A WW2 Shakespearean acting troupe enacting King Lear becomes the background for this overview of the relationship between blustering difficult veteran actor Albert Finney and his dedicated dresser Tom Courtenay.
While it is far from a surprise that the film comes off as stagy, one must wonder whether it had to be this stagy. Based on the Ronald Harwood stage hit, the film is little more than a filmed play and the anti-thesis of cinema. Aside from the two main characters, everyone else is irrelevant and is treated as such. This is basically a two-character melodrama and no one is allowed to forget it. There is nothing especially great about Peter Yates direction, which is often static, unimaginative and, as indicated above, stagy.
The film rises and falls on how enthralling the lead performances are and here is where I strongly disagree with fans of the film. Albert Finney and Tom Courtenay are known as great actors and there seems to be a consensus that no one is allowed to suggest that perhaps they are not at their best in this piece. I believe that the biggest flaw in the film is that not for one instant are we allowed to forget that the leads are ACTING. Not "acting", but "ACTING". Some of this fault may lie with the screenplay, but director Yates would have been wise to reign in his stars a tad rather than let them run riot. The scenery can barely withstand the onslaught.
Courtenay's interpretation of the title role is little more than yet another stereotypical effeminate caricature of a gay man in fashion/the arts. There is nary a swishy cliché unemployed by the actor, who is apparently of the understanding that if he plays the feyness to the rafters that he might outshine his co-star. Unfortunately, Courtenay fails to convince that his character has much in the way of strength or dignity, and manages instead to come off as a nag and a perpetual victim. Finney is even worse, spitting, snarling, gesticulating wildly, bug-eyed and frenzied. There is not one iota of subtlety or introspection in his performance. I do not believe there are any truly quiet moments in the film that do not feature one or both of the characters shrieking their lines - or if there are they get instantly forgotten in the steamroller of overacting. Someone needs to instruct both actors in this film (as well as their defenders) that unrestrained, over-the-top hammyness should not be confused with great performances.
While it is far from a surprise that the film comes off as stagy, one must wonder whether it had to be this stagy. Based on the Ronald Harwood stage hit, the film is little more than a filmed play and the anti-thesis of cinema. Aside from the two main characters, everyone else is irrelevant and is treated as such. This is basically a two-character melodrama and no one is allowed to forget it. There is nothing especially great about Peter Yates direction, which is often static, unimaginative and, as indicated above, stagy.
The film rises and falls on how enthralling the lead performances are and here is where I strongly disagree with fans of the film. Albert Finney and Tom Courtenay are known as great actors and there seems to be a consensus that no one is allowed to suggest that perhaps they are not at their best in this piece. I believe that the biggest flaw in the film is that not for one instant are we allowed to forget that the leads are ACTING. Not "acting", but "ACTING". Some of this fault may lie with the screenplay, but director Yates would have been wise to reign in his stars a tad rather than let them run riot. The scenery can barely withstand the onslaught.
Courtenay's interpretation of the title role is little more than yet another stereotypical effeminate caricature of a gay man in fashion/the arts. There is nary a swishy cliché unemployed by the actor, who is apparently of the understanding that if he plays the feyness to the rafters that he might outshine his co-star. Unfortunately, Courtenay fails to convince that his character has much in the way of strength or dignity, and manages instead to come off as a nag and a perpetual victim. Finney is even worse, spitting, snarling, gesticulating wildly, bug-eyed and frenzied. There is not one iota of subtlety or introspection in his performance. I do not believe there are any truly quiet moments in the film that do not feature one or both of the characters shrieking their lines - or if there are they get instantly forgotten in the steamroller of overacting. Someone needs to instruct both actors in this film (as well as their defenders) that unrestrained, over-the-top hammyness should not be confused with great performances.