As a musical theatre lover of the first order, I have to
tell you, though I’m always in eager anticipation of the next show-to-movie
musical adaptation, I’ve never come out of one and not been a little
disappointed. Basically, when you’ve been that close up to musicals, it makes
it hard to enjoy-- seeing the places where their seams show. (And they all have seams.
Even the classics. Sometimes especially.)
The close up of film normally removes the immediacy of
singing. And something is lost. Tom Hooper was essentially always asking for a
world of dilemma by taking on one of the world’s most beloved musicals—a show
that has always walked a fine line between gut-wrenching and melodrama. (Or as
Steven might say, “High, high retro drama. Get ready for it.”) When I saw the revival on Broadway, though I much loved it, and met some of my best friends from that show, I felt it lost something in a smaller house. The barricade didn't intimidate me. It was just a set piece. I was simply too close to believe.
My personal
attachment to the show, coupled with my long standing reservations about it, made my viewing of Les Miserables full of anxiety. (“Almost NO Broadway
people. Only Aaron. All London people. On principle, this felt like another
snobby British moment. And would it prove to be too stunt cast-y? Remember that minute when Taylor Swift was almost going to be Eponine? Yeah.)
But Tom Hooper—who pointed out in conversation after the
film that this was technically ‘low budget’-- made several huge, game-changing,
instinct-driven decisions. First is the much-discussed live singing. I won’t go
into that in much detail, because everyone else has, but I will say this. We
should never make movie musicals any other way ever again. Ever.
Second-- and in some ways, I think this one might be more
important-- is a decision about perspective. The camera is always somewhere I
didn’t expect it to be. It holds longer than you’d think. It never cuts when you think it will. It zooms in and stays
there. This movie is unflinching.
Tom Hooper chose to shoot all the solos in extreme close up.
Anne Hathaway’s rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream,” plays without cuts, and in a single
take. You’ve probably heard whispers or grumblings of this, but it’s true:
throw everything you’ve ever thought about Anne Hathaway out the window. She’s
fine-to-good in everything leading up that song—one of the best in musical
theatre history. But, while no vocal power house, I assure you, you will not
care. It’s the rawest thing I’ve
ever seen filmed.
A close second is “Look Down.” The images of that opener are
still with me. And it’s where Hugh Jackman won me over completely which helped
as the movie went on. Because, for me, Jackman gets less compelling as the film
goes on, until his death scene. (Spoiler. Jean Valjean dies.) The biggest let down of the film for me was his "Bring Him Home."
But the Hugh Jackman of “Look Down” is arresting. All bloodshot
eyes and soaking wet and patchy hair with visible scalp scars. From that song into the convent section
where he experiences a redemption at the mercy of the priest and prays at the alter
to his own transformation, it's a juggernaut. And then, the scene is immediately transformed in the way that
shows Jean Valjean’s vision of the world and his place in it. When he leaves
the convent--a place we had previously a bleak, tight scope on-- to reveal the full
world, and Valjean casts his ripped up convict papers and scatters them to the
wind... that shot is…. Magnificent.
And here's the real and deeply satisfying revelation of choosing to shoot the film this way. Not only does it trust the actor to tell the story plainly, it trusts the song. Just typing those words, I well up a little, because isn't that the point? Isn't that what every musical theatre writer hopes for? A trust that the song is enough. That the song is the ultimate expression. And I smile, thanking Tom Hooper for knowing that it is.
My only concerns with the film are the concerns I have about
Les Mis as a stage show as well. Namely, its pacing in the second act and the
very nature of a sung through show. For the record, I think that device works
better in a film adaptation than a stage show. In the medium of the close up, it’s harder to justify the
intense emotion that necessitates only one method of release: song. That’s why
they sing on the stage. But in film, you have the close up. That much emotion
close up…. it can be overwhelming. It can backfire and make you uncomfortable.
My issue with an entirely sung through show—particularly
this show—is that it becomes too sing-song, that it feels naked and not in a
good way, was largely washed away when I heard director Tom Hooper explain it.
Rather than make a deal with the audience that asks us to
forgive or understand why sometimes the characters sing and sometimes they
speak, (sometimes a contradiction that’s easy to forgive and sometimes not) or
a trope like fantasy (Chicago) or the confines of a performative group of
people (Dream Girls) instead you create an alternate reality where singing is
essentially the only way that people communicate.
Other takeaways for me: Eddie Redmayne was exactly what
Marius should be (though watch out, they’ve cut the instrum intro to ‘Empty
Chairs.’) but nevertheless, Enjolras is the more compelling character, and I
think Aaron steals the scenes away from Eddie a lot. Maybe I’m bias. Samantha Barks
was just okay. BLESS Anne Dudley and Stephen Metcalfe for giving us a Les Mis with red-blooded orchestrations. I need never hear those synths again. Gavroche has always been the coolest kid to ever run Paris, but this Gavroche is so blued-eyed and vivid and alive that he's almost too real. Sacha Baron Cohen & Helena Bonham Carter as the Thenardiers seemed like they were from another movie, but I nevvvvver cared.Bonus points for Colm Wilkinson's cameo.
The packed theatre was audibly sobbing at multiple moments.
Even the men. Normally, when I recommend a movie musical, I do so for the
people who don’t love musicals, thinking: oh, this is removed enough. Maybe it
will give them a way in. But it is with pleasure that today I say, I’m not sure
what non musical theatre people will think of this movie and I don’t care. But
we geeky musis of the world, this is a film for us. And a film we can be proud of. Go see it. Though I know I
don’t have to tell you that.
Most of the logistical issues I was initially worried about have fallen into place a bit easier and faster than I had originally anticipated. I don't want to jinx anything, but it sure makes it easier in my quest to try to enjoy this last time I have in the UK.
I've been telling people a lot that thinking about leaving is sort of like a bad black hole for me, so instead I think of already being back in New York and being back in Los Angeles and that thought is thrilling. There's so much I want to be working on. So many people I want to be collaborating with. Anyone who knows me knows how much I hate the feeling of sitting on my hands.
In any case, I feel like I've had bit clearer sense of purpose this past week: always a good idea. Here's what else happened this week.
- I think I've been in denial about the odd, slow weight loss I've been experiencing for about the last 6 months. I've always been small and it doesn't feel like I've lost that much weight. The scale agrees with me. But none and I mean NONE of my clothes fit. They hang, they show my bra, I have to roll the waist down, they gape even in the butt. I don't want to go crazy or anything, but I'd sell a kidney to just go into somewhere safe like, Gap Body and buy a bunch of soft things that actually fit me. That's how vulnerable I've been feeling. Screw comfort food. Yoga clothes that fit. That's my comfort. And, just to reiterate: Frank Ocean.
Kay Ryan earned a forever-spot in my heart on Friday when she said the following: "I would like to install among the great emotions of the world, relief. More reliable than, say, love or others perhaps because it comes at the end."
I am standing in deep relief (and also some sadness) at the end of one of the greatest, happiest, hardest chapters of my life. After two years and three cities, as of August 2, I'll no longer be calling the UK home.
There's no one reason for this decision. It's crept up in various ways and whispered in my ear since the beginning of 2012. The past six months have been really weird and hard. And because I was really calm through at least the first four months of that strangeness, I ended up in a kind of denial about how bored I was, how lonely I was, and what I really wanted. I did not feel like myself. And just like every other time in my life where I was struggling, I've had a hard time really convincing people that I needed more support than usual. I didn't know where to begin. I felt ungrateful. And I felt like a burden.
But my wonderful friend Haviland encouraged me to be honest right here about all the isolation and panic attacks that have chipped away at my desire to remain here. So I'm going to isolate some of the issues in future posts, but I want to start today by explaining my reasons for heading back to the US. And thanking everyone for the really nice notes you've been sending me.
1. I don't like to go on record to complain about anything, but I'm massively disappointed in St Andrews as far as this phd goes. My guidance has swung between overkill and non-existent, they withheld my loans and my ability to support myself for 5 months and showed very little urgency in addressing the matter, they keep raising my tuition, there's no opportunities to teach. They seem like they could take me or leave me. And that feeling is now mutual.
2. The UK job market/post graduation visa likelihood. I'm not sure I've ever questioned my actual ability to do any job I set my mind to before coming to the UK, where specialization and a weird kind of specificity snobbery seems to rule the day. I know the economy is bad, but skill sets are transferrable. I will never concede that nearly a decade of Broadway experience shouldn't earn one equivalent respect on the West End. Four months of being told I'm too American got pretty old, pretty quick.
3. Based on the choices I've already made in my life, it's not possible for me to have all the people I love around me at one time. But man, I miss so many people. The older I get, the harder it is to miss them that much.
4. I've probably never felt more isolated than I have living in London these past few months. The nature of my work is solitary, and I'm comfortable with and in fact require a certain amount of solitary time for my work. But I also need a balance of a really consistent community and work for a cause that is bigger than myself.
I finally just had to ask myself, why am I fighting so hard to stay here? At the end of the day, I am happy and excited to think of what might await me both in NYC and LA-- both stops I'm making before I make a decision on which one of those places I want to be. But there's also things I'm leaving still without having done, places not explored.
In truth (and I'm going to get more honest about this in a bit) I came here looking for something I fear we've scared or shamed or "cool"ed ourselves out of admitting that we want-- in fact, it seems we're not even allowed to want it anymore. I came around the world for love. To shake myself out of the rut I had worked myself into in New York. And the nagging, persistent ideas about myself that rooted themselves when I was a kid and a teenager. In a way, I did find some of that love, even though none of it went how I planned.
But the people I'm leaving behind are some of the most precious and loyal friends I've ever had. They, more than perhaps any other set of people, made me believe that I could be appreciated just for myself-- without having to sing for my supper, or tap dance, or always say the right thing, or what I could do for them. It is the most relieving thing, right there, to be loved for yourself.
I'm looking to install that in my life from now on.
