Alexandre Dumas's
The Count of Monte Cristo
Filmmakers have done great violence to the novels of Alexandre Dumas
in recent years, with motives both unwise and unclear. After all, Dumas's
plots need no enlivening to rouse a crowd; they're some of the sturdiest
adventures ever crafted. Yet films like "The Man in the Iron Mask"
and "The Musketeer" took this very sturdiness as a dare, filling
the roles of men with prepubescent nymphet-boys, indulging in unnecessary
camera trickery, jerry-rigging overfrenetic martial arts showpieces and
throwing in groan-worthy dialogue, all with the effect of stifling the
drama and boring the audience.
That's why it's such a relief and a joy to see the newest adaptation
of Dumas's preeminent classic, "The Count of Monte Cristo."
This film stays as true to the original as it can in an adaptation for
a wide audience, and keeps to the awesome swordfights, brave escapes,
and broad, entirely sympathizable emotions we know so well. It's a simple
formula, but it's worked for centuries, and barring any idiocies of staging
it works just as well today. And thanks to the dedicated and skillful
labors of its players and director, "Alexandre Dumas's The Count
of Monte Cristo" is a film that the author would be proud to have
his name attached to.
Let's start with the actors, in memory of the laughter we all couldn't
stifle when we were asked to pretend that Leonardo DiCaprio and Justin
Chambers were testosteronally equipped to do anything beyond setting young
girls' hearts a-flutter. You absolutely have to have a real man to play
Edmond Dantès, and Jim Caviezel is a real man. He's got huge blue
eyes that change over the course of the film from wide pools of innocence
to burning cauldrons that can barely contain his rage. As he transforms
while imprisoned from the innocent Dantès into the man who will
be Count, he changes his movements, his posture, his very way of holding
his head, all to cast away his vapid innocence and make himself resolute
and dangerous.
But Caviezel can also act, and he uses this ability to push Dantès's
revenge-fantasy-fueled anger and hate beyond the audience's comfort level,
getting to the true heart of the dilemma Dumas poses. His performance
rarely soothes but always compels you to watch.
Admittedly, he's got one hell of a foil in Guy Pearce as Dantès's
traitorous friend Fernand Montego. Pearce throws himself into the task
of being bad with every thespianic thrust he can muster. Even if he never
said a word, and most of the words he says seep with treachery or malice,
you could tell he was a dirty dog just from the sneer that never leaves
his lips, the constant rearward tilt of his head, the cruel eyes that
bore into whatever they regard. A caricature? Sure. But that's what Dumas
wrote, and that's what works.
It's hard to watch Fernand be cruel to Mercedes, who marries him only
after Dantès is condemned to prison, but having Dagmara Dominczyk
play her makes it all worthwhile. Those who like to look at ladies need
to learn how to pronounce that name, because Dominczyk's face is breathtakingly
beautiful and her cleavage is jaw-droppingly ample. (For those who prefer
men, Caveziel and Pearce do not cut such bad figures themselves, although
they are in the movie to play characters while Domincyzk is in it as highly
effective ornamentation.) And Richard Harris plays Abbé Faria with
such piety and determination, not to mention skill with weaponry, that
you'll want to be unjustly imprisoned in the Chateau d'If so you can escape
with him too.
Of course, there are some modifications to the book. But mostly, they're
for the good. Anachronisms only work if they're funny enough that you
don't care, and screenwriter Jay Wolpert makes all his additions just
that amusing. He also thoroughly condenses the plot and makes it less
abstract (there's not too much mention of financial troubles here), but
manages to retain all the really good parts without rushing things. There's
more swashbuckling than there was in the book, but since director Kevin
Reynolds keeps a clear eye on the swordsmanship, letting us feel the physical
threat, more fights are all gain. One might harbor reservations about
the ending, which has been Hollywoodized, but it doesn't descend into
inanity until the final minute, and for two hours of rip-roaring filmmaking
you can forgive one minute.
This new rendition of "The Count of Monte Cristo," then, achieves
just about everything you could hope for in a cinematic adaptation of
Dumas. The only way you could top it would be to read the book, and it's
a pleasure to finally be able to say that.
Dramas
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