It was ironic that Julian Fellowes got an Oscar for best script for his work on Gosford Park, because its director, Robert Altman, has a long history of feuding with scriptwriters (and has never got an Oscar himself, despite numerous nominations). In the past, Altman was the freewheeling “action painter” of the American cinema — scripts were to him little more than vague sketches towards his final painting. He encouraged his actors to improvise or write their own dialogue.
And yet, in the 1980s, Altman changed. He had suffered the disasters of the incomprehensible futuristic drama Quintet and the utterly misguided musical adaptation of the Popeye comic strip. No one would finance an Altman movie. So he switched tack. The director famous for treating scripts like toilet paper made a series of low-budget filmed plays, leaving the scripts alone, concentrating instead on enlivening the otherwise static theatrical space. The results are among the most cinematic filmed plays ever.
Following the unexpected success of The Player in 1992, Altman was able to return to his classic multi-story style, and a year later he made Short Cuts, one of his greatest movies. He’s nothing if not unpredictable, but it was still a surprise to hear that this quintessentially American director planned to make Gosford Park in Britain, with a largely British cast, and that it was moreover a murder mystery set in a grand country house in 1932. It seemed the most unAltmanlike project he could possibly take on.
But it is a triumph. Of course Altman deconstructs the genre as much as he deconstructed the American detective story in 1973’s The Long Goodbye. We spend the first half of Gosford getting to know the myriad characters before the murder takes place. And, when it does, there is no urbane Agatha Christie detective on hand, but a bumbling excuse for a policeman.
But it’s the characters that matter — and their complex interactions. The most interesting interaction is
a class one: that of masters and servants. This is the very structure of Gosford Park. There is “above stairs” and there is “below stairs”, and the twain meet in fascinating ways, as the social order struggles to contain itself during a long weekend of shooting, eating and bitching.
Above stairs, there’s Sir William McCordle (Michael Gambon), the rude parvenu who lords it over the manor, and his frostily aristocratic wife Lady Sylvia (Kristin Scott-Thomas). Arriving for the weekend are Lady Sylvia’s caustic but dependent aunt, the Countess of Trentham (Maggie Smith), the hoary old warrior Lord Stockbridge (Charles Dance), and many others. Matinée idol Ivor Novello (Jeremy Northam) turns up, along with a Hollywood producer (Bob Balaban) researching his next picture.
With these members of the upper class, naturally, come as many servants. Below stairs, there are the regular staffers, the stiffly correct butler Jennings (Alan Bates), the housekeeper Mrs Wilson (Helen Mirren), almost as frosty as Lady Sylvia herself, Sir William’s valet (Derek Jacobi), and many more. There are the visiting servants, including Countess Trentham’s maid Mary (Kelly Macdonald), Lord Stockbridge’s man Parks (Clive Owen), and the fishy Scotsman (Ryan Philippe) working for the American producer. All in all, a sufficient number of characters to populate several country-house murder mysteries. Plus a soap opera, perhaps.
Altman weaves this large cast together masterfully. It’s as though the population of the great house is a single complex organism, and just seeing how it works is riveting. Altman’s movies seldom have that much-prized cinematic attribute narrative drive, but they have something that is much rarer and more precious — flow.
The camera keeps moving and the focus keeps modulating (which made life hell for the projectionists at the cinema where I saw the movie — they have enough trouble with ordinary movies as it is). The camera stumbles upon details that may be inconsequential but add to the sense of crowded vitality. Things or people on the margin of the frame pull attention away from the centre.
It all works brilliantly to create a feeling of unease and instability, just right for a murder mystery, as well as for a mordant commentary on class. Not to mention Altman’s famously jaundiced view of humanity in general. The humour is dark; the tone shifts between that of backbiting melodrama and absurdist satire. And yet what some would call Altman’s nihilism is balanced by a true storyteller’s generosity and open-mindedness, his acceptance of every character’s quirky individuality. All the many people in Gosford Park come across as peculiarly alive: it’s not simply a matter of superb performances, although they are superb, all of them; it’s also down to the vital world Altman makes for them. Go with his flow.
Five lucky readers can win a Gosford Park/Cluedo Murder Mystery board game and a movie poster. Answer the question below and send entries with name and address to: Gosford Park/Mail & Guardian competition, PO Box 652417, Benmore, 2010 before September 20.
Who plays Lady Sylvia?