Wednesday, December 21, 2011

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: GHOST PROTOCOL


The fourth film in a series is usually the one that signals a series as over-extended (Scary Movie 4, Jaws: The Revenge, Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, Alien: Resurrection, Shrek Forever After, Superman IV: The Quest For Peace), and even when the films are reasonably good they are always outside the “core trilogy” that the original fans will protect forever (Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Live Free or Die Hard, Terminator Salvation, and the Star Wars prequels).

The Mission: Impossible series is now an exception to the rule. M:I 3 is still the best in the series, but the newest entry has come very close to its quality. Director Brad Bird (The Incredibles) had never made a live-action film before, but the deft balance of SFX and cinematography in Ghost Protocol proves he is a top-of-the-line director. With producers Tom Cruise and J.J. Abrams the film is clearly a part of the same series, but the way Bird allows comedy and suspense to bounce off each other is a major boost to an action series that could have been trounced by Sherlock Holmes.

Tom Cruise is still at center stage, which might count against the film depending on your personal views, but more than previous films in the series Ghost Protocol feels like an ensemble. Simon Pegg gets many of the best moments, but Jeremy Renner and Paula Patton both hold their own with more character development than supporting action parts usually get. And Michael Nyqvist (from the original Girl With The Dragon Tattoo) is an effective but under-used villain who only gets to show off in the last half hour of the film.

The actual plot is as large as one of the more ridiculous Bond films, but the speed and constant movement distracts from making logical criticisms. Essentially, like the most ridiculous Bond films, if the audience is having fun it doesn’t matter if it makes any sense. Fun is what this movie has in spades, and even though the film drags in the final scene, Ghost Protocol is one of the best big-action popcorn flicks since Star Trek.



THE ADVENTURES OF TINTIN


Tintin has been around in comic book form since the 1920s. The comics have been translated into more than 50 languages, and been adapted for TV, radio, theatre, and film. This new 3D film is best summarized by its director, Steven Spielberg, who called it “Unapologetic, shameless adventure.”

Spielberg, who has been a fan since a critic compared Raiders of the Lost Ark to the Hergé comics, first contacted Peter Jackson about using motion capture technology to bring to life Snowy, Tintin’s dog. Apparently the two were then invited to visit the set of Avatar by James Cameron and the technology amazed them so much they decided to use mo-cap for the entire film.

I was not the least bit surprised to hear Spielberg is eager to return to direct Tintin 3 (after Peter Jackson directs Tintin 2) after seeing the film. From the opening animated titles sequence and the cameo of Hergé’s original Tintin figure this film is set up to be a lot of light fun. With the freedom to move his camera anywhere and string shots together seemlessly, Spielberg lets loose with some marvellous tracking shots and transitions. The camera moves through solid glass, in and out of windows, and rushes at speeds no real camera could go; the film is flying over streets one moment and plummeting down to a rushing river the next.

On the IMDb cast list the actors are all listed as doing the “voice” of their characters, which is not the whole truth. The mo-cap translates everything about the actors’ performances onto their digital characters, and this is one of the most compelling parts of the film. Unlike previous mo-cap films like Avatar or Robert Zemeckis’ The Polar Express, these characters do not share the same facial features of the actors. However, even through the whisky-grizzled face of Captain Haddock, Andy Serkis manages to land another marvellous performance, Daniel Craig is a terrific villain, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost are the hilarious Thomson and Thompson, and Jamie Bell makes Tintin’s thirst for adventure both realistic and contagious.

By creating characters that are essentially photorealistic interpretations of the Hergé originals and then selecting actors to wear them as masks, Spielberg has finally solved the “creepy factor” of mo-cap animation. The narrative occassionally slips into adventure for the sake of adventure, but it is so much fun it doesn’t really matter.


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO (2011)


Director David Fincher (The Social Network, Seven) and screenwriter Steven Zaillian (Schindler’s List, Gangs of New York) have put together a very good adaptation that manages to match the storytelling quality of their Swedish predecessors. With only the films to go on I cannot criticize their treatment of Stieg Larsson’s novel, but by all accounts they have captured that element that has made the novels so popular around the world.

Daniel Craig is a nice fit for the role of Mikael Blomkvist. Originally I was skeptical considering the performance that Michael Nyqvist gave in the Swedish original. James Bond was not the first man who came to mind for the English-language adaptation, but with his glasses hanging under his chin from one ear, Craig fits as a nice balance to Rooney Mara’s Lisbeth Salander. No one should expect Noomi Rapace’s original to be overshadowed, but Mara does a terrific job making the part her own and becomes the troubled bedrock of the film. Fincher filled the supporting roles with all the best people: Christopher Plummer, Stellan Skarsgård, Donald Sumpter, and Robin Wright hold the cast together without a weak link among them.

In terms of editing, cinematography, and most other elements, the two versions of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo are a wash. Both tell the same terrific mystery and hit the same harsh notes. The place where Fincher’s film steps above is with its music. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have given Fincher another brilliant score after their Oscar-winning work on The Social Network. The internet phenomenon that was the teaser trailer for this film was scored with the Immigrant Song covered by Karen O, and it is that song that plays in full during the title sequence. Much like Fincher’s Se7en, the title sequence of this film is a harsh barrage of character imagery; computer cables, crushed flowers, oil, blood, and Lisbeth herself making a surreal vision that can only be described as the James Bond titles from Hell. It is a two-and-a-half minute unrelenting sequence that assures there will be fewer walk-outs when the story hits those uncomfortable parts.

Although I love The Social Network and appreciated the Curious Case of Benjamin Button, it is exciting to see Fincher back in another dark crime story.



Wednesday, November 30, 2011

50/50


Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays Adam and Seth Rogen is his best friend Kyle. Adam and Kyle are the central pair of a perfect cast of characters played by Anna Kendrick, Bryce Dallas Howard, Matt Frewer, Philip Baker Hall, and Anjelica Huston. Adam works for Seattle Public Radio with Kyle, spends time with his artist girlfriend Rachael, and doesn’t call his mother as much as he should. He has an average, good life. But after a back ache sends him to the doctor, Adam is told he has a rare form of cancer.

The story of 50/50 is the semi-autobiographical work of Will Reiser, a friend of Seth Rogen’s, who wrote the screenplay as a part of the healing process. The film is as honest and personal as Little Miss Sunshine and Juno, both of which were written by unknowns and went on to score Oscars for Best Original Screenplay and nominations for Best Picture. Particularly now that there can be up to ten Best Picture nominees it is not out of line to suggest 50/50 will appear in both categories. Following other terrific performances in Mysterious Skin, Brick, The Lookout, and Inception, Joseph Gordon-Levitt has proven again that he is a future A-list actor.

No matter what awards 50/50 does or does not get, it is a true, honest, entertaining film. Often screenplays forget to keep the focus on the main character and the resulting films are unfocused and sloppy. Although there are half a dozen good characters played by great actors there are no dragging moments where a subplot is given too much screen time or a supporting character is made more important than Adam.

The balance between characters is true for the various supporting parts as well. Adam’s crumbling relationship with Rachael is balanced against his long-lasting friendship with Kyle, his new experiences with his therapist, his distant relationship with his parents, and his budding friendships with fellow cancer-patients Mitch and Alan. Each relationship changes with Adam as he shaves his head, starts chemotherapy, and attempts to understand his new situation.

Despite all of the drama and tragedy associated with cancer, 50/50 remains one of the funniest films of the year. This is a film that uses the intimacy and awkwardness of its subject matter to draw laughter from its audience. The most appropriate comparison would be to Garden State or Almost Famous, which both accomplished a similar melancholy comedy.

Taking the comparison further, 50/50 manages, like Almost Famous, to have a great soundtrack with an appropriate mix of Radiohead, Pearl Jam, The Bee Gees, The Jacuzzi Boys, and others. Director Jonathan Levine sometimes uses a song to comment on a particular moment of the movie, but often the music is just a great choice for the background to a scene without dialogue.

The Verdict: It may be rated 14A for profanity, sexual content, and drug use, but 50/50 is a film that can be enjoyed by anyone who doesn’t wall themselves off to mature content. It is modern, relatable, and very human.



Wednesday, November 23, 2011

HUGO


Martin Scorsese’s first experiment with family filmmaking is combined with his first attempt at 3D, and the results are (because there is no better word) magical. Based on the highly-recommended novel “The Invention of Hugo Cabret” by Brian Selznick, Hugo is the story of an orphan living in the walls of a Paris train station in the 1930s. Hugo Cabret winds the clocks, steals food, dodges the troublesome station inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen), and works in secret to repair a mysterious automaton.

In his exploration of the automaton’s origins, Hugo discovers that the old man in the train station toy shop is actually Georges Méliès (Ben Kingsley), the filmmaker behind the famous image of the rocket hitting the man in the moon. But now he is forgotten by the filmgoing public. Bitter and angry at the world, Méliès catches Hugo attempting to steal parts for his automaton, and Méliès puts the boy to work in the toy shop to pay back what he owes.

Considering the films Martin Scorsese is famous for it may seem odd to say this is the perfect combination of artist and material, but there really is no other major filmmaker who could have given Selznick’s book the appropriate respect. The novel uses a combination of text with full-page pencil sketches to tell the story like an early film. This is captured beautifully by Scorsese in many sequences where dialogue is not required and therefore is not used. It is easy to imagine some directors being less comfortable with visual storytelling, and as a result they would have made a film that failed to capture the magic of silent films.

A love of movies is present throughout. Hugo takes his friend Isabelle (Chloë Grace Moretz) to see Safety Last!, Harold Lloyd’s 1923 comedy. The classic clock tower stunt brings gasps to the film audience (and brought a few to the theatre I was sitting in as well). Moments like these are peppered throughout and build to the celebratory climax.

Scorsese’s first attempt at 3D is anything but amateur. The depth of the images is used to beautiful effect. An opening crane shot through the crowds of the train station and up to Hugo’s face is a perfect rendering of the same sequence from the novel. Other scenes, such as a chase up the clock tower or a train crash, make further use of the power of 3D to enhance the experience.

A good critic should remain outside the review and judge on the merits of the production, but I have to step in at this point to say that the use of 3D conversion on some of the silent scenes shown from Méliès’ films made me giddy. I’ve been a fan of silent films since I first saw Charlie Chaplin’s The Gold Rush when I was a kid, and ever since the 3D trend started I’ve wanted to see exactly what Martin Scorsese showed me in this film. By converting the images to 3D he brought back the magic that so many people overlook when they see a silent film.

Of course the key to any good movie - silent and monochrome or talkie and colourful 3D - are the actors. Supporting parts played by Ray Winstone, Richard Griffiths, Frances de la Tour, Jude Law, Emily Mortimer, and the great Christopher Lee are all perfectly fitted into the story without taking anything away from the lead performances. Ben Kingsley gives another high-class performance, and Chloë Grace Moretz proves again that she will not disappear like some child actors have. But the true gem in this film is Asa Butterfield as Hugo. Butterfield has appeared in a few supporting roles, and would be most recognized as Bruno in The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, but in Hugo he is infinitely watchable as the frightened yet unyielding hero. Like many others I have been skeptical about the upcoming film of Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game,” but now that Butterfield has been announced as the lead my hopes are significantly improved.

The Verdict: A beautiful, immersive, magical, and powerful film about the power, magic, and immersive beauty of silent cinema. A perfect coming-of-age adventure.



Friday, September 16, 2011

DRIVE

Drive is a crime thriller from the director of the violent art films Bronson and Valhalla Rising. It is the story of a Hollywood stunt performer, only credited as “Driver” (Ryan Gosling), who works evenings as a wheelman for anyone who can stick to his strict rules. When a simple heist goes wrong, the driver is tossed into a spiral of violence that threatens his safety and the life of his neighbour, Irene (Carey Mulligan).

Sound is the not-so-secret weapon employed by director Nicolas Winding Refn. A radio sports commentary competes with a police scanner in one scene of suspense. In another, an explosion of gunfire interrupts silence to jolt you like a driver popping his clutch to jolt a passenger. Combining these sounds with music at a high volume builds a pattern, like the shark theme in Jaws, that draws you in, dials up your pulse, and then either accelerates rapidly or punches you in the gut.

The original score by Cliff Martinez is inspired by ‘80s synth-pop and backed up by European electronic bands. However, the ‘80s style isn’t limited to the music; several sets echo designs seen in the 1980s. Even the plot, title and nameless main character of the film are variations on The Driver, a 1978 movie starring Ryan O’Neil.

When Bryan Cranston (who is a perfect fit for the corrupt mechanic Shannon) was interviewed by George Stroumboulopoulos on the CBC, Cranston mentioned that the script read like a standard crime thriller, and that the power of Drive was created in the editing room by Nicolas Refn. Throughout the film I was struck by how clear this was. Most of the emotional investment into the relationship between the driver and Irene is created in dialogue-free shots where the two characters stare at each other. Wanting to catch every detail of the performances draws you in, and you are forced to feel more intimately attached to the characters. Refn’s repeated use of staring eyes, watching eyes, and unblinking eyes builds this urge to hypnotic effect.

All of these techniques draw you in, mesmerize you, and cause you to become lost in the film, which is then put to the test when a shotgun blast introduces a new element: bloody violence. Do not forget that this film is rated 18A, and it earns that rating. Although the blood never reaches the levels it does in that first attack, the effects are felt long after. Again let me refer to the masterpiece of suspense, Jaws. The music warns you that the shark will soon appear, and it leaves you hanging in suspense and horror, a state of confusion, where you know ‘what’ but you don’t know ‘how’ or ‘when’. Drive uses a similar technique to keep you in a prolonged state of terror/suspense, which is something that Hollywood action films rarely try to do. Usually a buildup of suspense is followed by a cathartic release through comedy or a slower pace. Drive does none of that. The intensity, the violence, the volume, the anger, and the adrenaline are ratcheted up non-stop from the moment the robbery goes wrong.

The film’s violent power is part of the reason it has been so successful at the film festivals, and why it will likely make an appearance in several Oscar categories, but it is also why many people are turned away. Several scenes go well beyond the violence and gore present in the average thriller. In this way Drive reminded me of The Departed. Not an easy film to pin down to any category or rating, Drive is a unique mix of car action, crime violence, art film photography, and horror movie editing. For one reason or another expect Drive to continue to appear in film discussions until well after this awards season concludes.

The Verdict: It is not for everyone. A harsh new type of crime thriller that we will only see more of in the next few years.



Thursday, April 28, 2011

ARARAT

Atom Egoyan’s Ararat is a film more interested in historians than in history; the process of history – and its relationship to those who study it in the present – are at the heart of the story rather than the events of the Armenian genocide. The film-within-a-film (Edward Sorayan’s Ararat) takes the opposite approach and tells a strictly historical narrative of the events in question. By approaching the Armenian genocide in this way, Egoyan manages to start a debate and involve himself in it at the same time. The film is a search for “the truth,” but it understands that in history there is no such absolute.

If Egoyan had made Edward Sorayan’s Ararat as a feature film the result would have been, like Braveheart (1995) or Pearl Harbor (2001), a linear historical narrative. This would have had wider box-office potential, but it would also have lead to a public conversation where the Armenian genocide, and not Egoyan’s film, would be debated. To step away from the usual historical narrative and involve his film in the lives of the historians, Egoyan includes the genocide debate within his film. Questions of historical authenticity are addressed by characters that have the same concerns, and any question of the truth of the genocide claims are also debated in the film. This leaves the post-film debate to be about the merits of the film instead of about the merits of the history, which is why it is a successful historical film.

The focus put on the historians studying the Armenian genocide reflects the film’s theme of absolute truth, and how impossible it is to achieve. The historians, filmmakers, and other fictional characters created by Egoyan are all interested in “the truth.” The filmmakers treat it as if it were a commodity, something that could be purchased for the right price, when they hire Ani to be a historical consultant. David, the customs official, treats the truth as inevitable; he talks with Raffi, listens to his story, and waits for holes to appear and lies to be revealed. Martin, the lead actor, prepares for the role of Clarence Ussher by reading every scrap of evidence available. He appears fully confident in his mastery of “the truth,” and then puts on his costume and false moustache to play the role. Martin is emblematic of the amateur-historian who believes that the truth is accessible if enough information is gathered. Egoyan’s ensemble point of view of history makes it clear that “the truth” is never found because it is not a tangible object to be uncovered.

Egoyan’s film ends with the modest claim that the historical events presented have been substantiated. This post-script is inconclusive in terms of “the truth,” making it very appropriate for the film. Ararat presents both history and the historians who write it, and approaches the absolute truth of the Armenian genocide fully self-aware of how impossible a goal that is.



Stanley Kubrick's NAPOLEON: History Meets Art

History has been present on film as long as film has existed. Even the camera tests of the earliest pioneers, which served no storytelling purpose at the time, have become invaluable primary documents for the period they were filmed in. More explicitly, historical films have also existed since the earliest days of cinema; filmmakers have used the events of the past as the subject or inspiration for thousands of films. When movies began telling historical stories as narratives the dividing line between history and art was drawn. Every filmmaker who attempts to portray true events on screen does so with a unique point of view and a unique understanding of what is the truth. The elements that make historical texts include a wide range of sources, but none of the evidence available to historians can create as convincing a picture of an historical person or event as a film can. Film is closer to reality than any other art form. The result of this similarity to reality is that filmmakers have the potential to approach closer to the truth than any other artistic or academic representation.

Nicknamed “The Greatest Movie Never Made,” Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon was a project that the great director had originally intended to undertake following the release of A Clockwork Orange in 1971. The box-office failure of another Napoleon film, Waterloo (1970), drained confidence from the studio, which resulted in the massive production being called off before cameras were able to start filming [1]. Stanley Kubrick, according to actor Jack Nicholson, “gave new meaning to the word meticulous.” [2] This is most evident in the archival documents collected by Alison Castle. Dozens of letters to actors, hundreds of production notes, numerous conversation transcriptions between Kubrick and historian Felix Markham, thousands of location scout and costume test photographs, multiple outlines of the film, and Kubrick’s 1969 draft of the screenplay serve as a glimpse into the massive effort that had been put into the production.

The presentation of truth in an historical film can be overshadowed by the emotional impact of the finished product. When a film succeeds on an emotional level its audience is more willing to forgive minor faults in logic or liberties taken with the historical record. This means that analyzing the dividing line between history and art can be difficult because alterations to historical fact to suit the film narrative can often be accepted as a part of the film’s emotional impact. Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon is a unique example of an historical film that completed its pre-production, but never completed any actual film. It is also unique for the amount of pre-production work that is available to study. From this material it is possible to see where history and art – sometimes allies, sometimes enemies – met in the mind of one of the greatest film directors.

Within the Napoleon production materials are recurring lists and revisions, by Kubrick and his staff, of the estimated budget of the film. In his production notes dated November 22, 1968, Kubrick estimates 150 days would be required to shoot the film on locations in Yugoslavia and Italy. He addresses the concern that there are four major categories of cost for a “spectacle film,” which include large numbers of extras, military uniforms, expensive sets, and over-priced movie stars. He planned to overcome the cost of an extra ($19.20 per day in England) by using the Romanian army, on loan from the government, which would have provided the film with up to 30,000 troops at a time for $2 per man. Military uniforms for these extras were to come from a New York company that would have printed uniform facsimiles on fireproof, drip-dry, paper fabric for $1 - $4 each. The expensive sets were to be replaced with actual locations in palaces and villas still standing from the period in France, Italy and Sweden. The final obstacle, expensive movie stars, was the easiest for Kubrick to overcome. He wrote, “Sufficient proof must now exist that over-priced movie stars do little besides leaving an insufficient amount of money to make the film properly.” [3]


His decision to avoid expensive stars occurred closer to the planned production, likely as a response to the massive costs involved in the rest of the film. In a notebook dated August 30, 1967 Kubrick wrote a list of potential actors to fill the roles of Napoleon, Josephine, and the other major characters. This list included such stars of the time as Alec Guiness, Peter O’Toole, Peter Ustinov, Audrey Hepburn, Julie Andrews, Albert Finney, Vanessa Redgrave, Ian Holm and Oscar Werner (Kubrick’s choice for Napoleon). [4] The decision two years later to focus on unknown actors shows how flexible Kubrick vision of history was. As a film about Napoleon, the casting of the lead character would have been the most influential decision of the production. A recognizable star like Jack Nicholson would create a very different image of Napoleon than either Ian Holm or Oscar Werner. The variety of possibilities in this matter reveals how interpretive even the most concrete aspects of history are; there was only one Napoleon in reality, but there are countless interpretations of Napoleon as a character.

Few figures have achieved the worldwide recognition of Napoleon. He remains one of the most recognized, most hated, most loved, and most debated players in history. Starting from this understanding, Kubrick was able to write a script that begins with the assumption that the audience already knows something about its title character. In the opening scene the Narrator introduces him with the first line, “Napoleon was born at Ajaccio in Corsica on August 15th, 1769.” [5]

A scene from Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon.

The use of the Narrator is a very novelistic technique that Kubrick used to great effect in his early films The Killing (1956) and Dr. Strangelove (1964), and would use again in Barry Lyndon (1975). [6] In Napoleon he uses the Narrator more than in any other film, and to greater purpose. Napoleon grows from 4 to 17 in the first five pages of the screenplay, and the Narrator serves to orient the audience on the progress of his military training and love life. The narration in the screenplay is, at first, very factual and without judgment; it states when Napoleon entered the Royal military College in France, when he graduated at 16 as a sub-lieutenant, and that the Civil War began in 1793. The narration also reflects one of Kubrick’s primary sources, Napoleon’s own journals, when the Narrator states that “his moods at this time were complex and varied,” it is in response to the journals that Napoleon kept. [7] Along with the unnamed Narrator there is voice-over by Napoleon as a boy writing his journal, and as an adult reflecting on his youth. This combination of voice-overs, at times taken verbatim from Napoleon’s writing, injects the film’s narration with authority and the appearance of reliability. As the screenplay progresses through the events of Napoleon’s life, Kubrick takes more liberties with the analytical capabilities of the Narrator. Following Napoleon’s Egypt campaign he returns to France, and the Narrator claims, “The news of his arrival threw France into a delirium of joy. His return was seen as a kind of deliverance.” [8] The Narrator’s analytical powers grow to the point where, during Napoleon’s residence in Moscow before the disastrous winter retreat, the Narrator says, “Thus, lulled by events, and by realities he could not face, Napoleon seemed to fall into a dream in Moscow.” [9] The Narrator who conveys only dates and events is transformed through the screenplay into the interpretive voice of Kubrick’s point of view. It includes theories and questions that Kubrick had about Napoleon’s motivations and mistakes. The role of the Narrator becomes one of analysis, and as Kubrick’s voice in the historical debate on Napoleon’s thoughts. This is an important transition because, since the Narrator began the film with no noticeable bias, the narration is associated with unfiltered history. The appearance of history without bias suggests some form of the truth, and is therefore considered a trusted source. For Kubrick to transform that source into a part of his interpretation of history is a bait-and-switch to convince the audience that what he is saying with his film is the accepted historical truth. This is not a malicious action to misrepresent who Napoleon was, but serves to strengthen Kubrick’s argument for which parts of Napoleon’s life are worth focusing a film on.

The main plot of the screenplay is concerned with the political and military actions taken by Napoleon. Animated maps were to appear with narration during several sequences to explain the complex battle formations and political alliances. These animations, like the voice of the Narrator, appear authoritative and factual. Given the level of research that Kubrick and his staff undertook it is fair to consider these animated sequences would have been very accurate to the historical records of the battles. The animation and narration during the battle of Waterloo are examples of how the screenplay uses these elements to explain important details about the course of the battle. Some of the narration relates the events of the battle to the specific hours that orders were given and actions were taken. This sequence also illustrates how Kubrick understood that the audience would have a certain level of knowledge already; at no point in the screenplay does “Waterloo” appear.

Many chronological histories of Napoleon’s life were readily available to Kubrick, but for the film he required information on dozens of supporting characters that interacted with Napoleon and affected the course of his life. To accomplish this a cabinet of index cards tracking the activities of Josephine, Napoleon’s Generals, and others was made by a team of graduate students organized by Kubrick and Felix Markham. Each card represented a single event or action taken on any day, and spanned all of Napoleon’s life. [10]

Using the chronology gathered by the team of grad students, Kubrick was able to focus on Napoleon’s relationship with Josephine, and to contrast the activities and opinions of the two. Their courtship is short and the recitation of one of Napoleon’s love letters is followed by the private civil wedding ceremony. During the ceremony an excerpt from a letter by Josephine, writing to her friend Theresa, reveals that she does not love Napoleon, she finds herself “in a state of indifference, of lukewarmness.” [11] Napoleon then leaves on the Italian campaign and an extended sequence of voice-over further contrasts the two characters. Seven scenes tell the story of Josephine’s affair with Captain Hippolyte Charles, and these scenes are narrated by Napoleon. His narration is taken from the many love letters that he sent to Josephine at this time. The contrast of Napoleon’s loving words and Josephine’s adultery gives the screenplay a moral slant against Josephine’s actions. Napoleon, in a later scene, is presented as equally flawed when he seduces the wife of a dinner guest and ignores Josephine’s attempt to interrupt. [12] These scenes and others present both Napoleon and Josephine as flawed characters. By giving a large portion of the film’s limited time to reveal how flawed – how human – both were, Kubrick succeeds in adding emotional weight to the more classically historical sections of politics and warfare. Many of the scene descriptions in Kubrick’s screenplay are short and without extensive visual detail. The emotional impact of these short scenes with contrasting voice-over would have been multiplied in the final cut of the film. It is clear that emotion would have over-ruled any potential complaints about the film’s presentation of history.


Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon would have been an unprecedented production. In an unsent draft of a proposal, dated October 20, 1971, Kubrick summarizes his plans to restart the production process. His third point states, “It’s impossible to tell you what I’m going to do except to say that I expect to make the best movie ever made.” [13] As the unmade film of a director who is widely accepted as a genius, Napoleon has achieved the status of legend. With no finished product to judge, Kubrick fans can claim it would have been his masterpiece and no one can say otherwise. From the massive amount of material available in the Kubrick archives, however, it is clear that – masterpiece or not – the film would have been a unique vision of the life of Napoleon. Some of the locations and camera techniques that are alluded to in Kubrick’s notes were used in the production of Barry Lyndon, which won four Academy Awards including Best Cinematography. [14] By watching that film and reading Kubrick’s screenplay, fans can achieve a glimpse at what might have been. Although Kubrick had planned to write a new draft of the screenplay, and some of his correspondence suggests he would collaborate with A Clockwork Orange novelist Anthony Burgess, the 1969 draft is a fascinating document on its own. [15] The potential for a major historical epic is clear in the screenplay’s use of dramatic juxtaposition, recreations of the battles, and the presentation of the political decisions that shaped Napoleon’s life. The dialogue is often revealing and entertaining, the structure is easy to follow, and the story does not appear rushed despite the condensation of almost fifty years into three hours. The screenplay’s greatest asset, and the source of its downfall, is clearly the massive amount of research time that Kubrick invested. This is a bitter irony because, had Kubrick finished his preparations quicker, the film would have been into production before Waterloo (1970), starring Rod Steiger, failed at the box-office. Despite the tragedy that the film will never be made, the screenplay succeeds on its own as entertainment, as an emotional drama, and as a model for future screenwriters attempting to walk the fine line between history and art.


Notes

1 Jan Harlan, Stanley Kubrick’s “Napoleon” (Paris: Taschen, 2005), 16, reprinted in Alison Castle, Stanley Kubrick’s “Napoleon”: The Greatest Movie Never Made, 2nd ed. (Paris: Taschen GMBH, 2011), 25.
2 Nigel Rees, Casell’s Movie Quotations (London: Cassell & Co., 2002), 243.
3 Alison Castle, Stanley Kubrick’s “Napoleon”: The Greatest Movie Never Made, 2nd ed. (Paris: Taschen GMBH, 2011), 377.
4 Ibid., 623.
5 Napoleon, Print Screenplay, written by Stanley Kubrick (1969), 1, included in Alison Castle, Stanley Kubrick’s “Napoleon”: The Greatest Movie Never Made, 2nd ed. (Paris: Taschen GMBH, 2011), 649.
6 Mario Falsetto, Stanley Kubrick: A Narrative and Stylistic Analysis, 2nd ed. (London: Praeger Publishers, 2001), 96
7 Napoleon, 5.
8 Ibid., 67
9 Ibid., 150.
10 Castle, Greatest Movie Never Made, 545.
11 Napoleon, 38.
12 Ibid., 91.
13 Castle, Greatest Movie Never Made, 643.
14 “Barry Lyndon,” Internet Movie Database, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0072684/
15 Eva-Maria Magel, “Everything A Good Story Should Have” Stanley Kubrick and Napoleon (Paris: Taschen, 2005), 28, reprinted in Alison Castle, Stanley Kubrick’s “Napoleon”: The Greatest Movie Never Made, 2nd ed. (Paris: Taschen GMBH, 2011), 38.