Les Miserables

The Beautiful Misery of Les Miserables

   Les Miserables begins with the powerful image of a ship being wrenched into its concrete port by hundreds of overworked and desperate prisoners using nothing but their bare hands, brute strength and yards of coarse rope. The prisoners heave and ho, battered by sea water, belting out the deep and chilling notes of "Look Down" in angry unison. This opening scene is one of the most impacting of any movie, instantly setting the mood and the theme of struggle, providing a gloomy prophesy of the trials and tribulations that are still to come.

   The music of the stage version of Les Miserables has always been one of it's strongest and most powerful assets, and this filmic adaptation does not disappoint. One of the aspects of a movie musical that audiences can often find frustrating is the uneasy transition from spoken dialogue to the characters bursting into song. For some, on stage it just works, a shared live experience between the audience and the performer. On stage it seems spontaneous and heartfelt, while on film it can often come across a little jarring and contrived. This is something that director Tom Hooper attempts to address in this version of Les Miserables, as the actors provide us with a live rendition of their songs. The songs have not been pre-recorded in a studio for the actor to mime to, but recorded live on set. What the songs might lose in pitch-perfection and faultless singing they more than make up for in raw emotion. The singing is heartfelt and is an incredible outlet of the pent up miseries and frustrations of the characters. The songs include every croak, every tear-strained note, every pause for breath and passion of the actor. While it might make for a less-enjoyable soundtrack to listen to on your CD player or iPod, it produces an utterly gut-wrenching experience for the spectator.

   This is felt none more so than during Anne Hathaway's rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream". This was not about judging whether Hathaway could do justice to such an iconic song, but instead being completely and utterly lost in her performance. Hathaway's Fantine stirs up emotions far deeper than anything I have ever experienced before. She made me more than just a bit weepy, she made me downright hysterical, calling forth emotions that seemed to come from the very depths of my soul. You didn't just sympathise with Fantine, you simply ached for her and the pain she suffered.

   A further way in which Hooper attempts to redress the sometmes jarring combination of dialogue and singing in movie musicals was the decision to have the dialogue entirely sung by all the characters. Each line was delivered in spoken song which was interesting, if divisive. On the one hand it helped form the film into one coherent melody that continuously underpinned the action without seeming cheesy. It took a while to adjust to this convention, but over time it felt more natural and the songs led themselves more naturally to the story. However it also had the negative effect of causing the songs to lose their impact. With one song blending into the next, the overall impact of songs like "Bring Him Home" and "On My Own" was slightly reduced and left me craving spoken dialogue and relishing the few spoken words the film did contain.

   Despite this, every single word was uttered with such integrity that it was impossible not to feel deeply for all the characters involved. This is not a happy movie. The setting of Les Miserables is bleak, the divide between rich and poor is extreme and the people of France strictly governed by a merciless military. The movie depicts the grim reality of French civilian life as the streets are infested with poor families riddled with lepracy, malnourished and angry, huddled in dirty streets full of crime and prostitution. The people lament that at the end of the day you are just another day older, sinking into an apathy of miserable acceptance. You can understand why these people believe there is such little hope for them, frightened as they are into submission by the military. However, a small band of revolutionists are forming who will attempt to overthrow the government. Although some support the revolution, many are fearful of the repurcussions. This is perfectly exemplified in the movie through the tragic moments of warfare between the goverment and revolutionists when the people shut their doors and windows to the frantic rebels, refusing to offer shelter lest they be punished for aiding this valiant yet doomed revolution.

   Nevertheless, the band of young revolutionists fronted brilliantly by Eddie Redmayne and Aaron Tveit as Marius and Enjolras, are so passionate and valiant that you cannot help but hope for their victory despite the odds stacked against them. They are outnumbered and under-armed, but remain stoic and brave and determined to stay true to their fight for justice. Towards the end of the movie as this group confront their fate, the image of the rebels trapped into a corner in the room they once used to voice their liberal ideals and freedoms is nothing short of heart-breaking. The men resign themselves to their fate, remaining brave and loyal to the bitter end despite the doomed certainty of their fate.

   One of the most incongruous aspects of the film is how vast and yet how limited the locations of the film feel. On one hand we see a vast concrete expanse where the convicts heave the warship into port; a towering precipice where Russel Crowe stands and looks out upon a wonderfully dark and Gothic Paris skyline and the huge sanctuary where Hugh Jackman's Valjean takes refuge. Yet on the other the set feels tiny and stage-like, such as the small corner where the rebels have barricaded themselves that has the theatrical dimensions of a set-piece and the look of a painted back-drop. There are surely many arguments for this staging convention but upon first viewing is slightly disorientating and breaks up the immersive flow of the film.

   Another lower point in the film is the rendition of Master of the House. With no disrespect to Helena Bohnam-Carter and Sascha Baron Cohen's performances, which are both highly entertaining and a welcome distraction from the misery of the other songs, I cannot help but feel that I have watched them play these characters in this situation before in Tim Burton's Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007).

   Despite this, I always judge a good film on its power to play on your mind even days after first viewing it. This film did exactly that. The songs were powerful and the story and performances so emotional that you cannot help but question how you would feel if it was you or your brother, your son, your father, your mother, your child in this situation. It produced in me a feeling of despair that seem to come from the very depths of my heart. Empty Chairs At Empty Tables was my highlight of the film, exemplifying the fleetingness of life; how quickly all the passions of those young men who fought for justice have been wiped away; the importance of seizing life and happiness while we can, and remaining hopeful that at the end of the day life is more than just another day over. 

   Emotional from start to finish, not faultless, but gut-wrenching and haunting and the beginning of a new era in movie musicals.