A Good Year (2006, Dir. Ridley Scott)

Synopsis:

Successful stock market trader, Max (Russell Crowe), travels back to Provence for the first time in many years when he learns that his Uncle Henry (Albert Finney) has died and left him the slighty dilapidated house and vineyards where he spent many happy summers as a boy. Wrapped up in his busy life, Max initially intends to sell the property quickly and get home to London. When events conspire to force him to stay in Provence a little longer, he begins to wonder whether that was the right decision after all.

As with my recent post about the role of orchestrators and arrangers in the world of film music, this was partly inspired by a conversation on Twitter with my friend and author Alistair Owen. I’d actually been planning to write about this particular film since this blog’s inception as it often seems as if my wife and I are the only two people who love it and no-one else, Alistair included, can see it for the lightweight but superb piece of cinematic joy that it really is.

I’ve mentioned several times how very little is needed to spark my interest in a movie – an iconic image or poster, a well made trailer or even an interview with the director or cast member about a facet of its production. Whilst it’s much rarer in my case, the opposite effect is also possible – a trailer or poster that can literally make you say: “I have absolutely no interest in watching that whatsoever” – and this was what happened initially with A Good Year. I can vividly remember watching the trailer in the cinema and almost choking on my popcorn when I saw that it was directed by Ridley Scott.

How. Could. That. Be???

Ridley Scott, the man who, with Alien and Blade Runner, directed two of the most iconic sci-fi films of all time, a visual stylist whose less acclaimed films like Legend or Black Rain still looked better than some filmmakers entire body of work. Then I remembered: in recent years Scott had rejuvenated his career by making wildly divergent films that had, for the most part, left me completely cold. Gladiator, which both critics and the public had adored, I’d hated – as far as I could see its success sprung mostly from the fact that nobody had tried to make a big budget historical epic for many years and that CGI now enabled them to recreate ancient worlds with hitherto unimaginable realism. It was just empty spectacle as far as I was concerned. The story, whose twists and turns I could see coming from miles away, bored the hell out of me and Russell Crowe, who I’d adored in The Quick & The Dead, L.A. Confidential and The Insider, was being lauded for giving a performance which had none of the subtlety and charm of any of those previous films. Scott’s subsequent films were equally erratic, I’d enjoyed parts of Hannibal and found The Matchstick Men mostly intriguing but the rest I hadn’t even bothered with. Each film served to further damage his once glorious reputation as one of the greatest directors. This was surely the final nail in his coffin – a romantic comedy set in the South Of France? Enough! I just can’t bear it anymore…

Imagine my surprise to discover that I was completely wrong and as to quote the film, I would „find pleasure in the most unlikely places.“

I should digress for a moment here and mention my wife’s role in all of this: She grew up in a house without a TV and, as such, is extraordinarily effected by visual imagery in a way that few other people are. When we were first together, I joked that I felt a little like Harrison Ford’s character in Witness when he makes a reference to a coffee advert whilst he’s living with the Amish family – they just stare at him blankly because they have none of the same cultural reference points that he does. I could write another entire post about my failures at finding suitable films for Heidi and I to watch early on in our relationship – my ill-advised suggestion that we watch Peter Weir’s Picnic At Hanging Rock, for example, has now achieved an almost legendary status in the amount of times I’ve had to tell the story of what a mistake that was… Anyway, in an attempt to find something we can both enjoy I’ve watched a lot more feel-good and romantic movies and this was initially chosen because it ticked many of the same boxes (humour, romance, beautiful location) as something Heidi loves: the Rosamunde Pilcher/Kate Fforde/Inga Lindstrom sagas that are shown regularly on German and Swiss television. In case you have never endured one of these then allow me to quickly summarize their general features: They take place in some incredibly romanticized version of an already picturesque location: Cornwall, Oxford, Olso, some generic version of the coast of Ireland; which, astonishingly, is all populated by German-speaking natives and whose fates are intertwined in the most credulity-stretching manner imaginable – not even Shakespeare himself would have dared to have the amount of long lost twins, illegitimate children, mistaken identities or accidental meetings in a single narrative as these do. It’s topped off with a degree of wooden, over-the-top acting and ham fisted dialogue that makes Eastenders look like a Mike Leigh film in comparison. Despite this, Heidi (and a great many other people I know) seem to find them utterly compelling…

With that in mind, I expected to tolerate A Good Year rather than actually enjoy it, but 3 minutes into the film, watching the opening scene with Freddie Highmore as the young version of Max and the wonderful Albert Finney as Uncle Henry, I’m gobsmacked: this is not only o.k., it’s genuinely funny and enjoyable. I spend the rest of that first viewing laughing out loud a lot, but constantly wondering when the film was going to fall apart – I mean it couldn’t possibly be this much fun all the way through could it? But it was. The story maybe every bit as predictable (and in a way, clichéd) as the Tele-Roman series that Heidi watches (or even Gladiator for that matter), but the way in which it is told, the delivery of the lines, the sharpness of the script and even, yes, the film’s visual style raise it far above the norm.

Let’s start with the script, adapted by Marc Klein from one of the many books set in Provence, by author Peter Mayle (interestingly, before emigrating to France and becoming extremely successful in promoting the region where he ended up living, Mayle was best known for writing the rather purile but still amusing “Man’s Best Friend” books about the witty thoughts of a talking penis). Klein does a brilliant job of streamlining Mayle’s narrative – almost completely junking the book’s mystery element of who is producing this well-known local boutique wine, Le Coin Perdu – and focusing more heavily on Max’s relationship with his Uncle through flashbacks and turning Fanny from the sympathetic character of the book into one whose relationship with Max is initially more antagonistic, creating romantic tension between them as well as an opportunity for some lovely fiery exchanges between the two leads. In fact, the dialogue throughout the film is superb. From Max’s chiding of his friend Charlie looking at a waitress’ prominent cleavage: “If you could get your mind off the double frontage with a view and back on to the French real estate…” and Charlie’s estate agent jargon: “We don’t say: ‘shabby’, Max, we say: ‘filled with the patina of a bygone age’…” to this glorious exchange between vigneron Duflot and his fabulously ditzy wife over dinner with Max and his cousin Christie:

Madame Duflot: Papa speaks “Provençal”.

Duflot: It’s a dead language, now almost exclusively practiced by poets and sodomites.

Madame Duflot: What means “sodomite”, by the way?

Duflot: I’ll explain it to you later tonight…

Again and again there are lovely bits of dialogue or moments that weren’t part of the book, that raise the source material from something rather mundane to the top tier of romantic comedy writing – witty, without laboring the joke; romantic without ever being soppy.

Then there are the performances.

In his comments on Twitter, Alistair mentioned he didn’t think Russell Crowe could “do comedy” and I think most of this film’s critics would agree with him. I’d actually argue that this and The Nice Guys prove that Crowe can actually “do comedy” remarkably well and if you’ve ever seen him interviewed (particularly on something like The Graham Norton Show), you’ll know Crowe is actually quite amusing in real life, particularly when telling anecdotes. I think it’s more a case, as with fellow Australians Eric Bana and Cate Blanchett, that comedy is just not the thing people expect from them as an actor. I’d argue that this actually often makes them better comedic actors than some comedians – they can handle changes of tone in a scene, don’t over act (unless asked to) and don’t feel the need hog all the funny lines.

Marion Cotillard is equally enjoyable as Fanny, who would, no doubt, have been a largely uninteresting character both on the page and another actor’s hands. Cotillard deftly walks the line between making her both aggressive and yet attractive. Because of this we have that rarest of romantic comedy tropes: a well rounded female character. She is not a stereotypical love interest – at least at first, she is genuinely antagonistic to the male lead – yet she’s not ‘a heartless bitch who needs to be wooed’ either. Certainly having someone of Cotillard’s caliber in the role elevates the part considerably and means that the relationship between Max and Fanny never descends into saccharine slush.

It’s a testament to this film’s brilliance however, that, as good as the two leads are, they are largely outshined by the fabulous supporting cast.

I’ve already mentioned Albert Finney but his performance here must surely rank as one of the best of his later career. I’m sure playing a charismatic, boozy mentor figure wasn’t much of a stretch for him, but he does it with such style that you completely understand why Max and many of the female characters are so fond of him. His scenes with Freddie Highmore playing the young Max also have a lovely familial tenderness to them and you can feel the affection the two characters have for each other, despite the sarcasm and humor, which is what makes them an absolute joy to watch.

In any other film Finney’s performance would perhaps overshadow all the others, but the other supporting roles are so good that it’s not the case. Tom Hollander, as Max’s lawyer and friend Charlie, is as superb as he always is in everything. As with Finney, I’m sure this was a fairly easy role for him, but having an actor as good as him in the role lifts the character from simply being a plot device or a foil for Max’s character into someone you care about. This is true of so many of the roles here. Characters that are essentially window dressing, there simply to reveal more about Max’s character or to give him something to play off against, some of whom literally only have a few lines, are played by the likes of Richard Coyle, Daniel Mays, Rafe Spall and Kenneth Cranham. A particular stand out is Archie Panjabi as Jemma, Max’s assistant. I’m sure much of what makes her alternatively bossy, mothering and disapproving character so wonderful was probably not on the page – the fantastically resigned way she answers one of Max’s constant phone calls from France with “Hello, this is Mission Control…” or her “Now, you listen to Mummy, Max….” are just brilliant. Abbie Cornish was still relatively unknown when she played the role of Henry’s illegitimate daughter, Christie, in this. Despite her character being perhaps the most clichéd, Cornish does a decent job at making her come alive and be more than just an annoying American teenager with (according to most of the male characters) ‘a nice bum.’

The French cast members are all equally good. With Didier Bourdon and Isabelle Candelier as the vigneron, Duflot, and his wife being particular stand outs, especially Candelier who is just brilliant in the way she still treats the grown up Max like the little boy he used to be.

Using someone with such a unique visual style as Scott to shoot this is a little bit like using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut, but why should visionary directors keep doing the same style of film? In my post about Running On Empty a few years back, I argued that the best known of Sydney Lumet’s films are so iconic that they tend to overshadow the rest of his filmography. This is equally true of Scott. He will never be able to make another film as iconic as either Alien or Blade Runner and even though I have gone on record stating my love for Prometheus, I’d much rather he makes more films like this than try and revisit his former glories through unnecessary prequels. Yes, this is an anomaly on his filmography (but so are White Squall, Thelma & Louise and Matchstick Men) and requires a different sort of visual style, but it’s no less effective for that. Contrasting the cool blue hues of modern London with the warmer amber tones he uses for Provence, Scott can no more craft a boring visual anymore than Fincher or Kubrick can and even when his subject matter is a modern penthouse near the Gherkin or dappled moonlight across the chateau’s vineyards it looks stunning. In the hands of a master like Scott and his editor Dody Dorn, even two old men having a tennis match is heightened into a superb montage of details: the dust of the court, the sweat dripping from the forehead; whilst never losing sight of the humor of the scene. This is not just random stylistic flourish either – the style over substance critique that dogged reviews of a lot of Scott’s early work isn’t true at all here. This is raising the visual mis-en-scene of this style of film far beyond what it would normally be, whilst never forgetting that the dialogue and performances are the most important thing on show here.

After we’d watched it that first time, my wife and I both agreed that it was something we’d definitely watch again and over the years it has become one of our favorite “shared films”, along with The Holiday, Music & Lyrics, Sideways and Down By Law. We re-watch it at least once a year, if not more, and we regularly quote lines from it. Like Sideways, we find it impossible to watch without a glass of wine in hand and, perhaps most miraculously of all, I can watch it now without my brain going: “This was directed by the same person who directed Blade Runner F.F.S.!” It is also the only other of Scott’s films that I have seen as often as Blade Runner and perhaps that ultimately is its brilliance for me – that I can watch it again and again; finding, despite its apparent simplicity, further things to enjoy with each viewing. If you’ve never seen it, put off by the incongruity of Ridley Scott directing a Rom-com, or have seen it and failed to really appreciate how well it’s been made, or how good the dialogue and performances are, do yourself a favor and give it another try. If you can, try to forget the trailer which makes it seem more serious than it really is and who the director is and simply enjoy it on its most basic level: as a far better than average take on a very traditional genre of film. As is the case with some wines, the second sip maybe much better than the first.