The film begins with Kelly MacDonald as Mary Macreachran, maid to
Constance, Countess of Trentham waiting in the rain by a Rolls Royce.
Constance, played delightfully by Maggie Smith, walks out and into the car,
showing not a care that Mary is soaked. As they drive, Constance can’t
figure out how to open her thermos of tea, forcing the car to be pulled over
so Mary can open it for her. It’s a not so clever way of establishing the
ingratitude and helplessness of the British upper-classes during the period
between the wars.
They soon arrive at Gosford Park for a weekend shooting party. A large
string of characters is introduced, aristocrats and servants, upstairs and
downstairs. Michael Gambon’s Sir William McCordle is hosting the party along
with his wife Sylvia played by Kirstin Scott Thomas. Downstairs, Helen
Mirren’s Mrs. Wilson, Eileen Atkins’s Mrs. Croft, and Alan Bates’s Jennings
run the show as Housekeeper, Cook, and Butler respectfully.
Problems and relations romantic and financial are soon revealed within both
groups and between them, setting the stage for Sir William’s murder and its
aftermath.
Altman has received much praise for this film, notably in the form of the
Best Director prize for 2001 from the American Film Institute, New York Film
Critics Circle, and National Society of Film Critics. Seeing Gosford Park, I
cannot but feel it is undeserved. First, it outright steals the shooting scene from Jean
Renoir’s The Rules of the Game. Second, it has managed to nod to almost
everything good British director Joseph Losey ever did. Third, the film’s
satire is all too obvious and anyone who has read the novels of Evelyn Waugh
or P.G. Wodehouse, or for that matter seen PBS’s wonderful adaptation of
Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster stories, will know what good satire of the
British upper class is. As for the mystery, anyone who has read half an
Agatha Christie novel will have solved the mystery by 30 minutes in.
But Gosford Park is rescued by the fill of its many fine performances. Now, if
you gave a dog the cast assembled here, it would make a good film. This is
not to say Altman has the directorial talent of a mind the size of a small
potato. Rather, just that it didn’t take much IQ to direct this picture,
considering the acting talent involved.
Of note are Gambon’s performance, which isn’t much on
paper or in dialogue but is much more in his gruff manner and gluttonous
bulk; Emily Watson’s housemaid, whose strength and heart shine through her
weariness; and Helen Mirren’s housekeeper, whose posture and face show off
her unemotional and robotic servant manner, much like Anthony Hopkins in
Remains of the Day.
But the most praise goes to Clive Owen’s Robert Parks and Kelly MacDonald’s
aforementioned Mary Macreachran. Owen’s talent is masculine
and mesmerizing. When 20 characters are presented on
screen, one wants to know only what he’s doing. MacDonald has the difficult
responsibility of holding the movie together as amateur detective. She
projects youth and innocence but never naiveté and always intelligence.
Since first appearing in Trainspotting she has never quite come into
her own. With this performance, however, she proves her talent. Hopefully others
will take notice.
To be honest, almost every performance has something good in it, from
Richard E. Grant’s devilish footman to Bob Balaban’s neurotic Morris
Weissman, the producer of Charlie Chan films. With a better script and better
direction, something truly exceptional could have come about, perhaps even a
classic. Instead a halfheartedly made film has been served up as art, great only
in comparison to the Hollywood trash that surrounds it in the theater.
Distributor Web site: USA Films
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