Tom Jones (1963): Eitan’s Take

Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of watching Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon for the first time. I was taken aback by its joyful grimness, its lyricism, its visual grandeur, and its nihilistic cleverness. In reviews of Kubrick’s film, I read that many critics feared that it would be a film close in style and substance to Tom Jones, but were pleasantly surprised by the intellectualism and ingenuity of the 1975 Best Picture nominee. Needless to say, I was immediately worried about the kind of film that Tom Jones would be.

All my fears were realized.

Where Barry Lyndon is a sumptuous and elegantly conceived 18th century black comedy, Tom Jones is a middling, almost humiliatingly awful romp. Director Tony Richardson has almost no sense of pacing and, even worse, little idea of how to make the source material truly comes to life on screen. Albert Finney is quite wonderful as the title character — how could he not be! — and the occasional moments of bawdiness almost liberate the film from its bottom-of-the-barrel comedy of errors roots, but no amount of heaving breasts, cunning innuendo, and sitcom-style fourth-wall-breaking asides can rescue such a worthless and trivial little film. If there’s one thing I can’t stand (unless it’s in the hands of Moliere or Shakespeare), it’s “who will marry who?” plotlines and extended forays into bleak conversations about inheritance and estates. It’s why I can’t bring myself to enjoy any of the recent Keira Knightley films, and why I found Tom Jones so unappealing. There is almost nothing gutsy or winning here — just a rather ugly, mushy mess.

There are two segments, however, that deserve mention. The first is the stunning and eloquent courtship sequence staged for Tom and his darling young love Sophie. These few scenes — about three or four minutes total — are shot and edited in a rambunctious, freewheeling style that reminded both Shira and me of those heartbreakingly charming Super-8 reels that often show up in the flashbacks of beautifully filmed romances. These few moments really breathe life, and have a timeless feel to them that is hard to deny.

The other segment that won my heart was an extended eating contest between Tom and a bosomy, red-haired firebrand. Chowing down on lobster, chicken, and a cornucopia of fruits, the lusty and forbidden love between these two audaciously sexy people is captured in a way that is funny, touching, and extremely sensual. The shot-reverse shot montage here, with juices dribbling down chins and oysters being seductively consumed, is brilliant in ways the rest of the film only wishes it could be.

If Richardson had the craftsmanship and ingenuity to give the whole film a light and seductive touch, I think that it would have bowled me over and bucked my predictions. The lumbering, awkward, crudely-edited, and poorly-conceived Tom Jones that he did make, however, earns a 5/10.

Tom Jones (1963): Shira’s Take

I cannot help but compare this movie to Barry Lyndon, which I watched recently. Clearly, they share a mid-eighteenth-century British countryside setting, but there are far more similarities–no truly likable characters, an interesting plot executed oddly (in Barry Lyndon’s case, it was painfully nihilistic; in Tom Jones, it was quirky and silly), and this sort of hapless-man-that-stumbles-into-good-luck-occasionally story. You can tell my disinterest in a movie by how many celebrity resemblances I find. My Tom Jones viewing experience (Eitan can attest to this) was filled to the brim with, “Oh my god! It’s Rowan Atkinson!” Or, “Doesn’t he look a little bit like Quentin Tarantino?” — These examples are Hugh Griffith (Squire Western) and Julian Glover (Lt. Northerton), respectively. A side note: Eitan mentioned the striking resemblance of Lt. Northerton to Walter Donovan of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and apparently Julian Glover DID play Donovan. So, at the end of the film, when he said something to Tom (Albert Finney) about how in his next life he should live it better and ended it with a pointed, “Mr. Jones,” I think that was what made the casting director of Indiana Jones decide to cast him. He just had to change the mister to doctor, and he had the Jones villain thing down.

I found myself irritated that the leading lady, Sophie (Susannah York) was still interested in Tom after his eight billion love affairs with all the women of England. I found myself irritated that the cast felt they constantly were in a state of elbow-nudge inside-joke with the audience. And for some ridiculous reason, Diane Cilento (Molly Seagrim a.k.a. the worst part about this movie) was nominated for an Oscar for this hideously uninspired performance. In every way that Barry Lyndon is stark and depressing and oh-so-70’s, this movie is insipid, comedic, and oh-so-60’s. Movies like this just don’t win best picture anymore–I would compare this to 2008’s highly disappointing Mamma Mia! Entertainment is good, but without substance, it always leaves me flat. There were some great scenes, though. I loved Tom sitting across from Mrs. Waters at the inn dining table as they watch each other eat every food imaginable and somehow find the greasy chicken bits all over their faces sexually appealing. The hunting scene was shot so insanely beautifully, until the unnecessary spur-cutting-horse and run-over-goose bits. The hanging scene at the end included close-ups of faces of onlookers from interesting angles, and it was interesting and haunting. Plus, there was a baby pug, which gives any movie extra points. All in all, it’s a 7/10, but that might be because it was less awful than I expected. And remember, dear readers: It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone. It’s not unusual to have fun with anyone.

Ben-Hur (1959): Shira’s Take

The most pressing order of business: this felt NOTHING like the William Wyler movies we’ve watched so far. Mrs. Miniver and The Best Years of Our Lives both show the painful effects of war, while Ben-Hur is the type of movie to ignore the subtleties and show you the whole war instead. In fact, it wouldn’t just show you the whole war. It would show you the drama building up to the war, then some flashy battle scenes, then more drama, then more flashy battle scenes, etc. until you’re just so completely sick of the characters that you can’t stop looking at the time and wishing those three-and-a-half-plus hours would go by quicker.

Not since Gone with the Wind have I seen a movie that tried so hard and failed so miserably. You would think that a movie this long would somehow find a way to make me interested in the characters or the plots, but you would be completely wrong. Unlike a movie like Gigi, where I’m actually frustrated with the plot, Ben-Hur didn’t keep me invested enough to get frustrated in the first place. I just couldn’t care, no matter how hard I tried, about anything.

Now on to the good stuff. Good performances all around (except Haya Harareet, who was simultaneously the only convincing Israeli and the only nonconvincing human). The chariot race scene lived up to its fame. It was exciting and gorgeous. I actually liked that we never saw Jesus’s face.

In general, I think that Cecil B. DeMille should have been alive to make this movie, and if he had, it would have been no different. Wyler did a good DeMille impression, but it’s still a generic, big, uninteresting DeMille picture. Note to myself: There was soooo much gay subtext between Judah (Heston) and Messala (Boyd). The scene in which Judah says that Messala saved his life and Messala says something like, “It was the best thing I ever did,” and then looks Judah up and down as if picturing him naked is priceless. I said to Eitan early on, “It’s a story of star-crossed lovers!” 5/10

Ben-Hur (1959): Eitan’s Take

The subtitle of Ben-Hur is “A Tale of the Christ,” and it’s difficult to watch the movie without acknowledging the gracious hand of (fictional, narrative-based) Jesus Christ moving the elements of goodness and kindness against the elements of hatred and betrayal. I’m not Christian, but I definitely felt the good will of the original teachings in the Gospels moving the film along, and giving hope and a sense of purpose to Judah Ben-Hur (the magnificent and robust Charlton Heston). But even more than the hand of Christ, I felt the power of Jewish values seeping into every part of the story. It’s a definitively Jewish tale about perseverance, loyalty, hard work, family, faith, and being great at sports. This is why it fits so well in the (unofficial) Charlton-Heston-as-a-beefy-Jew trilogy, which also includes The Ten Commandments and Exodus.

Three times wider than it is tall, the scope of the print itself lends an incredible gravitas to the film. The cinematography, production design, special effects, and costumes allow us to become completely immersed in the grandiose world of Roman Judea. But unlike The Ten Commandments, this story of the Jewish people feels raw and personal. The hurt we feel when Messala watches his childhood friend and his friend’s mother and sister be sent to the dungeon over a false accusation is real. When Judah is unshackled in the galleys, we feel just as confused and determined and awed as he does — that he will survive, and watch his friends die. Usually in big-budget movies (see: Michael Bay), so much gets lost in creating a spectacle that we forget that the spectacle of death, religion, and politics is brutal to those involved. Ben-Hur never lets us forget that these are real people.

People often talk about this movie solely from the perspective of the chariot race, and it’s definitely magnificent in every conceivable way. The wide-wide-wide aspect ratio is our portal into one of the most incredible moments in cinema history. Every second of it feels real and urgent. The spikes on Messala’s chariot glisten with pure evil. The horses gallop round the turns and you feel the intensity in the pit of your stomach. George Lucas tried to mimic this scene in Star Wars Episode I, but watching this today I was only reminded of how miserably stupid that whole sequence is. CGI alien bugs racing around in hovering special effects while Jake Lloyd shouts and hollers in prepubescent glee? It’s no contest. Also, the same narrative elements (betrayal, revenge, Roman tyranny, swords/sandals, and coliseum sports) are used in Gladiator to much, much weaker ends. To even compare the two movies is almost heretical; real movie buffs know which was is up, and know that Gladiator is a pale imitation of Ben-Hur.

Either way, the movie is so much deeper and so much more important than just a single scene, exciting and innovative as it may be. Every scene is finely crafted to blend religious parable and real life drama in such a way that you can’t tell where the plot ends and the inspirational and awe-inspiring subtext begins. At almost three and a half hours, I can honestly say I didn’t want it to end. A truly deserved 10/10. It earned every one of the 11 Oscars it won, a feat matched only by Titanic (which falls victim to its own spectacle) and Return of the King, which is a towering cinematic achievement in very similar respects.