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By
NICK ZEGARAC
Director David Lean's list
of cinematic accomplishments is a text book
example of master craftsmanship in the art of
motion pictures. With an eye like a camera and a
perennial fascination in perceiving and
re-conceiving the world around him, Lean's
testament on film will endure as long as the sands
of time. The problematic aspect of Lean's later
career in Hollywood stems from the fact that Lean
gave himself a very tough act to follow -- his own
legacy; with back to back epics Lawrence of Arabia
(1962) and Doctor Zhivago (1965).
True, Lean's early career was a showcase for the
intimate and brooding romantic melodrama; Brief
Encounters (1945), Oliver Twist (1948) and
Summertime (1955). However, with The Bridge on the
River Kwai (1957), the director moved into a new
phase in his career. The movies had changed.
Audience expectations had too.
Lean had to be different. The critical and
financial successes of 'Lawrence' and 'Zhivago'
revealed his resplendent zeal and formidable
mastery of the Hollywood epic. The problem for
Lean thereafter was that he could not go back to
making 'small' or 'intimate' films. By 1970
everyone was expecting another big epic. What they
got was Ryan's Daughter -- an undeniably
good-looking film whose subject matter was
undernourished by its epic cinematography.
Based on an original screenplay by Robert Bolt
(who had originally wanted Lean to collaborate
with him on a remake of Madame Bovary), and set in
Ireland's remote Dingle province circa the First
World War, Ryan's Daughter is the story of…well,
Ryan's daughter, Rosy (Sarah Miles) -- a
precocious prig who fancies herself above the
crass carousing of her contemporaries in the small
ramshackle that is her home town.
Smitten with an aged widower schoolmaster, Charles
Shaughnessy (Robert Mitchum), Rosy eventually
breaks down Charles' misgivings for the
May/December union and the two are wed.
Unfortunately for both -- Rosy's romantic idealism
is shattered on their wedding night, a thoroughly
passionless event that eventually gives way to a
reclusive existence as Charles' 'little woman.'
That isn't to say that Chuck is unkind to his new
bride. On the contrary -- he worships her, and
later, will stand beside her in the face of being
socially disgraced.
That disgrace manifests itself in the unlikely
union that develops between Rosy and a shell
shocked, crippled British soldier boy, Randolph
Doryan (Christopher Jones). The two become lovers;
an entanglement that does not take long to unravel
in the diseased and gossipy minds of the locals.
The story takes an unexpected turn however with a
subplot involving resistance leader, Tim O'Leary
(Barry Foster). He is first seen on the road to
Dingle -- assassinating a constable who has
recognized him. O'Leary's next appearance comes
much later in the plot, in a contrived bit of
grandiose nonsense that reveals how desperate
David Lean must have been to interject some
excitement into the proceedings. For, on the
whole, Ryan's Daughter is a film of intimate
beauties in direct opposition to that
thought-numbing elephantitis. O'Leary's freedom
fighting has resulted in a shipment of guns being
floated by the Germans off the coast on the very
eve that a magnificent storm strikes. Rousing the
town's people to his cause, O'Leary and his motley
crew seize their consignment from the icy waves,
but not before Rosy's father -- Thomas (Leo
McKern) has a chance to double cross the men by
alerting the British of their arrival. Lean waited
nearly a year on the coast to capture the perfect
storm on film, and, to be sure, the sequence is
thrilling beyond all expectation.
It ends when O'Leary -- fully stocked with arms --
is apprehended by the British ambush after being
shot in the leg by Randolph while trying to
escape. The mob, perceiving that Rosy's illicit
love has muddled her thinking into becoming a
traitor storms the schoolhouse. They beat Charles
and publicly flog Rosy -- lopping off her mane of
rich brown hair -- until the arrival of fiery
parish priest, Father Collins (Trevor Howard).
Distraught, and lead to a stockpile of arms yet
undiscovered by the British by village idiot,
Michael (John Mills), Randolph commits suicide by
tossing a lighted match into a box of dynamite.
The tale ends as somberly as it had begun, with
Charles and Rosy departing the village in shame --
their future together quite uncertain and
ambiguous.
The best that can be said of the cast is that its
supporting players are exceptional character
studies -- from Trevor Howard's belligerent/yet
strangely sympathetic Father Collins (a part Lean
had wanted to go to his resident good luck charm
-- Alec Guinness) to John Mills brilliantly
conceived simpleton, Michael -- a role that won
the actor an Oscar.
However, nothing can excuse the problematic and
most damaging central performances of Sarah Miles,
Christopher Jones and, oddly enough, Robert
Mitchum -- who, working against type, is very much
given too little to do on screen. There simply is
NO chemistry, either between Miles and Mitchum or
Miles and Jones. The latter's sparse -- though
explicitly played -- love affair is hardly worthy
of the superlative visuals Lean's camera man,
Freddie Young provides.
Throughout the story, Young's photography is both
lush and stunning -- capturing the divine
isolation of the bulk head and beach, the cold
remoteness and grime of the village and the wicked
unrelenting rage of a storm at sea. Unfortunately
for Young, his handling of the subject matter is
too big for the fragile narrative thread of a
conventional lover's triangle.
The good news for Ryan's Daughter comes with
Warner's DVD -- newly mastered from an original
Super-Panavision restored 65mm camera negative.
The results are simply astounding with a visual
presentation that is almost three-dimensional.
Colors are vibrant, rich and so bold that they
almost jump from the screen. Contrast levels are
bang on. Whites are pristine. Blacks are solid.
There is no film grain present for a thoroughly
smooth image quality. Apart from a very strange
anomaly that occurs during the second half of the
film -- in which a slight horizontal flicker
occurs in the middle of the frame for only a
second -- there are NO age-related artifacts. The
film itself is divided on two discs at the half
way 'intermission' point for optimal performance.
Truly, this DVD presentation has to rank among the
finest ever achieved in the medium -- not just for
Warner, but DVD output en masse. The audio has
also been given extreme consideration and clean
up. The storm sequence in particular rocks the 5.1
channels with a howl and roar that is never
grating on the ears. Dialogue sounds incredibly
natural in all but a few brief sequences.
Extras include a very thorough three part
documentary on the making of the film, as well as
a comprehensive audio commentary with surviving
cast and crew, two vintage featurettes and the
film's original theatrical trailer: WOW! Bottom
line, then: Ryan's Daughter is a film to be
appreciated for its visual quality. It will appeal
primarily to fans of the Lean legacy. The DVD will
appeal to anyone who enjoys stunningly rendered
visual presentations. |
