Gankutsuou. Dir. Mahiro Maeda. With the voices of Joji Nakata and Jun Fukuyama. Studio Gonzo, 2004-2005. Runtime: 10 hrs.
Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo is, to put it bluntly, the best adaptation of the Dumas novel that I've ever seen, a great story that is both well-told and a superb adaptation.
This is the series that PBS doesn't have the guts to broadcast.
Gankutsuou is the longest of all the versions of the story that I saw, running ten hours. As this adaptation has some extreme differences from the others, I will give a few plot details that I didn't give for the other versions. It is set in the 51st century, and space travel has become normal. Outer space stands in for many places outside of Paris. Eastern Space is the Orient, Janina is now a planet, Albert and Franz go to the Moon for Carnival instead of Rome, and the Count takes Albert cruising in deep space instead of to Normandy. These are merely shifts in location and do not interfere with the actual story. Nearly all of the story still takes place in Paris and Marseilles in France. We begin at the Carnival on the Moon and follow Albert for the duration of the story instead of the Count, allowing us to see the story from a new perspective. Though many science fiction elements run rampant, like space travel, holograms, aliens, and mechanical horses, some 19th century French aesthetics are preserved, such as arranged marriages, class distinctions, opera, and some clothes. Horse-drawn carriages, 1940s cars, motorcycles, and hovercrafts share the streets. It all meshes convincingly to create a future that is both exotic and familiar. Setting the story in the vast future also alludes to the universality of the story: in the future, human nature will be the same as it ever was and wronged people will still want to make their own justice when the system fails to provide it.
Something fascinating happens when the focus is shifted to Albert. We lose the point-of-view angle on the Count and see him more easily as the villainous man he is. The Count of Monte Cristo is a classic anti-hero. We love him and we hate him. We admire him and are charmed by him, but we are apalled by the things he does to bring justice to those who wronged him a quarter of a century ago. The audience should never completely root for the Count--we may delight in seeing his enemies go down, but we know that he is not in the right. Many adaptations suffer from trying to make the Count too nice and completely right in his quest for vengeance. Not this one. He doesn't care how many innocents get killed, go crazy, or how much he has to play with their emotions or rip their families apart--he wants vengeance and justice and he will use any means necessary to get it, even to the extent of signing away his soul.
Which brings us to the Count himself. Gankutsuou's Count is not charismatic. He is made of charisma. He makes everyone he meets fall in love with him or at least want to be friends with him because of his money and influence. Monte Cristo captures everything that Dumas' Count is. He's an original (carpeting a cave is too tame for this guy--he builds an underground ocean teeming with sharks under the Champs-Elysees), he's sophisticated and charming, he can have barbaric manners to disturb his enemies, he has very strong determination, and he's cooler than ice in dealing with people. He is also very much a villainous anti-hero--we like him and understand his motives, but despise the horrific things he does for the sake of revenge, and he does some vicious things here. This Count is, without a doubt, the best portrayal of the Count of Monte Cristo I've ever seen. The animation and the voice actor, Joji Nakata, whose deep voice is perfect for the Count, combine to make a memorable character that embodies everything that Dumas wrote. In the book, some aristocrats, like the Countess G---, liken the Count to a vampire because of his pale skin, dark hair, sharp teeth, and cold hands. The anime gives him an exotic, vampiric visage with blue skin, blue hair, red and green eyes, pointy ears, and fangs. One can see how people would become instantly attracted to him while at the same time wanting to keep their distance just a little bit. The character designer did well in preserving the alluring looks of the Count while making him look unlike what Dumas describes. The revenge schemes wrought by the Count on each of the three conspirators are complex and very close to what they are in the book, and each man is brought down by his own vices, preserving point #4 on my list. Though the stock market subplot is included, Danglars' eventual fate is altered, but what happens to him is actually quite in line with what Dumas' Count would do. We also get to see Danglars watch his bank plummet rather than being told.
Points #1 and 4 on my criteria for a good adaptation--the preservation of the Count's character and the complex revenge schemes--have been fulfilled. #2--vengeance can't bring happiness-- is too. Much of the remorse from revenge is transfered to Haydee, whose name is spelled in the subtitles as "Haidee." The book never addresses how Haidee feels about having revealed Fernand's treachery. In the series, she is shown afterwards to feel sad and empty; she is sure that she has done the right thing, but still cries and doesn't feel happy. She then wants to save the Count from the emptiness that she feels, deepening her character and giving her more to do than simply be a Chekhov's gunwoman. Haidee finally gets her moment to shine. She goes through the same emotions that the Count does in the book, preserving the theme of "vengeance is a hollow victory" while still showing what happens when vengeance runs unchecked. The Count also does feel remorse, but it's done in more subtle ways than in the novel. After Albert leaves him in episode 15, the Count despairs over what he's about to do, because he's come to care for Albert and doesn't want to ruin his life. Then, in 17, when Mercedes comes to him after he's revealed how he's used Albert and has accepted a duel to the death with him, we can see that the Count has been crying. He might want to give up his revenge, but his deal with Gankutsuou will not allow him to do that. He has to see his revenge through. He even enjoys most of it, though not the parts the involve hurting those he loves (though Gankutsuou sees to it that he doesn't feel pity for them for long). In fact, omitting the death of Edward as the reason for his epiphany strengthens the reality of his feelings and conversion. In the book, he grieves because his revenge causes the death of a small child, albiet one he didn't really know. Here, his revenge causes great pain for several people that he truly cares about, which strikes a deeper chord than the death of a child he hardly knew. The Normandy trip (here a deep space trip) gains more significance as the Count tells Albert his own story while passing it off as something that happened to a friend.
(SPOILER WARNING) In this version, there is no Faria to dig through the walls. Instead, the spirit Gankutsuou appears to Emond in his despair to offer him a way out of prison. The spirit is responsible for the radical change in Edmond's appearance. The deal Edmond makes with Gankutsuou allows Edmond to have Gankutsuou's power and knowledge; in return, Edmond has to sign over his body and soul to the spirit when the revenge is complete. This means that Edmond will not get to live the rest of his life once he has finished dishing out retribution. He will have to live in his body not being able to control it for the rest of his life. Alternately, as Noirtier suggests, his very soul might disappear. That is definitely a fate worse than death--very little to enjoy there. So, in this way, Edmond does get revenge partially for justice, but it's a lot more subtle than in the book. Revenge in the moment is all he will get, and after that, his life is effectively over. No more life of luxury, and certainly not with Haidee. In addition, he partly does all this to avenge his father's death, as one line at a crucial point, right as he's losing his hold on humanity and letting the demon take control of him, tells us that he still knows that his father's death is a catalyst for his behavior. That's point 3 to a degree.
The ending is purely bittersweet. It takes place five years later and shows us how the survivors have gone on with their lives. Those still living have succeeded in various ways, but their families are dead, crazy, and/or scattered. It was also refreshing to see an anime give a series an epilogue episode instead of just ending and rolling the credits while the epilogue plays out underneath them (Romeo x Juliet, I'm looking at you). This series deserves a proper finale and gets one. Life does go on after a disaster. Episode 24 is leisurely after the intensity of 23 but still packs a wallop in its final scenes when someone finds something behind the painting we had been seeing throughout the whole show. The ending doesn't make you feel good like 2002's or 1934's films do--it makes you see the continual impact of betrayal and revenge. And that's point 5.
The music wonderfully matches the story. It combines classical music, like Tchaikovsky's "Manfred Symphony" and Giacomo Meyerbeer's "Robert le Diable," with original compositions. The pre-existing music matches the story, as the characters attend the opera Robert le Diable in the novel, and Monte Cristo is compared to Manfred. A series that is so operatic and epic should have grand music to go along with it, and the score obliges. This is one of those series that I wish had an isolated music track as a special feature on the DVDs. I would gladly sit through this series with only the music and visuals. I guess the original soundtrack and classical music companion CDs will have to do.
... ...
..Don't look at me like that.
There's really only one thing I'll say against the series: the art style. I've seen nothing else like it. The first time I tried to watch it, I cut out after seven minutes, unable to take it anymore. While it is dazzling, it is also very hard on the eyes at first, dizzying, and a little nauseating. It screens in various textures and patterns which remain stationary as the characters move. If you've seen the show Kablam! and remember Tommy's plaid jacket from those "The Offbeats" segments, that is what this show is like for everyone's hair, shirt, pants, scarf, dress, coat, cloak, and various other objects like tables, cups, and guns. A character could turn around and the design that was on the back of the shirt is now on the front. A cape could blow in the wind but appear not to move at all. I think I finally figured out why the art is like this: most of the characters are aristocrats and have detailed clothing, so screening in patterns is the best way to demonstrate that wealth without the company going into bankruptcy trying to hand-draw those patterns. Some patterns are subtle, like Valentine's clothes and Franz's hair, which match their personalities. Others are loud: Danglars' clothes and house boast eye-bleedingly intense patterns and colors to underline his luxurious lifestyle. The color palette of the show also looks like someone threw up Skittles at Acid Disneyland. Nevertheless, once you get used to it, it's very unique and even pleasant at times, and you notice it less. I will never again let an unusual art style be the reason I don't watch hand-drawn animation--I just might miss one of my favorite shows.
I have to make a defence of the use of mecha. I was very surprised when mecha (giant person-piloted robots) showed up in episodes 18 and 23. I actually thought that I'd stumbled into another series. However, by the end of 18, I was sold, and I'm not a mecha fan. It works because the show treats the mecha with respect and sincerity. The combatants use them just like Frenchmen of the past used sabres and pistols. People of the future use mecha to fight duels; there's nothing special about it to them, it's all they know. The drama in the second half is also something special and would never work without the mecha. Kudos to Gankutsuou for making giant robots sophisticated. Episode 18 is also where the story takes a departure from the book with a what-if scenario: What if Mercedes hadn't been able to persuade the Count to spare her son? It allows us to take a look at what happens when revenge runs unchecked while still keeping in line with the spirit and tone of the book. Though there are sword duels, they're not particularly thrilling to watch, but instead horrific and gut-wrenching--you could not imagine Donat taking part in these duels. (There's the rest of point 5.)
The show's pacing and structure are perfect: there is not one single wasted scene, the plot elements are exactly where they need to be for the greatest impact, and the show moves at a fast pace, but not too fast to understand what's happening. Every scene pushes the plot forward in some way, with no long scenes or episodes where the characters sit around talking about their flaws. We see their personalities emerge and develop through their actions and reactions to strange situations, which is the best kind of development to have. Despite the fact that we have a lot of characters and subplots to keep track off, all of them are neatly, but believably, resolved by the end of the series.
Mahiro Maeda seems to be the only director who's latched onto the fact that The Count of Monte Cristo is not a children's book. Funimation effectively gives this series an NC-17 rating by making you confirm that you're 17 in order to watch it on their website. The show has little violence (most of it unseen--the context is what's so disturbing), implied off-screen sex, an attempted rape, and very brief nudity, and that's about it. But the themes of the story are very adult ones: betrayal, murder, manipulating young people, the past, revenge, love, trust, doubt, insanity, loss of identity and innocence. That's what makes this anime mature--not the violence, but the seriousness of the themes and the sophistication of the storytelling.
This series is superb both as an adaptation and as a work on its own. It fulfills the criteria I set down for a successful Count of Monte Cristo adaptation and is a marvelous piece of classy storytelling. It brings something (many things, actually) new to the story while remaining faithful to the spirit and tone of the book, and that's exactly what you need to do if you want to adapt a story that's been adapted dozens of times already. If you haven't seen it, seek it out and enjoy it, whether you normally watch anime or not. You are in for a real treat. If your eyes can handle the static patterns. See it in Japanese; it preserves the French spoken by Gankutsuou, though it takes a few episodes to get used to Albert being called "Aruberu."
Final note: "Gankutsuou" means "king of the cavern" in Japanese. It is the title of the novel in Japan.
Next: I wrap up my series with a list of general observations of and comparisons between the versions.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
"Count"ing Down: 2002's "The Count of Monte Cristo"
The Count of Monte Cristo. Dir. Kevin Reynolds. With James Caviezel, Guy Pierce, and Dagmara Dominczyk, and Luiz Guzman. Spyglass Entertainment, 2002. Runtime: 131 minutes.
I am grateful to this movie for one thing: it led me to the book. If I had not seen this film, I might never have gotten the desire to read such a long, epic novel. So for that, thank you.
And my praise ends there.
Okay, almost.
Once again, we have Edmond Dantes framed for treason by Fernand and Danglars. He goes to prison, meets a priest, escapes, finds a treasure, styles himself a count, and comes back to wreck havoc on his enemies. Oh, and his fiancee has married Fernand.
The similarities just about stop there. It very nearly is The Count of Monte Cristo in name only. Director Kevin Reynolds might have made his own original revenge movie instead, changing the names of the characters.
Edmond and Fernand start out as friends, and Fernand frames him out of jealousy for his happiness and envy of his fiancee Mercedes. Making them friends adds a layer of insidiousness not present in the novel. Fernand in no longer a stranger but a trusted friend whom Edmond thought he could rely on. Edmond then spends the next thirteen years in prison. I liked that the film showed his despair. He tries to hang himself after a few years but only stops when he latches onto the idea that God will give him justice. Later, he will stop believing in God and be out for revenge for himself, not as Providence, failing point 3 (but, this can be forgiven). Then Richard Harris comes along as Faria. He's the true bright spot in this film. He makes everything he touches sparkle. He has a lot of energy and is fun to watch. After Edmond breaks out, he makes friends with Jacopo. It seems like every time someone makes an adaptation, they give Edmond different friends: sometimes it's Bertuccio, sometimes Ali gets in, sometimes Jacopo, sometimes Vampa, rarely Baptistin. There's dissent over whether or not Luis Guzman was right in this movie. He sort of sounds like he doesn't belong with his speech patterns, but I liked him. Edmond meets people from all over the world, so why not someone like Luis Guzman? He's a friend/servant who tries to keep Edmond sane.
In the book, the Count manipulates events so that his enemies do themselves in. Their pasts come back to rob them of everything they achieved by wronging others. In the movie, Fernand would probably have done himself in without Monte Cristo's help. The Janina campaign is gone; instead, Fernand has gambling problems and is an adulterer. Without the Count, he would surely have fallen into debt and ruin. Monte Cristo hardly needs to do anything here. Fernand should have been completely stable and so secure so that only the Count's drudging up of his past could make him fall from glory. The film makes Fernand a wholy loathsome person, a guy with the word "villain" all but stamped on his forehead, who doesn't even seem to love anyone or anything, stripping away his cleverness, cruelty, and love of family that existed in the book. He's so nasty that he hardly even seems like a real person. There is one moment in this sequence, however, that is distinctly Monte Cristo--when Jacopo tells him about the bank debts and loans to Fernand, the Count says, "Make sure we own that bank by tomorrow."
"Jacopo, I need you to go buy a few things. Some milk, a couple of horses, and the bank that Fernand uses. Thanks a lot."
This is totally in line with book Monte Cristo: utter control and the funds to be able to to whatever he wants on a whim. It resembles the incident in the book where he asks his servant Bertuccio to buy Danglars' horses at whatever cost and have them harnessed to his carriage by five...when it's two. And Bertuccio gets it done. That's power. Caviezel's Count is also charming, dresses exotically, and speaks well. He makes his entrance to the people of Paris by going forward in time, bringing back some Cirque du Soliel dancers, and having them bring down his balloon in front of his mansion. He gets out and greets the people with a flat, "Greetings." That's the Count. Originality and a cool demeanor. Yes, I believe that this Count could carpet a cave and talk plainly about it.
Caviezel's Count does have the charisma and exoticism that the part needs. However, he fails on another major point. (SPOILER COMING) The Count exacts revenge and rides off happily into the sunset with Mercedes (and in this case, his biological son as well). His enemies get punished, no innocents are harmed, Monte Cristo has no regrets, and he's thoroughly rewarded for his behavior. While Caviezel displays the charisma and originality of the Count, he fails to show the darker, sadistic side. If the Count were not so diabolical, he would probably never carry out a revenge scheme that must have taken the whole nine years between his escape and arrival at the Rome Carnival to plan. He would buy a villa, retire to Florence, start a hotel, buy an old boat, and going out charter fishing every day. Without the nasty side, he would forgive his enemies and live his life in peace and luxury. This character change is a fault of the writing instead of the acting, however. The writers wrote out the events that come out of the Count's sadistic planning and the pleasure that the Count gets from watching people suffer as he did. Nevertheless, it still fails in criterion #1 on my list. Without all the facets of the Count's character, the story loses some impact, as we don't get to see how vengeance changes him for the worse. He also loses some appeal: he's a good guy and that's it. He doesn't have that villainous streak that makes him appealing and appalling. He claims at one point that he will kill Albert, but he doesn't seem like he would actually do it. Dumas wrote a great character with charm, talents, and demons. There's no need to change him.
The revenge plans are changed beyond all recognition. I read the book after the movie and had not a single part of the vengeance spoiled for me. Villefort's and Danglars' families are omitted, leading the Count to take revenge solely on them. This contributes to the Count's softer character: no innocents have a chance to be harmed, which is part of what causes the audience to dislike the Count as the book goes on. The only innocent who has a chance of being harmed is Albert, as the Count says on the island that he wants revenge on Mercedes as well for marrying Fernand, whereas in the book he forgives her. He doesn't make his enemies suffer enough. Does he make Villefort slowly lose his mind over a series of months from the deaths of his hosehold and then reveal the illegitamate child he had with Mde. Danglars to all Paris? No. Does he mess with the telegraphs and stock market for weeks, then kidnap Danglars and starve his money out of him? No. Does he set up a scandal for Fernand, ruin his name, make his wife and child turn against him, and almost kill the child after setting him up to challenge him to a duel so that he has a legal excuse to murder him in front of his parents? No. That's making them suffer. Life without the things that they gained from betrayal.
I saw the movie several times and I'm still not sure what happens to Danglars. His love of money is what the Count should make work against him, but I think he gets nearly killed and arrested instead. Hmm. So what was the Count's huge scheme against him? Just imprisonment? That's not nasty enough for the Count, nor is it fitting for a banker who could buy himself comfort (good food, blankets, wine, time outside, letters) in prison. Villefort is taken to jail, which seems a fitting punishment for a procureur du roi who unjustly sent a man to prison to save his own pride and position. I'm still a bit miffed that Villefort's family was omitted, because he cared for them just as much as his position when it came down to the wire, and also that greatly shortens the time that Villefort slowly suffers and loses his mind, but since they've been cut out, Villefort's position and freedom are all he has left, and those are stripped from him. His fate gets a pass (though he'd probably be able to buy comfort in prison too).
Fernand's doesn't. His fate is quite sad in the book. He kills himself after losing the last things he loved--his wife and son. When they leave without saying goodbye or looking back, he sobs horribly and shoots himself. The film changes all of this into something far less satisfying and complex. For one, Fernand begins life as a count's son and inherits the title and fortune, omitting all of the backstabbing he had to do in the book to obtain his title, money, prestige, and family. Then, Fernand loses his money and ends up dueling the Count, who reveals himself as Edmond. He actually has a pistol loaded and aimed at Edmond when Mercedes and Albert show up out of nowhere. Fernand then shoots Mercedes because he thinks that it will damage Edmond the most. (For the record, when he said that line, I said, "Shoot him in the head!" Even though a head-shot would have been hard to pull off in those days. Moving along.) Edmond actually wants to show mercy to Fernand before Mercedes is shot and is willing to leave Fernand ruined but alive. Once Fernand shoots Mercedes and prompts Edmond to fight, Edmond is not accountable for killing Fernand. After all, Fernand started the fight. Thus, we get a feel-good ending where the bad guy who doesn't fight fair and was given a chance to start over is killed by the good hero who was willing to show mercy. I think we've seen this cliche enough and it's time to put it in the grave.
(EPIC SPOILER) A major change: Albert is Edmond's son. What. The. Crap. Mercedes and Edmond had sex before marriage; she got pregnant and married Fernand to save face. Albert accepts Edmond as his father with no questions. This change brings up the idea that the biological father is more important than the father who raised the child. I've seen it done many times where a child finds out that its "real father" is not the man who has raised it and suddenly hates that father and goes to find the biological one (coughWarriorCatscough). Fernand might not have been a great father, but he was still there in Albert's life, and Albert must have cared about him somewhat. In fact, he does, as in their final scene together he asks, "Forgive me, Father," for being so stupid not to see the Count's plans earlier. We don't even see most of their lives; maybe Fernand was a great father for several years and only recently declined in his affection. Albert has lived with Fernand for sixteen years. Suddenly he has no problem going to live with a guy whom he hardly knows, who by the way killed the father who raised him? It would have been more interesting if Albert had been appalled by the whole affair and decided to leave France altogether, or at least get away as fast as he possibly can from these weird people who really can't let go of the past. That would inject some reality into the sappy ending.
Yes, this picture does it too: Edmond and Mercedes reunite. I explained why this doesn't work in my earlier reviews, but in a nutshell, the two have changed so much in twenty-four years that they're not the same persons anymore, and living together would only remind them of the happiness they wanted to have but can't now. In this version, they rekindle their love, decide to leave the country together, and even have sex again after Mercedes comes to see Edmond after recognising him at her party. Now, that plot thread may have gone somewhere if Mercedes had told Fernand that she slept with the Count of Monte Cristo; Fernand's cheated on her, now she's cheated on him. He couldn't satisfy her, so she looked to the new, mysterious nobleman. Would Fernand care or not? Would he throw her out of the house...or feel better now that she's had an affair too and can't call him out for his infidelities? Would their marriage have finally split, or would Fernand have decided to try to be a good husband again? The film doesn't even explore this topic. Mercedes just tells him that Edmond is actually Albert's father, and Fernand hardly even cares, like he's guessed it already or was just waiting for an excuse to leave his disappointment of a family and is happy to have one. Gosh, this film doesn't do anything interesting.
A few little mistakes that bugged me: I can believe that the Count has beautiful teeth: he definitely has the money to have dentures made. But how in the world does that cheap string stay on Mercedes' finger for over a decade? How do Edmond and Faria stay alive on one tiny bowl of soup per day? And how does Edmond almost become a ship's captain without being able to read and write? Another tiny one is that none of the characters appear to age. Book Edmond doesn't recognise himself after looking at his reflection fourteen years after the start of his imprisonment, so none of his friends could be expected to recognise him twenty-four years later. This movie has sped up the time to sixteen years, yet still none of them look it. Error in the makeup department, perhaps?
This film very basically follows the book with some plots and characters, but fails to bring alive the spirit of the novel. It should have been altered a little more and made into an original story with a different title and different character names. Omitted from this telling are the rather important characters Haydee and Andrea. They are essential as Chekhov's gunwoman and gunman, so without them the film has to construct a new revenge scheme that doesn't resemble the book's in execution or spirit. I'm upset that this movie is called Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. This is not Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. It's something else entirely. It contains none of my criteria for an adaptation that follows the book in theme and spirit and fails to capture even the essence of the classic book.
This book simply does not work as a two-hour movie. Dumas originally published it as a serialised work, the modern equivalent of which is the television series, or more specifically, the miniseries. I have noticed that the series are, generally speaking, more faithful and better adaptations than the films. True, movies should work on their own, but why name your work after someone else's work if yours hardly resembles theirs? Again, make something original inspired by the work if you want to tackle entirely different themes and completely change the characters. I've said it before in this review series and I'll say it again: this story should not be a film. There is nothing wrong with making a fifteen-hour miniseries. There's a great joy and comfort in being able to watch the same story play out over fifteen weeks, the story and suspense building and becoming more intricate all the time, characters coming and going. Do it, BBC or HBO!
Characters omitted: Haydee, Andrea, Bertuccio, Baptistin, Ali, Caderousse, Heloise, Edward, Valentine, Maximilian, Julie, Franz, Debray, Beauchamp, Chateau-Renaud, Hermine, Eugenie, Louise, Major Cavalcanti, Barrois, Countess G---, Teresa, Peppino, and all of Edmond's aliases. Noirtier is also effectively cut; he is renamed Clarion and does not play the part he has in the book. Louis Dantes is also given a different role by committing suicide rather than dying of loneliness and starvation because no one cared for the old man when Edmond left. The cruelty of his death is another thing that gives Edmond the drive to revenge.
Five down, one to go:
from 2004, Gankutsuou.
I made a poem.
I am grateful to this movie for one thing: it led me to the book. If I had not seen this film, I might never have gotten the desire to read such a long, epic novel. So for that, thank you.
And my praise ends there.
Okay, almost.
Once again, we have Edmond Dantes framed for treason by Fernand and Danglars. He goes to prison, meets a priest, escapes, finds a treasure, styles himself a count, and comes back to wreck havoc on his enemies. Oh, and his fiancee has married Fernand.
The similarities just about stop there. It very nearly is The Count of Monte Cristo in name only. Director Kevin Reynolds might have made his own original revenge movie instead, changing the names of the characters.
Edmond and Fernand start out as friends, and Fernand frames him out of jealousy for his happiness and envy of his fiancee Mercedes. Making them friends adds a layer of insidiousness not present in the novel. Fernand in no longer a stranger but a trusted friend whom Edmond thought he could rely on. Edmond then spends the next thirteen years in prison. I liked that the film showed his despair. He tries to hang himself after a few years but only stops when he latches onto the idea that God will give him justice. Later, he will stop believing in God and be out for revenge for himself, not as Providence, failing point 3 (but, this can be forgiven). Then Richard Harris comes along as Faria. He's the true bright spot in this film. He makes everything he touches sparkle. He has a lot of energy and is fun to watch. After Edmond breaks out, he makes friends with Jacopo. It seems like every time someone makes an adaptation, they give Edmond different friends: sometimes it's Bertuccio, sometimes Ali gets in, sometimes Jacopo, sometimes Vampa, rarely Baptistin. There's dissent over whether or not Luis Guzman was right in this movie. He sort of sounds like he doesn't belong with his speech patterns, but I liked him. Edmond meets people from all over the world, so why not someone like Luis Guzman? He's a friend/servant who tries to keep Edmond sane.
In the book, the Count manipulates events so that his enemies do themselves in. Their pasts come back to rob them of everything they achieved by wronging others. In the movie, Fernand would probably have done himself in without Monte Cristo's help. The Janina campaign is gone; instead, Fernand has gambling problems and is an adulterer. Without the Count, he would surely have fallen into debt and ruin. Monte Cristo hardly needs to do anything here. Fernand should have been completely stable and so secure so that only the Count's drudging up of his past could make him fall from glory. The film makes Fernand a wholy loathsome person, a guy with the word "villain" all but stamped on his forehead, who doesn't even seem to love anyone or anything, stripping away his cleverness, cruelty, and love of family that existed in the book. He's so nasty that he hardly even seems like a real person. There is one moment in this sequence, however, that is distinctly Monte Cristo--when Jacopo tells him about the bank debts and loans to Fernand, the Count says, "Make sure we own that bank by tomorrow."
"Jacopo, I need you to go buy a few things. Some milk, a couple of horses, and the bank that Fernand uses. Thanks a lot."
This is totally in line with book Monte Cristo: utter control and the funds to be able to to whatever he wants on a whim. It resembles the incident in the book where he asks his servant Bertuccio to buy Danglars' horses at whatever cost and have them harnessed to his carriage by five...when it's two. And Bertuccio gets it done. That's power. Caviezel's Count is also charming, dresses exotically, and speaks well. He makes his entrance to the people of Paris by going forward in time, bringing back some Cirque du Soliel dancers, and having them bring down his balloon in front of his mansion. He gets out and greets the people with a flat, "Greetings." That's the Count. Originality and a cool demeanor. Yes, I believe that this Count could carpet a cave and talk plainly about it.
Caviezel's Count does have the charisma and exoticism that the part needs. However, he fails on another major point. (SPOILER COMING) The Count exacts revenge and rides off happily into the sunset with Mercedes (and in this case, his biological son as well). His enemies get punished, no innocents are harmed, Monte Cristo has no regrets, and he's thoroughly rewarded for his behavior. While Caviezel displays the charisma and originality of the Count, he fails to show the darker, sadistic side. If the Count were not so diabolical, he would probably never carry out a revenge scheme that must have taken the whole nine years between his escape and arrival at the Rome Carnival to plan. He would buy a villa, retire to Florence, start a hotel, buy an old boat, and going out charter fishing every day. Without the nasty side, he would forgive his enemies and live his life in peace and luxury. This character change is a fault of the writing instead of the acting, however. The writers wrote out the events that come out of the Count's sadistic planning and the pleasure that the Count gets from watching people suffer as he did. Nevertheless, it still fails in criterion #1 on my list. Without all the facets of the Count's character, the story loses some impact, as we don't get to see how vengeance changes him for the worse. He also loses some appeal: he's a good guy and that's it. He doesn't have that villainous streak that makes him appealing and appalling. He claims at one point that he will kill Albert, but he doesn't seem like he would actually do it. Dumas wrote a great character with charm, talents, and demons. There's no need to change him.
The revenge plans are changed beyond all recognition. I read the book after the movie and had not a single part of the vengeance spoiled for me. Villefort's and Danglars' families are omitted, leading the Count to take revenge solely on them. This contributes to the Count's softer character: no innocents have a chance to be harmed, which is part of what causes the audience to dislike the Count as the book goes on. The only innocent who has a chance of being harmed is Albert, as the Count says on the island that he wants revenge on Mercedes as well for marrying Fernand, whereas in the book he forgives her. He doesn't make his enemies suffer enough. Does he make Villefort slowly lose his mind over a series of months from the deaths of his hosehold and then reveal the illegitamate child he had with Mde. Danglars to all Paris? No. Does he mess with the telegraphs and stock market for weeks, then kidnap Danglars and starve his money out of him? No. Does he set up a scandal for Fernand, ruin his name, make his wife and child turn against him, and almost kill the child after setting him up to challenge him to a duel so that he has a legal excuse to murder him in front of his parents? No. That's making them suffer. Life without the things that they gained from betrayal.
I saw the movie several times and I'm still not sure what happens to Danglars. His love of money is what the Count should make work against him, but I think he gets nearly killed and arrested instead. Hmm. So what was the Count's huge scheme against him? Just imprisonment? That's not nasty enough for the Count, nor is it fitting for a banker who could buy himself comfort (good food, blankets, wine, time outside, letters) in prison. Villefort is taken to jail, which seems a fitting punishment for a procureur du roi who unjustly sent a man to prison to save his own pride and position. I'm still a bit miffed that Villefort's family was omitted, because he cared for them just as much as his position when it came down to the wire, and also that greatly shortens the time that Villefort slowly suffers and loses his mind, but since they've been cut out, Villefort's position and freedom are all he has left, and those are stripped from him. His fate gets a pass (though he'd probably be able to buy comfort in prison too).
Fernand's doesn't. His fate is quite sad in the book. He kills himself after losing the last things he loved--his wife and son. When they leave without saying goodbye or looking back, he sobs horribly and shoots himself. The film changes all of this into something far less satisfying and complex. For one, Fernand begins life as a count's son and inherits the title and fortune, omitting all of the backstabbing he had to do in the book to obtain his title, money, prestige, and family. Then, Fernand loses his money and ends up dueling the Count, who reveals himself as Edmond. He actually has a pistol loaded and aimed at Edmond when Mercedes and Albert show up out of nowhere. Fernand then shoots Mercedes because he thinks that it will damage Edmond the most. (For the record, when he said that line, I said, "Shoot him in the head!" Even though a head-shot would have been hard to pull off in those days. Moving along.) Edmond actually wants to show mercy to Fernand before Mercedes is shot and is willing to leave Fernand ruined but alive. Once Fernand shoots Mercedes and prompts Edmond to fight, Edmond is not accountable for killing Fernand. After all, Fernand started the fight. Thus, we get a feel-good ending where the bad guy who doesn't fight fair and was given a chance to start over is killed by the good hero who was willing to show mercy. I think we've seen this cliche enough and it's time to put it in the grave.
(EPIC SPOILER) A major change: Albert is Edmond's son. What. The. Crap. Mercedes and Edmond had sex before marriage; she got pregnant and married Fernand to save face. Albert accepts Edmond as his father with no questions. This change brings up the idea that the biological father is more important than the father who raised the child. I've seen it done many times where a child finds out that its "real father" is not the man who has raised it and suddenly hates that father and goes to find the biological one (coughWarriorCatscough). Fernand might not have been a great father, but he was still there in Albert's life, and Albert must have cared about him somewhat. In fact, he does, as in their final scene together he asks, "Forgive me, Father," for being so stupid not to see the Count's plans earlier. We don't even see most of their lives; maybe Fernand was a great father for several years and only recently declined in his affection. Albert has lived with Fernand for sixteen years. Suddenly he has no problem going to live with a guy whom he hardly knows, who by the way killed the father who raised him? It would have been more interesting if Albert had been appalled by the whole affair and decided to leave France altogether, or at least get away as fast as he possibly can from these weird people who really can't let go of the past. That would inject some reality into the sappy ending.
Yes, this picture does it too: Edmond and Mercedes reunite. I explained why this doesn't work in my earlier reviews, but in a nutshell, the two have changed so much in twenty-four years that they're not the same persons anymore, and living together would only remind them of the happiness they wanted to have but can't now. In this version, they rekindle their love, decide to leave the country together, and even have sex again after Mercedes comes to see Edmond after recognising him at her party. Now, that plot thread may have gone somewhere if Mercedes had told Fernand that she slept with the Count of Monte Cristo; Fernand's cheated on her, now she's cheated on him. He couldn't satisfy her, so she looked to the new, mysterious nobleman. Would Fernand care or not? Would he throw her out of the house...or feel better now that she's had an affair too and can't call him out for his infidelities? Would their marriage have finally split, or would Fernand have decided to try to be a good husband again? The film doesn't even explore this topic. Mercedes just tells him that Edmond is actually Albert's father, and Fernand hardly even cares, like he's guessed it already or was just waiting for an excuse to leave his disappointment of a family and is happy to have one. Gosh, this film doesn't do anything interesting.
A few little mistakes that bugged me: I can believe that the Count has beautiful teeth: he definitely has the money to have dentures made. But how in the world does that cheap string stay on Mercedes' finger for over a decade? How do Edmond and Faria stay alive on one tiny bowl of soup per day? And how does Edmond almost become a ship's captain without being able to read and write? Another tiny one is that none of the characters appear to age. Book Edmond doesn't recognise himself after looking at his reflection fourteen years after the start of his imprisonment, so none of his friends could be expected to recognise him twenty-four years later. This movie has sped up the time to sixteen years, yet still none of them look it. Error in the makeup department, perhaps?
This film very basically follows the book with some plots and characters, but fails to bring alive the spirit of the novel. It should have been altered a little more and made into an original story with a different title and different character names. Omitted from this telling are the rather important characters Haydee and Andrea. They are essential as Chekhov's gunwoman and gunman, so without them the film has to construct a new revenge scheme that doesn't resemble the book's in execution or spirit. I'm upset that this movie is called Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. This is not Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. It's something else entirely. It contains none of my criteria for an adaptation that follows the book in theme and spirit and fails to capture even the essence of the classic book.
This book simply does not work as a two-hour movie. Dumas originally published it as a serialised work, the modern equivalent of which is the television series, or more specifically, the miniseries. I have noticed that the series are, generally speaking, more faithful and better adaptations than the films. True, movies should work on their own, but why name your work after someone else's work if yours hardly resembles theirs? Again, make something original inspired by the work if you want to tackle entirely different themes and completely change the characters. I've said it before in this review series and I'll say it again: this story should not be a film. There is nothing wrong with making a fifteen-hour miniseries. There's a great joy and comfort in being able to watch the same story play out over fifteen weeks, the story and suspense building and becoming more intricate all the time, characters coming and going. Do it, BBC or HBO!
Characters omitted: Haydee, Andrea, Bertuccio, Baptistin, Ali, Caderousse, Heloise, Edward, Valentine, Maximilian, Julie, Franz, Debray, Beauchamp, Chateau-Renaud, Hermine, Eugenie, Louise, Major Cavalcanti, Barrois, Countess G---, Teresa, Peppino, and all of Edmond's aliases. Noirtier is also effectively cut; he is renamed Clarion and does not play the part he has in the book. Louis Dantes is also given a different role by committing suicide rather than dying of loneliness and starvation because no one cared for the old man when Edmond left. The cruelty of his death is another thing that gives Edmond the drive to revenge.
Five down, one to go:
from 2004, Gankutsuou.
I made a poem.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Down for the Count: 1998's "Le Comte de Monte Cristo"
Le Comte de Monte Cristo. Dir. Josee Dayan. With Gerard Depardieu, Ornella Muti, and Jean Rochefort. Cite Films, 1998. Runtime: 7 hrs.
This is the second of three television series I'll review and the second and last French version. Gerard Depardieu is the title character, wrongly imprisoned for years before he busts out and discovers a treasure that he can use to get revenge on his enemies. In some ways, it would seem like this is the perfect adaptation. However, in all the essential areas, and even in looking at the film narrative on its own, this translation is sorely lacking.
This one begins many years in Dantes' imprisonment, which is an interesting choice. For some reason, he has groomed hair. In regards to the prison time, this series actually has the opposite problem of film adaptations. In shorter versions, the tendency is to take up 1/3 to 1/2 of the film, or about 45 minutes, with prison. In a seven-hour miniseries, 45 minutes would be the perfect amount of time to spend in prison, as we still have six more hours to spend on the real meat of the story and prison would be in the right proportion to the rest of the story. Edmond breaks out about 15 minutes into the series. No joke. In the one format where prison time could be extended, it's severely shortened, and the show suffers for it. We see no relationship with Faria, no teachings, no real digging, and little despair. Oddly, I don't remember learning exactly why Danglars betrayed him.
Probably the biggest flaw of this series is the title character and Depardieu's portrayal of him. There's nothing wrong with his acting. The problem is that he doesn't act the part of the Count of Monte Cristo. He does not fit into his disguises very well, either physically or in character. When Jacques Weber does it in 1980's series, he completely disappears into every persona, Busoni being completely unrecognizable as the Count, Sinbad, or Wilmore in looks, voice, and personality. Depardieu uses more or less the same voice and personality for every persona. His Busoni is just as forceful as his Count. He is shown trying out various disguises and voices, but that's the only point in his favor. He's serviceable in his alter-egos, not amazing, and I'm surprised that nobody noticed that Busoni and the Count looked alike. Weber pulls it off; Depardieu doesn't.
But all of that could be pushed aside if it weren't for the bigger problem: I could not see him as the Count. When I was making my notes, it didn't feel right to call him Monte Cristo or to think of him as Monte Cristo because he is so far off the mark from the character. He seems too warm, happy, down-to-earth, and too much like a normal person. But the Count is not normal, and he's almost not even human. When he attends an execution in Rome in the book, he smiles in satisfaction, finding the whole idea of human punishment fascinating, and tells Albert and Franz about different methods around the world. Here, he finds the whole idea vile and smiles when the prisoner is released. He's also supposed to be so sophisticated that he's above society. The series shows Bertuccio teaching the Count fine manners. I liked the idea--no version so far has shown us exactly what Edmond did in the years between escape and revenge to create his persona as the Count, and to have it shown would be an interesting sequence. However, the teachings come after the Count has come back to society. They are presented almost as a crash-course in etiquette before he goes off to meet Albert in Paris. So, Edmond has come back for revenge without having set himself up as a cultured nobleman or studied manners and culture for years. Considering that the Count is manipulative and seeks to control all events, that doesn't seem right. He should be aloof and cold, not warm and in-your-face as he is presented here. Much of his wardrobe also seems out of place, with blonde hair and pastel colors that brighten him up too much. Clothes and colors are important, and these give us a pleasant view of a man who should be an anti-hero we grow to dislike. He gets points for exoticism in employing servants from Africa and Asia and keeping them in their native garb, but that's it. He is not the Count, one of the most fascinating characters in stories. Cave-carpeter or not, I cannot give him a pass for point 1 (preserving the Count's character). You can cut subplots in adaptations, but don't mess with the engaging characters that we liked from the book.
This miniseries also makes a grave misstep by giving us a brand-new character: Camille, a poor widow whom Bertuccio finds so that the Count will have someone to go somewhere with. Unlike the 2004 version that neatly inserts a new supporting character (or rather, a building on a minor character from the book) into the periphery and fits him/her into the the fabric of the story, Camille is thrust into the foreground and events are altered around her. She lives at Auteuil, she makes Mercedes feel jealous of Edmond's attention, she doesn't like Haydee's arrival, etc. The Count says that he wants a women to been seen with at the opera and about town. But he already had a woman to be seen with--Haydee, who doesn't even show up here until 3/4 of the way through. Not only was Haydee a woman, she was a Greek princess who propped up the Count's love of the exotic. He calls her a slave that he purchased in Constantinople, but of course she isn't really; he frees her in France, but he puts up the appearance of a mistress so that he'll have an excuse not to get involved with women. What we get with Camille is a love triangle that detracts from the overall experience by adding romance where none was ever needed. Superfluous characters who exist only to add a romance angle have no business in a story about revenge and its all-encompassing effects. The original novel has a lot going on in it. A fluffy love story dilutes the effects of the original themes and turns the story from "how does revenge affect the soul" to a simpler "which woman will he end up with?"
Camille brings up a point I've never seen an adaptation do: question what the Count of Monte Cristo's first name is. He must have one, but in the aristocracy, first name use is rare. She decides to give him a name to use in private. Guess what it is. Go on, guess. What would be the sappiest, most ironic name for her to give him? That's right: Edmond. How silly. Mercedes also gives him the same name while they're out rowing on a river. At least hers is excusable because she's thinking of the man she really loved, but it's too cloyingly sentimental for two women to give him the name that is also his own. Had Depardieu played closer to the character, he would have refused to let them address him by a first name at all: he would insist on the continued use of "M. le Comte." That would allow for a great deal more distance from everybody, as book Count keeps his distance from his own humanity to accomplish his goals.
Camille isn't the only character to give the story problems. The writers also make this translation problematic with their version of the princess Haydee. Haydee...oh my gosh, what do they keep doing to you? You never seem to catch a break in films. She appears in two scenes: the scene where she's brought to Paris (and hidden until the trial!), and the trial. In the book, she at first appears to be a wall hanging but turns out to be instrumental to bringing down Fernand. She also loves Monte Cristo, refuses to leave him when he frees her, and gives him a reason to live at the end of the story. He feels that he has nothing left to live for, but she tells him of her love and he thinks that maybe they could have a happy life together. No guarantees, just a possibility. He tells everyone in Paris that he doesn't need a mistress--he has something better, a slave he bought in Constantinople. Of course, she isn't a slave, but it's the act they put on. She's in plain sight all the time and is free to do whatever she wants but holds the key to his revenge. She's a much better person for the story than the fluffy Camille.
Now comes maybe the worst part of Haydee's inclusion: in a scene near the end, the Count tells Camille that Franz and Haydee have fallen in love and are planning marriage.
Writer 1: "Hm, we have this character who was important in the novel, but we cut her out most of her part so we could add Camille. What should we do with her?"
Writer 2: "I know! Let's match her with another character whose part also got trimmed down to two scenes! The Count and Mercedes get matched up, why not these two other characters?"
Writer 1: "Great idea! And we'll do it off-screen, too, so we don't have to waste any more time on it!"
It was completely irresponsible of the writers to match up two characters just for the sake of matching up two characters. Neither one of them have much to do in this version of the story; all Haydee does is reveal Fernand. Franz is talked about for two episodes, finally appears, and refuses to marry Valentine after hearing the truth about his father's death. Matching them together off-screen does absolutely nothing for the story. It's degrading to do this to two characters who never meet for no story reason, and smacks of poor writing. Will poor Haydee ever get a chance to shine?
The Max/Valentine subplot is given free reign here. They meet in secret, Villefort disapproves, the poisoning happens, and they eventually get to meet at the Count's house, where Max expects to commit suicide. I felt very little emotionally during the entire seven hours, but when I saw the scene where Max comes into the room where he expects to die and sees Valentine instead, I felt genuinely happy for the two of them. Unlike in the novel, however, where the success of their relationship is directly tied to the Count regaining his humanity, Depardieu says he will help Max because "I like Max, he likes Valentine, therefore I like Valentine." This is present in the book, where there is also the added idea of the Count helping them and giving them his fortune to try to atone for the sins he's committed in playing God. Still, the series brings their conflict to life vividly.
On the other hand, Andrea gets completely sidelined. A modified version of him appears who is called Toussaint. It's revealed early that Villefort is his father. There is no Andrea Cavalcanti/Benedetto character or subplot. Monte Cristo tells his guests the story at Auteuil about the baby who was born and buried alive, but that baby, Andrea, never appears and gets into the fabric of society. He never gets found out and doesn't expose Villefort, which was the whole point of putting Andrea in the story in the first place. If the creators had planned on not having Andrea reveal Villefort publicly, they should have cut him out. They could keep the new character they created, but should limit his role to killing Caderousse, and then take out all references to the child altogether. What we get with Toussaint is a lot of setup but no payoff. He just vanishes from the story and Mme. Danglars is left wondering whatever happened to her son after she reveals to her husband that it's probably his fault they never had children (sorry, Eugenie--I guess the scriptwriters didn't care about you either). Introducing a character, setting up his subplot for a revelation, and then neglecting to show that revelation is a prime example of poor writing.
This series does a great disservice to the story by integrating more romance and giving it a happy ending. There is a possibility that the Count and Haydee will have a happy life together after the end of the book, but it's only a chance, not a certainty. This series devotes too much time to giving the Count a love life or the appearance of a love life that was never there before. TCoMC is not a love story. In the last scene, Edmond writes on a note, "Edmond Dantes has returned." However, the point in the novel was that Edmond could not return. The good parts of him died in prison. He has changed beyond recognition into a cynical, bitter man. Edmond then meets Mercedes on a beach; they smile, run into the water, and kiss (blech). They both also say they've given away their money to live simpler lives, and now they can live the poor, happy life they always wanted to have. That's just precious. But that's not the theme of the novel. The novel's got a lot of things to say about revenge, but learning to love isn't one of them. Betrayal tore them apart in such ways that they both irrevocably changed. They can't get their old selves back, and that's what strikes a chord with the audience. There are everlasting, extensive effects to betrayal and revenge. He can't love her because she didn't wait for him and he's become cynical; she can't love him because she married someone else and he discredited her husband. This series damages itself by tossing out these ideas and replacing them with a scene where Mercedes suddenly is happy to see Edmond again and they resolve to live together, with no transition scenes in between to explain the change: Camille just tells him to go to Mercedes and love her. If you want to make a story where a hero gets revenge and gradually comes to appreciate his old love, then do it, but don't pass it off as The Count of Monte Cristo.
In this version, nothing stops him from feeling good about his revenge. Nothing terrible happens to show him that he should never have assumed the role of God. Once he gets his revenge, he tells Danglars that he will be merciful in letting him go, but "I feel mercy is less fulfilling than vengeance." This is the exact opposite of what the novel conveys. I always got the feeling that the Count intended to starve Danglars out of all of his money before releasing him (or letting him die of starvation if he were so pig-headed that he wouldn't pay for food to save his life). After Edward's death, he revises his plan a little and lets him keep 50,000 francs. Here, nothing stops him from complete and total revenge, and he learns nothing. He comes to the conclusion that revenge is more satisfying than forgiveness, which contradicts the novel's main theme and lessens the impact of the story. The Count of Monte Cristo as a book lasts in part because of what it has to say about revenge: it's hollow and won't fix what you've lost. This 1998 series says the opposite, and fails utterly as an adaptation. Edmond learns nothing but how good revenge feels. In one scene, he breaks into a church and tells the priest that he intends to replace God (in dishing out justice). That's a proud claim, one that is shattered in the novel but held as sacred here. It turns into another revenge tale about a hero who justly punishes the wicked with no consequences.
The odd thing about it is that his revenge is too merciful, even though he claims to not like mercy. He's much more of a hero than an anti-hero. He's not ruthless enough in dishing out retribution. (SPOILERS) He offs Villefort's family without caring, but doesn't drudge up Andrea to complete the deal, and seeing how the Andrea character was basically present, there is no excuse for not including this payoff. He doesn't make Danglars feel how peasants feel: people charging you outrageous sums of money for small things--he just imprisons him, tells him that food will cost money, then immediately takes all him money and lets him go. Villefort's is even less acceptable. He tells his wife to kill herself to save face. That's all fine. He then makes her do it in his presence. That's too macabre for his character. 1980 does it right: Villefort comes home, after realising that he does care about his family and that he's told his wife to kill herself, to stop her; she waits until he enters the room, then swallows the poison in front of him and falls down dead. Having lost the rest of his family, his pride, and position as procureur du roi, this hits him hard. 1998's Villefort doesn't seem upset when Valentine dies. He says he would never let his daughter be executed, but he doesn't act that way when she dies. In short, it doesn't seem like the Count punished him that much, stopping at giving him the appearance that his daughter is dead. Sorry, that's not good enough. It is his actions towards Villefort that ultimately make him see the wrongs he's committed in taking justice into his own hands. This Count also does not let his enemies guess who he is before he reveals himself. In each of the cases, he merely tells them at the offset that he was Edmond Dantes, obliterating any suspense. He doesn't play with them or give them clues to make them guess who he is. They've forgotten him and he wants to make them feel worse about it by making them guess his true identity before he finally reveals it. Yes, this Count is too kind.
Do I have anything else good to say? Well, the costumes are good. The plots against the three men are also represented very well (except for Villefort), coinciding with point 4. Edmond repays the good before going on a "rampage of revenge." So rarely do screen versions include this phase of his life that it was refreshing to see it. Most adaptations focus solely on revenge and forget that the Count, in taking Providence's stead, also rewards the good. The Count does indeed disguise himself as Wilmore and, as Julie has been omitted, has an old woman whom he met in Marseilles give Maximilien the money just before Morrel tries to kill himself. And in this version, Wilmore comes in for the debts instead of buying them out, so he gets to witness firsthand the happiness he's brought. So much happiness, in fact, that it kills poor Morrel. This subplot is the only place where I'd say this series improves upon the 1980 miniseries. The bankruptcy subplot takes two scenes, but they are long scenes separated by other scenes, creating suspense, which I felt 1980 lacked.
The costumes are good, some of the acting is good, and the subplots involving anyone named "Morrel" were done well, but this series isn't good, not even judged on its own. The writing is very poor, the pacing was off, and the characters were mostly badly done for the most part. The themes and characters are changed too much, and those things are what make the novel so memorable.
Next up: James Caviezel in the most recent American film production, 2002's The Count of Monte Cristo.
This is the second of three television series I'll review and the second and last French version. Gerard Depardieu is the title character, wrongly imprisoned for years before he busts out and discovers a treasure that he can use to get revenge on his enemies. In some ways, it would seem like this is the perfect adaptation. However, in all the essential areas, and even in looking at the film narrative on its own, this translation is sorely lacking.
This one begins many years in Dantes' imprisonment, which is an interesting choice. For some reason, he has groomed hair. In regards to the prison time, this series actually has the opposite problem of film adaptations. In shorter versions, the tendency is to take up 1/3 to 1/2 of the film, or about 45 minutes, with prison. In a seven-hour miniseries, 45 minutes would be the perfect amount of time to spend in prison, as we still have six more hours to spend on the real meat of the story and prison would be in the right proportion to the rest of the story. Edmond breaks out about 15 minutes into the series. No joke. In the one format where prison time could be extended, it's severely shortened, and the show suffers for it. We see no relationship with Faria, no teachings, no real digging, and little despair. Oddly, I don't remember learning exactly why Danglars betrayed him.
Probably the biggest flaw of this series is the title character and Depardieu's portrayal of him. There's nothing wrong with his acting. The problem is that he doesn't act the part of the Count of Monte Cristo. He does not fit into his disguises very well, either physically or in character. When Jacques Weber does it in 1980's series, he completely disappears into every persona, Busoni being completely unrecognizable as the Count, Sinbad, or Wilmore in looks, voice, and personality. Depardieu uses more or less the same voice and personality for every persona. His Busoni is just as forceful as his Count. He is shown trying out various disguises and voices, but that's the only point in his favor. He's serviceable in his alter-egos, not amazing, and I'm surprised that nobody noticed that Busoni and the Count looked alike. Weber pulls it off; Depardieu doesn't.
But all of that could be pushed aside if it weren't for the bigger problem: I could not see him as the Count. When I was making my notes, it didn't feel right to call him Monte Cristo or to think of him as Monte Cristo because he is so far off the mark from the character. He seems too warm, happy, down-to-earth, and too much like a normal person. But the Count is not normal, and he's almost not even human. When he attends an execution in Rome in the book, he smiles in satisfaction, finding the whole idea of human punishment fascinating, and tells Albert and Franz about different methods around the world. Here, he finds the whole idea vile and smiles when the prisoner is released. He's also supposed to be so sophisticated that he's above society. The series shows Bertuccio teaching the Count fine manners. I liked the idea--no version so far has shown us exactly what Edmond did in the years between escape and revenge to create his persona as the Count, and to have it shown would be an interesting sequence. However, the teachings come after the Count has come back to society. They are presented almost as a crash-course in etiquette before he goes off to meet Albert in Paris. So, Edmond has come back for revenge without having set himself up as a cultured nobleman or studied manners and culture for years. Considering that the Count is manipulative and seeks to control all events, that doesn't seem right. He should be aloof and cold, not warm and in-your-face as he is presented here. Much of his wardrobe also seems out of place, with blonde hair and pastel colors that brighten him up too much. Clothes and colors are important, and these give us a pleasant view of a man who should be an anti-hero we grow to dislike. He gets points for exoticism in employing servants from Africa and Asia and keeping them in their native garb, but that's it. He is not the Count, one of the most fascinating characters in stories. Cave-carpeter or not, I cannot give him a pass for point 1 (preserving the Count's character). You can cut subplots in adaptations, but don't mess with the engaging characters that we liked from the book.
This miniseries also makes a grave misstep by giving us a brand-new character: Camille, a poor widow whom Bertuccio finds so that the Count will have someone to go somewhere with. Unlike the 2004 version that neatly inserts a new supporting character (or rather, a building on a minor character from the book) into the periphery and fits him/her into the the fabric of the story, Camille is thrust into the foreground and events are altered around her. She lives at Auteuil, she makes Mercedes feel jealous of Edmond's attention, she doesn't like Haydee's arrival, etc. The Count says that he wants a women to been seen with at the opera and about town. But he already had a woman to be seen with--Haydee, who doesn't even show up here until 3/4 of the way through. Not only was Haydee a woman, she was a Greek princess who propped up the Count's love of the exotic. He calls her a slave that he purchased in Constantinople, but of course she isn't really; he frees her in France, but he puts up the appearance of a mistress so that he'll have an excuse not to get involved with women. What we get with Camille is a love triangle that detracts from the overall experience by adding romance where none was ever needed. Superfluous characters who exist only to add a romance angle have no business in a story about revenge and its all-encompassing effects. The original novel has a lot going on in it. A fluffy love story dilutes the effects of the original themes and turns the story from "how does revenge affect the soul" to a simpler "which woman will he end up with?"
Camille brings up a point I've never seen an adaptation do: question what the Count of Monte Cristo's first name is. He must have one, but in the aristocracy, first name use is rare. She decides to give him a name to use in private. Guess what it is. Go on, guess. What would be the sappiest, most ironic name for her to give him? That's right: Edmond. How silly. Mercedes also gives him the same name while they're out rowing on a river. At least hers is excusable because she's thinking of the man she really loved, but it's too cloyingly sentimental for two women to give him the name that is also his own. Had Depardieu played closer to the character, he would have refused to let them address him by a first name at all: he would insist on the continued use of "M. le Comte." That would allow for a great deal more distance from everybody, as book Count keeps his distance from his own humanity to accomplish his goals.
Camille isn't the only character to give the story problems. The writers also make this translation problematic with their version of the princess Haydee. Haydee...oh my gosh, what do they keep doing to you? You never seem to catch a break in films. She appears in two scenes: the scene where she's brought to Paris (and hidden until the trial!), and the trial. In the book, she at first appears to be a wall hanging but turns out to be instrumental to bringing down Fernand. She also loves Monte Cristo, refuses to leave him when he frees her, and gives him a reason to live at the end of the story. He feels that he has nothing left to live for, but she tells him of her love and he thinks that maybe they could have a happy life together. No guarantees, just a possibility. He tells everyone in Paris that he doesn't need a mistress--he has something better, a slave he bought in Constantinople. Of course, she isn't a slave, but it's the act they put on. She's in plain sight all the time and is free to do whatever she wants but holds the key to his revenge. She's a much better person for the story than the fluffy Camille.
Now comes maybe the worst part of Haydee's inclusion: in a scene near the end, the Count tells Camille that Franz and Haydee have fallen in love and are planning marriage.
Writer 1: "Hm, we have this character who was important in the novel, but we cut her out most of her part so we could add Camille. What should we do with her?"
Writer 2: "I know! Let's match her with another character whose part also got trimmed down to two scenes! The Count and Mercedes get matched up, why not these two other characters?"
Writer 1: "Great idea! And we'll do it off-screen, too, so we don't have to waste any more time on it!"
It was completely irresponsible of the writers to match up two characters just for the sake of matching up two characters. Neither one of them have much to do in this version of the story; all Haydee does is reveal Fernand. Franz is talked about for two episodes, finally appears, and refuses to marry Valentine after hearing the truth about his father's death. Matching them together off-screen does absolutely nothing for the story. It's degrading to do this to two characters who never meet for no story reason, and smacks of poor writing. Will poor Haydee ever get a chance to shine?
The Max/Valentine subplot is given free reign here. They meet in secret, Villefort disapproves, the poisoning happens, and they eventually get to meet at the Count's house, where Max expects to commit suicide. I felt very little emotionally during the entire seven hours, but when I saw the scene where Max comes into the room where he expects to die and sees Valentine instead, I felt genuinely happy for the two of them. Unlike in the novel, however, where the success of their relationship is directly tied to the Count regaining his humanity, Depardieu says he will help Max because "I like Max, he likes Valentine, therefore I like Valentine." This is present in the book, where there is also the added idea of the Count helping them and giving them his fortune to try to atone for the sins he's committed in playing God. Still, the series brings their conflict to life vividly.
On the other hand, Andrea gets completely sidelined. A modified version of him appears who is called Toussaint. It's revealed early that Villefort is his father. There is no Andrea Cavalcanti/Benedetto character or subplot. Monte Cristo tells his guests the story at Auteuil about the baby who was born and buried alive, but that baby, Andrea, never appears and gets into the fabric of society. He never gets found out and doesn't expose Villefort, which was the whole point of putting Andrea in the story in the first place. If the creators had planned on not having Andrea reveal Villefort publicly, they should have cut him out. They could keep the new character they created, but should limit his role to killing Caderousse, and then take out all references to the child altogether. What we get with Toussaint is a lot of setup but no payoff. He just vanishes from the story and Mme. Danglars is left wondering whatever happened to her son after she reveals to her husband that it's probably his fault they never had children (sorry, Eugenie--I guess the scriptwriters didn't care about you either). Introducing a character, setting up his subplot for a revelation, and then neglecting to show that revelation is a prime example of poor writing.
This series does a great disservice to the story by integrating more romance and giving it a happy ending. There is a possibility that the Count and Haydee will have a happy life together after the end of the book, but it's only a chance, not a certainty. This series devotes too much time to giving the Count a love life or the appearance of a love life that was never there before. TCoMC is not a love story. In the last scene, Edmond writes on a note, "Edmond Dantes has returned." However, the point in the novel was that Edmond could not return. The good parts of him died in prison. He has changed beyond recognition into a cynical, bitter man. Edmond then meets Mercedes on a beach; they smile, run into the water, and kiss (blech). They both also say they've given away their money to live simpler lives, and now they can live the poor, happy life they always wanted to have. That's just precious. But that's not the theme of the novel. The novel's got a lot of things to say about revenge, but learning to love isn't one of them. Betrayal tore them apart in such ways that they both irrevocably changed. They can't get their old selves back, and that's what strikes a chord with the audience. There are everlasting, extensive effects to betrayal and revenge. He can't love her because she didn't wait for him and he's become cynical; she can't love him because she married someone else and he discredited her husband. This series damages itself by tossing out these ideas and replacing them with a scene where Mercedes suddenly is happy to see Edmond again and they resolve to live together, with no transition scenes in between to explain the change: Camille just tells him to go to Mercedes and love her. If you want to make a story where a hero gets revenge and gradually comes to appreciate his old love, then do it, but don't pass it off as The Count of Monte Cristo.
In this version, nothing stops him from feeling good about his revenge. Nothing terrible happens to show him that he should never have assumed the role of God. Once he gets his revenge, he tells Danglars that he will be merciful in letting him go, but "I feel mercy is less fulfilling than vengeance." This is the exact opposite of what the novel conveys. I always got the feeling that the Count intended to starve Danglars out of all of his money before releasing him (or letting him die of starvation if he were so pig-headed that he wouldn't pay for food to save his life). After Edward's death, he revises his plan a little and lets him keep 50,000 francs. Here, nothing stops him from complete and total revenge, and he learns nothing. He comes to the conclusion that revenge is more satisfying than forgiveness, which contradicts the novel's main theme and lessens the impact of the story. The Count of Monte Cristo as a book lasts in part because of what it has to say about revenge: it's hollow and won't fix what you've lost. This 1998 series says the opposite, and fails utterly as an adaptation. Edmond learns nothing but how good revenge feels. In one scene, he breaks into a church and tells the priest that he intends to replace God (in dishing out justice). That's a proud claim, one that is shattered in the novel but held as sacred here. It turns into another revenge tale about a hero who justly punishes the wicked with no consequences.
The odd thing about it is that his revenge is too merciful, even though he claims to not like mercy. He's much more of a hero than an anti-hero. He's not ruthless enough in dishing out retribution. (SPOILERS) He offs Villefort's family without caring, but doesn't drudge up Andrea to complete the deal, and seeing how the Andrea character was basically present, there is no excuse for not including this payoff. He doesn't make Danglars feel how peasants feel: people charging you outrageous sums of money for small things--he just imprisons him, tells him that food will cost money, then immediately takes all him money and lets him go. Villefort's is even less acceptable. He tells his wife to kill herself to save face. That's all fine. He then makes her do it in his presence. That's too macabre for his character. 1980 does it right: Villefort comes home, after realising that he does care about his family and that he's told his wife to kill herself, to stop her; she waits until he enters the room, then swallows the poison in front of him and falls down dead. Having lost the rest of his family, his pride, and position as procureur du roi, this hits him hard. 1998's Villefort doesn't seem upset when Valentine dies. He says he would never let his daughter be executed, but he doesn't act that way when she dies. In short, it doesn't seem like the Count punished him that much, stopping at giving him the appearance that his daughter is dead. Sorry, that's not good enough. It is his actions towards Villefort that ultimately make him see the wrongs he's committed in taking justice into his own hands. This Count also does not let his enemies guess who he is before he reveals himself. In each of the cases, he merely tells them at the offset that he was Edmond Dantes, obliterating any suspense. He doesn't play with them or give them clues to make them guess who he is. They've forgotten him and he wants to make them feel worse about it by making them guess his true identity before he finally reveals it. Yes, this Count is too kind.
Do I have anything else good to say? Well, the costumes are good. The plots against the three men are also represented very well (except for Villefort), coinciding with point 4. Edmond repays the good before going on a "rampage of revenge." So rarely do screen versions include this phase of his life that it was refreshing to see it. Most adaptations focus solely on revenge and forget that the Count, in taking Providence's stead, also rewards the good. The Count does indeed disguise himself as Wilmore and, as Julie has been omitted, has an old woman whom he met in Marseilles give Maximilien the money just before Morrel tries to kill himself. And in this version, Wilmore comes in for the debts instead of buying them out, so he gets to witness firsthand the happiness he's brought. So much happiness, in fact, that it kills poor Morrel. This subplot is the only place where I'd say this series improves upon the 1980 miniseries. The bankruptcy subplot takes two scenes, but they are long scenes separated by other scenes, creating suspense, which I felt 1980 lacked.
The costumes are good, some of the acting is good, and the subplots involving anyone named "Morrel" were done well, but this series isn't good, not even judged on its own. The writing is very poor, the pacing was off, and the characters were mostly badly done for the most part. The themes and characters are changed too much, and those things are what make the novel so memorable.
Next up: James Caviezel in the most recent American film production, 2002's The Count of Monte Cristo.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Ac"count"ing for Weber: "Le Comte de Monte-Cristo"
Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. Dir. Denys de La Patelliere. With Jacques Weber, Manuel Tajeda, and Carla Romanelli. 1980. Runtime: approx. 6-7 hrs.
This is going to be one of the oddest reviews I've ever done. I was able to see this series only online, as it has never been put on video or DVD. Someone very kindly uploaded it on YouTube. In French. With no subtitles.
I don't speak French.
My Spanish helped me pick up a word here and there, but I effectively could not understand what anyone said. However, I am quite familiar with the novel and was able to follow the story with no problems, always knowing what scene I was in when it started or at least by the halfway point. That was a unique experience.
This was the most faithful adaptation of all The Count of Monte Cristo versions I saw. I was stunned that nearly every scene and character was present. And presented in about six hours.
One advantage with not being able to understand the actors is not knowing if the acting was good or bad. The actress playing Haydee is very expressive with her voice, but her eyes don't follow the anger in her words, but I couldn't tell whether this was a deliberate part of her acting or not. I was pleased with the performances from Caderousse, Danglars, and Edmond. Weber takes a naive young sailor and turns him into a sophisticated count with style. Even more impressive is his ability to disappear into any disguise. For Abbe Busoni, he wears a wig, glasses, false skin, and cotton in his cheeks, and adopts a gravely voice to become unrecognisable as Edmond, the Count, or any of his other aliases. He adds the right amount of an English accent-tinged French to his Lord Wilmore persona to make himself believable as an Englishman. His performance as the Count is so different from Edmond, Busoni, and Wilmore that no one could ever mistake any of these men for each other. He is cool, collected, and suave; his actions, mannerisms, and desire for sadistic justice line up with the book Count in their manipulation and iciness. Without the dialogue, though, I couldn't tell if his words were charismatic, charming, or what not. Even so, I give him a pass for point 1 on my list. He does well as the Count, whom I know carpeted a cave because I saw the cave, and him in it in his Sinbad the Sailor disguise.
Speaking of the cave, I like that Edmond finds only one casket of treasure like he did in the book. In some adaptations, he finds dozens of trunks. In the book, he gets about 15 million francs from the treasure and, through years of investments, ends up with about 100 million francs even after all his purchases. It's a little detail that doesn't interfere with any telling, but it seems more realistic that Spada had one trunk of treasure than twenty.
The fates of the three conspirators are good. Danglars' is quite appropriate and matches the novel. Villefort's is nearly the same, except he is not shown to lose his sanity. This is acceptable to me, as the rest of his punishment is certainly fitting enough. Fernand's is, thankfully, the same--he kills himself for the right reason this time. I liked that the series preserved the way that Caderousse cannot tell that Busoni is Edmond even after he has taken the disguise off. Time has worked on the two so much that Caderousse can't recognise his old acquaintance. Edmond couldn't even recognise himself after spending fourteen years in prison--how could a friend recognise him twenty-four years after last seeing him? The makers didn't speed up the recognition time--they let Caderousse take his time in discovering who Busoni really is. It also lets us see the horrid truth: the four men who consigned Edmond to a miserable prison for life out of pride, lust, greed, and drink can't even remember what he looks like. They've given him pure misery and can't even be bothered to honor his memory. The mostly intact fates of the betrayers and the ways they arrive at them are line with the book. Each is brought down slowly and with great patience by past mistakes and has the things that they truly care about taken from them. Patience is what Monte Cristo has plenty of, as well as the desire to have them do themselves in, so he doesn't do the quick "kill the enemies" gig. This is a very important element that some adaptations leave out. They simplify the revenge scheme, which undermines the entire point of what Monte Cristo wanted to accomplish. He crafts slow punishments that fit each one of them so that they can endure the slow torment that he suffered. For Danglars, his greed. Fernand, his wife and son. Villefort, his family and position (and, in the book, his sanity). They all also lose their honor and social status. This fits point 4.
The ending remains the same as the novel. Mercedes lives her life alone in Marseilles, Monte Cristo sails off with Haydee, and Max and Valentine are left the fortune. I am very pleased that this version did not follow the Edmond-and-Mercedes-get-back-together cliche that other versions fall victim to. The two lovers are so different, too changed from their experiences. The Edmond they knew is gone, so little does he resemble the suave and bitter Count. They want each other as they were twenty-some years ago, which cannot happen. If they were to get together, they would not be happy. They would have too many painful memories, memories of a time when they would have been happy, and broken fantasies of what could have been a happy life together. They would be trying to live out a dream that they had many years ago, and the results would be a travesty, a farce of love, two lovers trying to bring back what they had, though their characters have changed. They've turned into people they hardly recognise and no longer resemble the ones they loved. Many adaptations forget these essential dynamics and have the two reunite to give the story a more happy ending. However, this story needs bittersweetness as part of its message on the destructiveness of revenge and betrayal. As well, it's more realistic than a happy ending, and even though the book is a Romantic novel, it still has tinges of Realism to make the themes shine through. The Count also sees that innocent children suffer from his plans--he's visibly saddened by Edward's death and makes amends by rescuing Valentine. I think it fits point 2 of my criteria wonderfully, and 5 as well.
Since the series included most of the scenes and subplots from the 1500-page novel in only six hours, the series felt quite rushed at times, and that is quite something when you can say that a six-hour version of a novel rushes through everything. During dialogue scenes, the pace slowed down to allow for natural conversations. But, I did feel like the action was rushed at times, like the creators were rushing us from scene to scene after giving us just enough time to comprehend what we've just witnessed because they wanted to fit in everything they could. For instance, the Edmond-saves-Morrel-from-bankruptcy subplot is here, but is distilled down to about five minutes while including every nuance of it. With that kind of rushing, suspense is lost. We don't have time to develop sympathy for Morrel's predicament or wonder if he is going to get out of it. On the other hand, I appreciated the inclusion. Many adaptations leave out the rewarding phase of the Count's scheme. He not only punishes the wicked, he rewards those who did right by him. Morrel tried to get him out of prison, and Caderousse brought him up to date on what's happened in the world, so they get money to help them out of their financial woes and to preserve their honor. This subplot is a good one to include and matches my #3 point, but it could have been spread out a bit.
As well, because of the compression, I never got the sense that Edmond despaired in prison. In the novel, he spends years feeling sorry for himself; he tries to starve himself to death at one point and bashes his head against the wall at another and leaves a permanent blood stain on the stone. None of this is present, jumping from his arrival to Faria's introduction six years later almost immediately. The Edmond/Faria relationship also was not as protracted as I would have liked. Faria explained how he made his tools in prison, but I did not see any of the teaching that is so crucial to the creation of Edmond's Monte Cristo identity. Of course, maybe I missed the dialogue where Faria said he would teach Edmond. Even so, I didn't see any teaching, making this a case of tell-don't-show that does not pay off. However, some of the pacing worked well: the first third of the show is spent on Edmond's life, prison time, and rewarding phase, ending with his farewell to goodness and humanity, leaving about four more hours for the his schemes.
One technical thing that could have been done better: the camerawork. The presentation is very theatrical with its long takes and faraway shots. The long takes during dialogue scenes let the tension build, such as the scene where Danglars talks to Hermine about her infidelity. In many other scenes, the camera is too far away and objective to make an impact, like when Edmond "breaks his ankle" on the island and at the end in the cave when he and Haydee talk. Moving the camera a little closer and moving it around in some shots would have increased the emotional impact and made us feel like we were in the story more instead of observing it from a distance. The last shot was fitting: the Count and Haydee sail away on a ship while the credits roll. Yes, there's an adaptation where the Count hooks up with Haydee!
I count it extremely impressive that a series is so close to the book it's based on that it can still reach me even when I can't understand what anyone says. Of all the adaptations that I could have seen without dialogue, I'm glad it was this one--a few of the others were so far off the mark that I would never have been able to follow them without English dialogue or subtitles.
The most faithful adaptation? Definitely. The best? Though it contains all my criteria for a good adaptation, no, not in my opinion. Had this been twice as long and opened up the rushed scenes and subplots, it probably would have been the best, as the markings of greatness are there. As it is, however, it's still an adaptation that's worth your time if you know French, if you don't know French but know the book well, or if it is ever put out on DVD someday. And if it is, I will gladly view it again (with subtitles, perferably).
Three down, three to go: Gerard Depardieu in 1998's Le Comte de Monte Cristo.
This is going to be one of the oddest reviews I've ever done. I was able to see this series only online, as it has never been put on video or DVD. Someone very kindly uploaded it on YouTube. In French. With no subtitles.
I don't speak French.
My Spanish helped me pick up a word here and there, but I effectively could not understand what anyone said. However, I am quite familiar with the novel and was able to follow the story with no problems, always knowing what scene I was in when it started or at least by the halfway point. That was a unique experience.
This was the most faithful adaptation of all The Count of Monte Cristo versions I saw. I was stunned that nearly every scene and character was present. And presented in about six hours.
One advantage with not being able to understand the actors is not knowing if the acting was good or bad. The actress playing Haydee is very expressive with her voice, but her eyes don't follow the anger in her words, but I couldn't tell whether this was a deliberate part of her acting or not. I was pleased with the performances from Caderousse, Danglars, and Edmond. Weber takes a naive young sailor and turns him into a sophisticated count with style. Even more impressive is his ability to disappear into any disguise. For Abbe Busoni, he wears a wig, glasses, false skin, and cotton in his cheeks, and adopts a gravely voice to become unrecognisable as Edmond, the Count, or any of his other aliases. He adds the right amount of an English accent-tinged French to his Lord Wilmore persona to make himself believable as an Englishman. His performance as the Count is so different from Edmond, Busoni, and Wilmore that no one could ever mistake any of these men for each other. He is cool, collected, and suave; his actions, mannerisms, and desire for sadistic justice line up with the book Count in their manipulation and iciness. Without the dialogue, though, I couldn't tell if his words were charismatic, charming, or what not. Even so, I give him a pass for point 1 on my list. He does well as the Count, whom I know carpeted a cave because I saw the cave, and him in it in his Sinbad the Sailor disguise.
Speaking of the cave, I like that Edmond finds only one casket of treasure like he did in the book. In some adaptations, he finds dozens of trunks. In the book, he gets about 15 million francs from the treasure and, through years of investments, ends up with about 100 million francs even after all his purchases. It's a little detail that doesn't interfere with any telling, but it seems more realistic that Spada had one trunk of treasure than twenty.
The fates of the three conspirators are good. Danglars' is quite appropriate and matches the novel. Villefort's is nearly the same, except he is not shown to lose his sanity. This is acceptable to me, as the rest of his punishment is certainly fitting enough. Fernand's is, thankfully, the same--he kills himself for the right reason this time. I liked that the series preserved the way that Caderousse cannot tell that Busoni is Edmond even after he has taken the disguise off. Time has worked on the two so much that Caderousse can't recognise his old acquaintance. Edmond couldn't even recognise himself after spending fourteen years in prison--how could a friend recognise him twenty-four years after last seeing him? The makers didn't speed up the recognition time--they let Caderousse take his time in discovering who Busoni really is. It also lets us see the horrid truth: the four men who consigned Edmond to a miserable prison for life out of pride, lust, greed, and drink can't even remember what he looks like. They've given him pure misery and can't even be bothered to honor his memory. The mostly intact fates of the betrayers and the ways they arrive at them are line with the book. Each is brought down slowly and with great patience by past mistakes and has the things that they truly care about taken from them. Patience is what Monte Cristo has plenty of, as well as the desire to have them do themselves in, so he doesn't do the quick "kill the enemies" gig. This is a very important element that some adaptations leave out. They simplify the revenge scheme, which undermines the entire point of what Monte Cristo wanted to accomplish. He crafts slow punishments that fit each one of them so that they can endure the slow torment that he suffered. For Danglars, his greed. Fernand, his wife and son. Villefort, his family and position (and, in the book, his sanity). They all also lose their honor and social status. This fits point 4.
The ending remains the same as the novel. Mercedes lives her life alone in Marseilles, Monte Cristo sails off with Haydee, and Max and Valentine are left the fortune. I am very pleased that this version did not follow the Edmond-and-Mercedes-get-back-together cliche that other versions fall victim to. The two lovers are so different, too changed from their experiences. The Edmond they knew is gone, so little does he resemble the suave and bitter Count. They want each other as they were twenty-some years ago, which cannot happen. If they were to get together, they would not be happy. They would have too many painful memories, memories of a time when they would have been happy, and broken fantasies of what could have been a happy life together. They would be trying to live out a dream that they had many years ago, and the results would be a travesty, a farce of love, two lovers trying to bring back what they had, though their characters have changed. They've turned into people they hardly recognise and no longer resemble the ones they loved. Many adaptations forget these essential dynamics and have the two reunite to give the story a more happy ending. However, this story needs bittersweetness as part of its message on the destructiveness of revenge and betrayal. As well, it's more realistic than a happy ending, and even though the book is a Romantic novel, it still has tinges of Realism to make the themes shine through. The Count also sees that innocent children suffer from his plans--he's visibly saddened by Edward's death and makes amends by rescuing Valentine. I think it fits point 2 of my criteria wonderfully, and 5 as well.
Since the series included most of the scenes and subplots from the 1500-page novel in only six hours, the series felt quite rushed at times, and that is quite something when you can say that a six-hour version of a novel rushes through everything. During dialogue scenes, the pace slowed down to allow for natural conversations. But, I did feel like the action was rushed at times, like the creators were rushing us from scene to scene after giving us just enough time to comprehend what we've just witnessed because they wanted to fit in everything they could. For instance, the Edmond-saves-Morrel-from-bankruptcy subplot is here, but is distilled down to about five minutes while including every nuance of it. With that kind of rushing, suspense is lost. We don't have time to develop sympathy for Morrel's predicament or wonder if he is going to get out of it. On the other hand, I appreciated the inclusion. Many adaptations leave out the rewarding phase of the Count's scheme. He not only punishes the wicked, he rewards those who did right by him. Morrel tried to get him out of prison, and Caderousse brought him up to date on what's happened in the world, so they get money to help them out of their financial woes and to preserve their honor. This subplot is a good one to include and matches my #3 point, but it could have been spread out a bit.
As well, because of the compression, I never got the sense that Edmond despaired in prison. In the novel, he spends years feeling sorry for himself; he tries to starve himself to death at one point and bashes his head against the wall at another and leaves a permanent blood stain on the stone. None of this is present, jumping from his arrival to Faria's introduction six years later almost immediately. The Edmond/Faria relationship also was not as protracted as I would have liked. Faria explained how he made his tools in prison, but I did not see any of the teaching that is so crucial to the creation of Edmond's Monte Cristo identity. Of course, maybe I missed the dialogue where Faria said he would teach Edmond. Even so, I didn't see any teaching, making this a case of tell-don't-show that does not pay off. However, some of the pacing worked well: the first third of the show is spent on Edmond's life, prison time, and rewarding phase, ending with his farewell to goodness and humanity, leaving about four more hours for the his schemes.
One technical thing that could have been done better: the camerawork. The presentation is very theatrical with its long takes and faraway shots. The long takes during dialogue scenes let the tension build, such as the scene where Danglars talks to Hermine about her infidelity. In many other scenes, the camera is too far away and objective to make an impact, like when Edmond "breaks his ankle" on the island and at the end in the cave when he and Haydee talk. Moving the camera a little closer and moving it around in some shots would have increased the emotional impact and made us feel like we were in the story more instead of observing it from a distance. The last shot was fitting: the Count and Haydee sail away on a ship while the credits roll. Yes, there's an adaptation where the Count hooks up with Haydee!
I count it extremely impressive that a series is so close to the book it's based on that it can still reach me even when I can't understand what anyone says. Of all the adaptations that I could have seen without dialogue, I'm glad it was this one--a few of the others were so far off the mark that I would never have been able to follow them without English dialogue or subtitles.
The most faithful adaptation? Definitely. The best? Though it contains all my criteria for a good adaptation, no, not in my opinion. Had this been twice as long and opened up the rushed scenes and subplots, it probably would have been the best, as the markings of greatness are there. As it is, however, it's still an adaptation that's worth your time if you know French, if you don't know French but know the book well, or if it is ever put out on DVD someday. And if it is, I will gladly view it again (with subtitles, perferably).
Three down, three to go: Gerard Depardieu in 1998's Le Comte de Monte Cristo.
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