Ever since his breakthrough onto the
American consciousness with 1970's
M*A*S*H, Robert Altman has
instantly come to mind of many a
cinephile when asked to name one
of this era's flagship American
directors. He has a reputation
for working with ensemble casts
like no other filmmaker and directs
each of his projects as if he were
gently rocking his own baby-
perhaps the difficulty he has
had of late is that the majority
of material he has worked with
(Kansas City, Pret-
a-Porter, Cookie's
Fortune, Dr. T and
the Women) has sent
viewers into the same sort
of deep slumber that the
metaphor implies. It is as
a remedy for this stumbling
block that Julian Fellowes
comes in. A former scribe
for the BBC's Monarch
of the Glen, he erases
the bad taste in several
moviegoers' mouths after
the mean-spirited misogyny
of Dr. T. and the Women
and the confused anarchy of
Cookie's Fortune,
weaving a narrative involving
several dozen fully fleshed
characters in a potentially
stuffy setting that is a
pleasure to follow, rather
than complete consternation
to watch for a few hours.
Wait a minute....several
dozen characters? With
so many of these, it'd take
a whole slew of actors to
flesh them out, would it
not? By voicing this concern
you'd have made a good point,
a point that casting director Mary
Selway has made note of, recruiting
nearly every reknowned British name
in the business. I have a feeling that
between this, Episode II and
the year's two high-profile fantasy films,
three-quarters of Britain's top-tier acting
talent have taken part in film roles this
past year, but by far the largest number
in sheer quantity of cast members is that
of Altman's period piece, which concerns
a hunting-party get-together thrown by a
pious aristocrat in a posh manor in the
London countryside circa 1932. Each
of the numerous high-ranking patricians
has at least one servant in tow, and,
focusing on the very thickly drawn
dividing line between the two societies,
Fellowes milks the opportunity to sneak
pointed social commentary into his
upstairs/downstairs dinner game.
While Altman does his characteristically
seasoned and surehanded job at the helm,
there's little doubt that the person truly deserving
of kudos is Fellowes, whose refined and insightful
screenplay makes a potentially comatose narrative
not only engaging but terrifically entertaining. Rarely,
if ever, does Fellowes cross over into the doldrums;
Gosford Park marks a noteworthy feature
scripting debut for him, and he looks after this
project as though he may have quite the
professional future.
As intriguing as it is to take a look inside
this caste system, such an essentially
hollowpremise seems as though it could
all too easily descend into a tedious rut.
So it is that, as well as his marked satire,
Fellowes employs a significantly more
conventional plot strand: an unsettling
murder occurs, wreaking havoc and
causing a whodunit to unspool. This
device is handled with astute precision,
and Fellowes melds the two focal points
together without a hitch or a trace of
pretension. His dialogue, too, rings
true with a keen acumen,
crisscrossing and winding
together, failing to
underestimate the
capability of an
audience to follow
what is going on,
a fact made more
effective because
following up on
this lead will prove
very worthwhile for
most audiences.
For all the skill brandished
by Altman and Fellowes,
though, this is first and
foremost an ensemble
piece, and doubtlessly
one of the first order.
What with the maddeningly
gigantic number of characters,
it is to be expected that a few
of them get the short end of the
stick with regards to development
of their personas. Tom Hollander,
Charles Dance, Laurence Fox, Derek
Jacobi and James Wilby are among
those afflicted as such, but Fellowes
makes certain that this occurrence is
very rare, and the cast are more than
up to the task of enlivening even the
most trivial of roles. The only missteps
come from the barely competent Ryan
Phillippe (a genuinely nice man who has
never been all too prone to exert acting
prowess), the stilted Geraldine Somerville,
and the wooden Camilla Rutherford;
otherwise, there is nary a flawed
performance in the bunch.The
female half of the ensemble are
those with the meatier roles:
Maggie Smith is a hoot as the
insufferably snobbish Countess
of Trentham; Eileen Atkins and
Helen Mirren create dignified
portraits of high-ranking servants;
the incessantly versatile Emily
Watson brings unexpected
integrity to the role of Elsie,
the chief maid; Teresa
Churcher makes an instantly
likable character of a roly-poly
member of the kitchen staff;
Kirstin Scott Thomas'
interpretation of Lady
Sylvia McCordle of the
manor is that an unfeeling
glacial queen, losing none
of her frigid impassivity even
in the passing of her blowhard
spouse, Michael Gambon's
Sir William; and best of all,
the chipper and fresh-faced
Kelly Macdonald is instantly
identifiable, empathetic and
wholeheartedly likable, as
Mary Macreachan, the
Countess' Scottish maid.
This is not to say that the males do not
earn top marks with their individual turns.
Easily the best among their ranks is the
always-dynamic Clive Owen, as an
affronted and easygoing valet. Bob
Balaban, one of the film's two lone
American cast members,
distinguishes himself as
the sole character not of
European descent, the
bookish film producer
Morris Weissman, Esq.
(Balaban can also be
credited, along with
Altman, as having
come up with the
film's premise.)
Jeremy Northam does
a fair job as English
matinee idol Ivor Novello,
whose work the aristocrats
(particularly the Countess,
who showcases a tremendous
amount of gall, speaking whatever
is on her mind without a fleeting
thought for others' feelings or
reactions) are unafraid to show
distaste for, but whose impromptu
piano recital, complete with some
very fine vocal accompaniment,
holds the servants in rapture
from a distance. Stephen Fry
and Ron Webster show up as
members of the constabulary
sent to investigate the crime,
and both do good work, one
acting clueless, one respectful
and resourceful.It was also quite
a pleasure to see Deeply's
Trent Ford again, minimal screen
time or not. Given the chance, I
could easily go on to name each
and every cast member and comment
on the dimensions they add to their
characters, but that would likely
wear out my fingers and bore
readers stiff.
Instead, I'll move on to heaping copious
amounts of praise onto those behind the
scenes, each of whom contributes in no
small fashion to help Gosford Park
look simply exquisite in its pristine glory.
Andrew Dunn (the fruit of whose labour
can currently be viewed at your local
gigaplex by popping into The Count
of Monte Cristo) shoots gorgeous
and lush landscapes, his shots of
early-morning calm standing out.
Technical aspects, particularly art
direction, are virtually flawless,
thanks to Stephen Altman,
Tim Squyres, Jenny Beavan,
Sallie Jaye, Sarah Hauldren
and Anna Pinnock. Gosford
Park marks a return to form
for its iconoclastic director, a
savoury British nougat well
worth downing to combat
winter's frostily savage bite.
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