his genius for ensemble
interplay to out-Merchant-Ivory Merchant Ivory and sparklingly
revive the all-but-moribund English weekend house-party murder
mystery genre.
 But "Gosford Park'' is far
from just a case of Colonel Mustard in the library with a candlestick.
Set between the wars at a country estate, the film parades before
us - with wicked eclat - the usual assortment of snobs and twits,
then turns around and stings them, and us, by turning the upstairs-downstairs
world inside out. It makes clear just how much human misery went
into supplying the needs of a guest list of silly, useless, and
often not even amusing people back in 1932, when the cars often
upstaged the characters, effortlessly.
- rich veins of aristocratic
uselessness -
Michael Gambon's Sir
William McCordle, distinctly new money, throws a shooting party
and invites along a countess, a matinee idol, a war hero, and
a dozen more besides, many rich and others just pretending. The
bluebloods of course must bring along their own servants, squeezing
them in with McCordle's staff down below.
You know the film is on the right
track when the high priestess of high comedy, Maggie Smith, unfurls
her nasal simper as an impecunious aristocrat who thinks nothing
of letting her new maid get soaked in a driving rain to raise
the grande dame's comfort level. As Constance, Countess of Trentham,
Smith finds ways to make the casual awfulness of the cruel condescension
seem funny, whether sniffing at the social decline signaled by
her hostess's use of store-bought marmalade or trumpeting her
unsought opinion that a woman who travels without her own maid
has lost her self-respect.
Meanwhile, there are other rich
veins of aristocratic uselessness to mine. For instance, Kristin
Scott Thomas - as hostess Lady Sylvia McCordle - gets a lot of
mileage out of being brittle and supercilious and, as she pouts
it, bored to sobs.
The knowing script by Julian Fellowes
settles any doubts about its sophistication by bypassing the
obvious choice of Noel Coward as the musical celebrity invited
and expected to sing for his supper. Instead, it's the now forgotten,
but then just as popular, composer of lighter, sweeter fare Ivor
Novello. The deviser of such stage successes as "Careless
Rapture,'' Novello is played in suavely winning, which is to
say slightly melancholic, style by Jeremy Northam.
Bob Balaban plays the invited
Hollywood producer Morris Weissman, not with the vulgarity you
might expect, but with refreshingly unaffected straightforwardness.
He's a little booster rocket to the evening, as is Charles Dance's
invigoratingly unplacating and unapologetic pillar of aristocratic
smugness.
It's only to be expected that
Altman, that longtime social critic, would not leave the upper
crust unpilloried. The way he goes after them, facilitated by
Fellowes's script, is with a contrasting emotional fullness in
the downstairs world of their servants, seated in the kitchen
according to the ranks of their respective employers. An outrageously
reasonable arrangement, since the servants seem all too willing
to submerge themselves and live through their employers, becoming,
in effect, a self-perpetuating slave class, living on table scraps.
Predictably, it's the rebels who stand out, most notably head
housemaid Elsie, played by Emily Watson.
- sublime obtuseness -
One could go on and
on, cataloging the pleasures that pour forth from the screen.
That's how rich the performances are, kept from cliche by countless
individualizing touches from an all-star circus of actors, under
the keenly sentient touch of a ringmaster whose point of view
is far from longingly nostalgic.
Yes, there is a murder,
and yes, the film comes as close to caricature as it ever gets
when a fatuous inspector - played by Stephen Fry with sublime
obtuseness - airily declares that the servants, who only see
and hear and know everything, aren't worth talking to because
they're social inferiors. But then the film is snapped back to
brilliance by Helen Mirren as the housekeeper/iron maiden who
has exchanged her life for the privilege of wielding power below
stairs, and who, naturally, has her dark secret, too.
Never has a film taken such relish
in between-the-wars malice as "Gosford Park.'' |||
Jay Carr can be e-mailed at jcarr@globe.com
Guardian Review,
7 November 2001
Opening night gala: Gosford Park
Peter Bradshaw sees Robert Altman play Cluedo
THE IDEA OF yet another 1930s country-house drama peopled
exclusively by distinguished English character actors sounds
like a living death. The number of star names generally has an
inverse relation to the actual thrill they collectively deliver;
everyone just distracts from each other's prestige. Add to that
the antique cars sweeping up the gravelly drive, the chatelaine's
languid ennui, the cheeky footman, the mob-capped parlourmaid,
and finally the comedy detective investigating the body in the
library... well, it should be cliche hell, the sort of material
the late Anthony Shaffer used sheepishly to write for those later
Agatha Christie mysteries.
But it isn't. The tired old Cluedo
genre has turned out to suit Robert Altman's ensemble approach
nicely, shaping it, giving it discipline. Altman is sure-footed
in this alien habitat, and the film - entertaining, and amusing
if insubstantial - has a similar feel to Alan Bridges's "The
Shooting Party" or James Ivory's "The Remains of the
Day." It would almost be quicker to list the big names who
aren't in it (they were off doing "Harry Potter"),
but the director keeps them all more or less in check, and something
in the brassbound typecasting prevents anyone showing off too
much.
Michael Gambon is the glowering
master of Gosford Park, Kristin Scott Thomas his elegant, disaffected
wife. Below stairs, Clive Owen and Kelly Macdonald come worryingly
close to a John Alderton/Pauline Collins double act. Ryan Phillippe,
as the mysterious Scottish manservant, joins the list of leading
men (including Ralph Fiennes and Freddie "Parrot Face"
Davies) whose head is the wrong shape for a bowler hat.
Inevitably, there is one performer
who blows them away with a deliciously unpleasant, scene-stealing
performance, and that's Maggie Smith as the vain, mean Countess
of Trentham. While Jeremy Northam, playing Ivor Novello, croons
interminably at the piano, Dame Maggie remarks acidly over a
hand of cards at the opposite table: "What a large repertoire."
Of someone's frock, she smiles sweetly: "Difficult colour,
green..."
Once the murder is committed,
quite late in the film, it all becomes very broad and you can
see the ending a mile away. There's nothing in the way of psychological
insight or social comment; but Gosford Park is never dull, and
it runs as purringly as an antique Bentley.
© Copyright Guardian Newspapers Limited
Bates Archive Spotlight,
October 2001
When director Robert Altman announced he was
making a
country-house drama with a cast of 40,
Britain's finest actors and actresses tumbled
over themselves for the privilege of working with him.
The Telegraph's David Gritten reports from the set...
(from left: Bob Balaban, Jeremy
Northam, Natasha Wightman, Kristin Scott Thomas,
Tom Hollander, Alan Bates), photo © Entertainment Weekly,
2001
"You rang,
Mr Altman?"
ALL EYES ARE on Robert Altman as he pads up and down the corridor,
with the air of a genial grandfather in a safari suit. The cream
of Britain's acting talent follows his every move. Helen Mirren
gazes at him sternly. Alan Bates strolls up and down, speaking
lines to himself, but keeping Altman constantly in his sights.
Derek Jacobi stands still, alert and bolt upright. Eileen Atkins,
recently made a Dame, lurks against a wall while Emily Watson
lingers on a flight of stairs. Below her, Richard E. Grant is
looking sleek and dashing while Clive Owen, the star of Croupier,
sits on a wooden chair, cool and self-contained.
Here at Shepperton Studios, all
these household names are dressed up as country house servants
for the film Gosford Park: Bates, Grant, Watson, Mirren
and Atkins play a butler, footman, maid, housekeeper and cook
respectively. This might lead impulsive observers to assume that
they know this kind of film: a very English upstairs-downstairs
period drama, surely, with steam trains, curtsying maids and
sleek limousines with running boards purring up the long drive
of a handsome rural estate.
Well, yes and no. Gosford Park
is certainly a period drama, set specifically in 1932. Of
the 40-strong cast, 38 are indeed British. And the line between
the squirearchy upstairs and the serving classes downstairs is
strictly delineated.
 But
above all, it's a Robert Altman film. The great veteran director,
one of the last American mavericks, has come to England because
the Agatha Christie-style country house murder mystery is one
of the few genres he has not tackled in his 44-year feature film
career.
Altman being Altman, he is imposing
his own style on the story. The standard of his 86 films fluctuates
maddeningly: the best (M*A*S*H, Nashville, The Player, Short
Cuts) are brilliantly assured, the worst are bewildering
lapses in judgment. But all bear his distinctive stamp.
The set is a labyrinth of gloomy,
claustrophobic rooms, modelled on real servants' quarters from
the period. There is a housekeeper's room, a cook's area. The
butler's room (a little grander than the rest) and a preserve
room where jams, marmalades, runner beans and asparagus are kept
in glass jars.
There is a washing and ironing
room, and a brushing and boot room. Largest of all is the servants'
hall, a communal space for leisure time. Noticeably, no window
opens out to fresh air, an authentic detail confirmed by consultants
hired for the film: an ex-butler, a former cook and an ex-housemaid,
who also advise on finer points of etiquette, down to which knife
or fork to use for different meal courses.
- servitude -
"This time, 1932,
is toward the end of this kind of servitude," Altman explained.
"These people went into service, stayed all their lives,
and it was hard work. Their families were often thrilled to be
rid of them. It meant there were only three in a bed, not four.
If their daughter became a maid, they knew she would be taken
care of and fed.
"People in service often
worked in only one or two households most of their lives. But
the Second World War was a turning point. After it, young girls
were able to have jobs other than as maids."
Altman is planning an extraordinarily
complex shot in which a crowd of characters meet, crisscross,
exchange brief conversational snippets and carry on with their
business, while his restless cameras glide and swoop around them.
(Think of the opening scene of The Player.) Four characters
have specific lines in the script for this scene, but Altman
has ordered microphones to be attached to all 20 actors on duty,
and told them to ad-lib to each other. (Remember the overlapping
dialogue of Nashville.)
Now 76, Altman has a reputation
for occasional tetchiness, but here seems happy and in his element.
He clearly has this scene worked out in his head, but with cinematographer
Andrew Dunn, he gently offers advice to all the actors, standing
in groups of two or three. The scene's complexity means this
takes half an hour, but everyone stays attentive. Finally, he
is ready.
"Well, let's give it a go,"
he says gently, in his distinctive Kansas City drawl. "Of
course, we'll probably screw it up." Knowing smiles all
round.
But the old pros bustle around
at their servants' duties, on their marks, and deliver their
lines on cue. Remarkably, Altman has his scene in four takes.
- glittering cast
-
It looks a glittering
cast, but this turnout is only the half of it: all today's scenes
are below stairs, which leaves the "upstairs" actors
with a day off. They include Dame Maggie Smith, Kristin Scott
Thomas as the mistress of the house, Michael Gambon as her irascible
self-made husband, Jeremy Northam (as the one real-life character,
composer Ivor Novello), Charles Dance -- and Stephen Fry as a
detective investigating a murder.
Altman was the magnet that attracted
such talent. But agreeing to act in Gosford Park required
these stars to leave their egos at the studio gates.
"There are 40 parts in the
movie -- 20 major roles, and 20 story strands," Altman said
gleefully. "There are no extras. Everyone has assignments
and a character. Some may not have dramatic input in every scene
when the film's cut. So they'll be background."
Thus, several venerable British
stage figures have spent long days engaged in bumble routine
duties. "We're all doing a lot of extra work," said
Emily Watson. "Yesterday there was a scene in one room,
with Helen Mirren and me, very deep background all day. All these
knights of the realm have been sitting around reading newspapers
for days on end."
"Bob told us we weren't popping
in to do cameos," said Clive Owen. "He said we were
all on call all day, every day. That's unusual. The calibre of
actors here usually come in for two weeks, nail their scenes,
then leave."
- irresistible -
One might assume that
Gosford Park is expensive, but it is budgeted at only
£10 million. "None of us is getting much money,"
said Richard E. Grant. "There's a two-tier salary system,
and everyone receives the same as people on their tier. So no
one's worrying if their trailer is bigger than someone else's.
It's an easy-going, non-hierarchical attitude, and it's irresistible."
A significant chunk of the budget
comes from the Film Council, set up to distribute Lottery cash
to deserving British films. There has been discreet whingeing
in London film circles about an established American director
like Altman benefiting from such an investment.
He doesn't care. "We're employing
lots of British people," he said casually. "Apart from
me, my son Stephen the production designer, and Ryan Philippe
and Bob Balaban in the cast, everyone's British."
He began pre-production even before
the money was in place. "I jumped the gun, came over here
and assumed I'd get it going. Balaban (also a co-producer) and
I were in danger of losing a lot of money. when we finally got
it together, we took my fee out of the budget. There's no way
I can make a penny out of this thing, But I truly think it's
the best experience of my life.
At least one man on set agrees.
The scriptwriter, Julian Fellowes, an English actor who says
he plays "salty old fart" roles and appears in the
BBC series Monarch of the Glen, cannot believe his first film
script is being directed by Altman: "It's a writer's fairy
story. It's like Lana Turner being discovered in Schwab's drugstore."
- servants' viewpoint -
He has written Gosford
Park entirely from the servants' viewpoint. "The camera
can't be on the posh people unless a servant is present,"
Altman explained. "You may hear an argument inside a room,
but if a servant enters, it'll stop. If a servant leaves a room,
so does the camera. This may not be that evident. The audience
may not perceive it, but the story is transmitted through downstairs
gossip, through what the servants know.
It may not be terribly easy to
follow, then. "I'm trying to let the audience discover the
picture rather than throw it at them," Altman observed.
"Many plot lines and dramatic lines are thrown away. The
audience has to pay attention. Maybe they'll miss them. I don't
know if an ensemble piece like this can still be successful --
especially today, when everything is right here in their face,
and films tell you everything twice."
The director's cast virtually
queues up to pay tribute. "Among these actors, the same
chorus keeps emerging," noted Grant. "People say that
irrespective of how the final film turns out, the process is
so relaxed and enjoyable, it's a surprise every movie isn't more
like this."
"Bob's deceptive because
he has this calm, confident aura that puts everyone at ease,"
Owen remarked. "He makes you feel it's the easiest thing
in the world. I've never worked with a director who gets so much
respect."
"For a man of his age, he
has very little rigidity," added Watson. "He sniffs
what's in the air. He's so fluent at putting a camera into a
space and making it interesting."
Altman's great British adventure,
then, is already successful on his terms. "We've had a terrific
time," he beamed. Yet can that translate into commercial
success when the film is released next year? He shrugged. "Kids
aren't going to see this film. I don't know how to make a film
for 14-year-olds. But I didn't get into this business to get
rich." |||
© Daily Telegraph, 2001
(1 September 2001)
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