The Man Who Cried (2000)
On paper, this looks unstoppable: in the 1920s, a Russian Jewish family is torn by war and poverty into pieces, the father leaving his little girl behind as he seeks a better life in America. This is the story of the girl, who flees, with some luck, to England, and then as a young woman to Paris, seemingly in search of her father. But she is delayed there long enough to be involved in an acting troupe, falls in love with a gypsy horseman, watches Paris fall to the Nazis, and escapes to America, at last, to find her father.
How in the world could this go wrong? There are even three truly stellar actors in lead roles: Cate Blanchett (as a Russian expatriate dancer in Paris), Johnny Depp (the Gypsy, of course), and John Turturro (an Italian opera singer, well done!). And the photography, by French cinematographer Sacha Vierny in her last film, and the production design, by Carlos Conte, who worked on Kite Runner and Motorcycle Diaries, among recent films, are terrific, almost self-sustaining.
But somehow it is slow going stuff. It isn't lyrical, some voyage through disaster and beauty, and it even avoids sympathy for many of the characters, who naturally fall to one fate or another in this topsy turvy environment. Partly it's the script--there is little said, and very little said of interest, probing or fascinating or moving. And it's been said before, of course--the story, taken in its broadest sense, is that familiar terrible story that needs retelling, but with greater intensity and respect. Again, it looks good on paper.
So, director Sally Potter is in charge here, and she wrote it, too. I really liked the surprise and invention of Orlando, which she directed, but that, too, was flawed, and it's probably her best film. The rest of her resume, that I've seen or heard about, is paltry stuff. So watch this knowing it has the chops, the goods, and the best of intentions, but it will only feel amazing in small parts, which never quite get rolling into a meaningful whole, including the calculated and inevitable tear-jerking end.
On paper, this looks unstoppable: in the 1920s, a Russian Jewish family is torn by war and poverty into pieces, the father leaving his little girl behind as he seeks a better life in America. This is the story of the girl, who flees, with some luck, to England, and then as a young woman to Paris, seemingly in search of her father. But she is delayed there long enough to be involved in an acting troupe, falls in love with a gypsy horseman, watches Paris fall to the Nazis, and escapes to America, at last, to find her father.
How in the world could this go wrong? There are even three truly stellar actors in lead roles: Cate Blanchett (as a Russian expatriate dancer in Paris), Johnny Depp (the Gypsy, of course), and John Turturro (an Italian opera singer, well done!). And the photography, by French cinematographer Sacha Vierny in her last film, and the production design, by Carlos Conte, who worked on Kite Runner and Motorcycle Diaries, among recent films, are terrific, almost self-sustaining.
But somehow it is slow going stuff. It isn't lyrical, some voyage through disaster and beauty, and it even avoids sympathy for many of the characters, who naturally fall to one fate or another in this topsy turvy environment. Partly it's the script--there is little said, and very little said of interest, probing or fascinating or moving. And it's been said before, of course--the story, taken in its broadest sense, is that familiar terrible story that needs retelling, but with greater intensity and respect. Again, it looks good on paper.
So, director Sally Potter is in charge here, and she wrote it, too. I really liked the surprise and invention of Orlando, which she directed, but that, too, was flawed, and it's probably her best film. The rest of her resume, that I've seen or heard about, is paltry stuff. So watch this knowing it has the chops, the goods, and the best of intentions, but it will only feel amazing in small parts, which never quite get rolling into a meaningful whole, including the calculated and inevitable tear-jerking end.
