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Cold Cold Mountain
Jan. 11th, 2004 12:22 pmI finally got to see Cold Mountain yesterday, after being thwarted continually over the Christmas holiday. And after all that effort expended to see it, I ended up not being sure how I felt about it, enough so that I can’t even really figure out how to write a review.
It was another assured and beautiful adaptation by Anthony Minghella of a really good book that I loved; yet I felt none of the excitement and passion that I felt from his adaptation of The English Patient, one of my favorite books of all time. Cold Mountain is more faithful to the book than English Patient as a movie was to its source, yet strangely, there wasn’t the same spark in it. I’m not sure how much of that owes to the style of the book -- written so much like a period piece, with a slightly distanced narrative style and that understated emotion true to the time the story was set in. Or it may just be that the lead actors aren’t especially warm or fiery themselves, and are playing such restricted characters. I admit I can’t stand Nicole Kidman; I find her to be the coldest, iciest, least engaging performer out there, as if she’s always going, stand back and watch me act, and I don’t even think she’s all that talented. Initially, in his early days, I found Jude Law to be very cold, as well, but over the years he’s thawed out quite a bit and become one of my favorites.
Both Ada and Inman are very reserved characters in different ways, and throughout the book, Inman is often more of a reactor than an actor, so that on film his quiet, thoughtful, reactive personality means that the performance isn’t as engaging as I could have hoped. And Nicole Kidman just never seemed like the Ada I saw in the book; while Jude Law brought me around to his playing Inman (I was horrified initially when it looked like Tom Cruise was going to play him; my god, no worse choice could have been made than that) and he seemed to embody the character, Nicole Kidman never won me over to her side, never once convinced me in the film that she was Ada. I think that Natalie Portman, who has a small part as the young widow who briefly shelters Inman on his journey, might have made a more deeply felt Ada; the wretched Star Wars movies she’s been stuck in don’t let her show any of her real talent, and Ada might have been a perfect role for her (or heck, even the young and immensely talented Jena Malone, who also has a tiny part here).
It didn’t help that they’re contrasted with Renee Zellweger as Ruby, and Philip Seymour Hoffman as the sleazy Veasy. Ruby is so lively in the book, and Zellweger just walks in chewing the scenery and never lets up; Hoffman does the same. Nor does Brendan Gleeson as Ruby’s father, Stobrod, and there’s so much life in these actors and their characters that the leads end up getting some of the zest stolen out from under them (and Jack White of the White Stripes acquits himself fairly well). Kathy Baker and James Gammon, whose gravelly voice I just love, also steal a lot of the story when they’re in it, and Donald Sutherland pulls out his best ethereal, detached self to play Rev. Monroe, and he’s just fabulous as well in his brief scenes. It isn’t really until the end, when Inman confesses that he doesn’t think he can be a good man anymore, that Jude Law is really allowed to break out of that reactive mode; while that quiet and watchfulness worked so well in the book, in the movie it seems like a strange choice. The promise of his relationship with Ada is definitely communicated in that wonderful kiss goodbye, but it still didn’t engage me as intensely as the book did, even with its distanced narration.
Not that I didn’t like the movie; it was gorgeous (Walter Murch as always a great cinematographer, Gabriel Yared a fantastic composer) and haunting, and painted one of the more detailed pictures of what life was like in the waning days of the Civil War than most movies have done. While they made a more dramatic reason for Inman to walk home to Ada, I was glad that they addressed the desertion issues as the book did, because the fact that so many in the Confederate army gladly signed up in the belief of secession and rule of their own territory, and then were force-conscripted basically for life once the war began to drag on, plays a really important part in the tension of the narrative and the tragedy of the story. I was almost afraid they would gloss over some of these important historical details that frame the mindset of the characters, and was grateful they didn’t. And it earns its length, with careful development of all the characters, and a carefully constructed vision of the world the book is set in.
So it’s odd that I can’t quite attach to it as I did to other film versions of books I love. It’s strange to me that a film as dramatically different as The English Patient was from its book can touch me more, but there was something missing here for me, but I don’t know what. I never felt like I was inside it, I guess -- at the end, I was thinking how much Ada’s hunting clothes, the long black coat and hat and trousers, made Kidman look as though she’d just come from a Donna Karan fashion shoot, rather than about the drama of the scenes, and wondering if they would keep the ending as is, and a host of other things. My heart wasn’t completely engaged, except in the longest scenes of dialog from either Law or Zellweger.
The book did something I’ve never seen done before: it’s told through three separate third person limited points of view, and then expands to include Stobrod and others, until at the end, it becomes a true third person omniscient narrative as all the characters are also brought together in one place -- the physical placement and the narrative point of view become one. And of course, you can’t really do that in a movie, because films have no point of view generally. But I think it was that heightened tension and passion as the characters come together that I missed here, as gorgeous an adaptation as it is, I didn’t feel as wrecked by the movie as I did by the book. It may not be the fault of the filmmakers or the actors, it may simply be that no one could really bring the story to life as deeply for me, it’s hard to tell. Maybe a different Ada might have made a difference. The scene that touched me most was with Inman and Sara -- the widow with the baby -- and I almost wondered afterwards if that might be indicative of what I felt was missing for me. It’s a great movie, deserving of the accolades it’s received, and I would strongly recommend it to anyone who loves great storytelling. But it didn’t hit me as hard as I’d expected, and I’m still not certain why. So I’d also say: read the book, read the book, read the book.
It was another assured and beautiful adaptation by Anthony Minghella of a really good book that I loved; yet I felt none of the excitement and passion that I felt from his adaptation of The English Patient, one of my favorite books of all time. Cold Mountain is more faithful to the book than English Patient as a movie was to its source, yet strangely, there wasn’t the same spark in it. I’m not sure how much of that owes to the style of the book -- written so much like a period piece, with a slightly distanced narrative style and that understated emotion true to the time the story was set in. Or it may just be that the lead actors aren’t especially warm or fiery themselves, and are playing such restricted characters. I admit I can’t stand Nicole Kidman; I find her to be the coldest, iciest, least engaging performer out there, as if she’s always going, stand back and watch me act, and I don’t even think she’s all that talented. Initially, in his early days, I found Jude Law to be very cold, as well, but over the years he’s thawed out quite a bit and become one of my favorites.
Both Ada and Inman are very reserved characters in different ways, and throughout the book, Inman is often more of a reactor than an actor, so that on film his quiet, thoughtful, reactive personality means that the performance isn’t as engaging as I could have hoped. And Nicole Kidman just never seemed like the Ada I saw in the book; while Jude Law brought me around to his playing Inman (I was horrified initially when it looked like Tom Cruise was going to play him; my god, no worse choice could have been made than that) and he seemed to embody the character, Nicole Kidman never won me over to her side, never once convinced me in the film that she was Ada. I think that Natalie Portman, who has a small part as the young widow who briefly shelters Inman on his journey, might have made a more deeply felt Ada; the wretched Star Wars movies she’s been stuck in don’t let her show any of her real talent, and Ada might have been a perfect role for her (or heck, even the young and immensely talented Jena Malone, who also has a tiny part here).
It didn’t help that they’re contrasted with Renee Zellweger as Ruby, and Philip Seymour Hoffman as the sleazy Veasy. Ruby is so lively in the book, and Zellweger just walks in chewing the scenery and never lets up; Hoffman does the same. Nor does Brendan Gleeson as Ruby’s father, Stobrod, and there’s so much life in these actors and their characters that the leads end up getting some of the zest stolen out from under them (and Jack White of the White Stripes acquits himself fairly well). Kathy Baker and James Gammon, whose gravelly voice I just love, also steal a lot of the story when they’re in it, and Donald Sutherland pulls out his best ethereal, detached self to play Rev. Monroe, and he’s just fabulous as well in his brief scenes. It isn’t really until the end, when Inman confesses that he doesn’t think he can be a good man anymore, that Jude Law is really allowed to break out of that reactive mode; while that quiet and watchfulness worked so well in the book, in the movie it seems like a strange choice. The promise of his relationship with Ada is definitely communicated in that wonderful kiss goodbye, but it still didn’t engage me as intensely as the book did, even with its distanced narration.
Not that I didn’t like the movie; it was gorgeous (Walter Murch as always a great cinematographer, Gabriel Yared a fantastic composer) and haunting, and painted one of the more detailed pictures of what life was like in the waning days of the Civil War than most movies have done. While they made a more dramatic reason for Inman to walk home to Ada, I was glad that they addressed the desertion issues as the book did, because the fact that so many in the Confederate army gladly signed up in the belief of secession and rule of their own territory, and then were force-conscripted basically for life once the war began to drag on, plays a really important part in the tension of the narrative and the tragedy of the story. I was almost afraid they would gloss over some of these important historical details that frame the mindset of the characters, and was grateful they didn’t. And it earns its length, with careful development of all the characters, and a carefully constructed vision of the world the book is set in.
So it’s odd that I can’t quite attach to it as I did to other film versions of books I love. It’s strange to me that a film as dramatically different as The English Patient was from its book can touch me more, but there was something missing here for me, but I don’t know what. I never felt like I was inside it, I guess -- at the end, I was thinking how much Ada’s hunting clothes, the long black coat and hat and trousers, made Kidman look as though she’d just come from a Donna Karan fashion shoot, rather than about the drama of the scenes, and wondering if they would keep the ending as is, and a host of other things. My heart wasn’t completely engaged, except in the longest scenes of dialog from either Law or Zellweger.
The book did something I’ve never seen done before: it’s told through three separate third person limited points of view, and then expands to include Stobrod and others, until at the end, it becomes a true third person omniscient narrative as all the characters are also brought together in one place -- the physical placement and the narrative point of view become one. And of course, you can’t really do that in a movie, because films have no point of view generally. But I think it was that heightened tension and passion as the characters come together that I missed here, as gorgeous an adaptation as it is, I didn’t feel as wrecked by the movie as I did by the book. It may not be the fault of the filmmakers or the actors, it may simply be that no one could really bring the story to life as deeply for me, it’s hard to tell. Maybe a different Ada might have made a difference. The scene that touched me most was with Inman and Sara -- the widow with the baby -- and I almost wondered afterwards if that might be indicative of what I felt was missing for me. It’s a great movie, deserving of the accolades it’s received, and I would strongly recommend it to anyone who loves great storytelling. But it didn’t hit me as hard as I’d expected, and I’m still not certain why. So I’d also say: read the book, read the book, read the book.
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