And that score has got to go. It’s the brooding and clotted-cream heavy
violin
"swinging on a tear" dramatic sound that the film doesn't need. If
anything, I would have
appreciated some Irish music for a film that's primarily set in Ireland,
about Irish people
and Irish troubles. All I hear is another John Williams score - and
in the true
contradiction of cinema - it's job seems to be to define the film,
rather than to marry itself
to the images - which is should be suited to do. It's a score speaking
for the film. When
images don't speak for themselves, it would be better to close our
eyes and listen to the
music. How can Alan Parker not understand that - let's look at some
of his former films,
such as 'Midnight Express' (with an Oscar-winning amazing score that
truly complements
the images in the film), 'Evita', 'The Wall' and 'The Commitments'
- which are musicals, for
Christ's sake! Odd that this film would have this strangely over-musical
vibe to it when his
other films are all so heavily musical entities in themselves.
I'm not one who's bothered by sadness and depravity - which 'Angela's
Ashes' has
in spades. The unflinching poverty and sadness experienced here was
done without a
buffer zone - which is admirable and unsparing (even though the real
Limerick doesn't look that bad - and could not double as anything that
depleted, which is why it was filmed on a soundstage -
which looks as real and evocative of the time and place as Neil Jordan's
opening
sequence to "Michael Collins" - the G.P.O. Easter Rising, also filmed
entirely on a set).
As usual - Emily Watson renders us speechless. She is the most bankable
actress
working - you never see her in a "bad" movie or a bad performance out
of her. I’m still
gunning for a rematch of 1996’s Oscars where she lost to Frances McDormand.
(If you’ve
seen “Breaking the Waves” - you can donate money to my cause - that’s
a perfect film).
Robert Carlyle spews the pathetic helplessness of a drunkard and the
effortless
likeableness of a father through the eyes of his sons - who are noted,
and rightly so, as
innocents - forgiving, strong and naive.
The three kids who play Frank McCourt are all outstanding - particularly
the
youngest (Joe Breen, whose face frames the haunting poster which leads
us to believe
we're about to see a film outlining the look on this face - beautiful
- a great image).
They never really mesh well, though (the fact that Parker chooses to
use no transition
when jumping ahead in time is really irritating). I felt like I was
watching three separate
movies about three separate kids. A fatal and key flaw. To have to
constantly start over
again was one really maddening turn of the screw.
The film holds our interest, despite the flaws. It’s more of a showcase
of great
acting than anything. It's overdone and highly sentimental where it
should be low-key and
taken at face value - but it's forgivable in it's logic for portraying
a memoir - a personal
and internal story that one cannot judge too harshly as one has no
frame of reference into
the mind of he whose life is unfolding before our eyes (I’ll grant
that type of pardon
here, but for 'Girl, Interrupted', I have to see promise first).
(Of course, if you've read this far, I've judged it harshly for such
things. All of which are
somewhat inconsequential, something I've come to realize in the fact
that it is a memoir.)
And finally, it's got the 'Hideous Kinky' syndrome. It's got a great
title, with a
great reference point and it never bothers to tell us the story of
the title. It leaves it as an
ambiguous pagemarker that we're supposed to draw meaning from, based
on what we just
watched - which is not the case. The title springs from the older
two - Malarchy and our
humble narrator, Frank; receiving their mother's ashes and, on their
way to scatter them,
leave them in a NYC bar - realizing their folly, return in just enough
time to collect them
before they are disposed of.
A nice little story that could've been worked into a jumpy film like
this easily.