I am an Oscar buff. Cher's dress interests me
(as does Ashley Judd's). The interminable night is always one
hour too short. "And the Oscar goes to . . ." is the
worst, but that hint of gentility is more than made up by the
sour looks of a loser, especially a sure winner loser like Lauren
Bacall of two years ago.
I like a tight five for Oscar night. My dilemma
- Saving Private Ryan, The Big Lebowski, Out of Sight, and
Shakespeare in Love were in, but I had no fifth. I have it now,
and should Life is Beautiful or Rushmore impress, the Coen
brothers are on the bubble. Gods and Monsters is a graceful film
about the life of 30s director James Whale, as played by Ian
McKellan. Dealing almost exclusively with Whale's life post
directorial heyday, and post stroke, Bill Condon weaves a life by
flashback, a life that is tortured by lost love, war, mental
debilitation, and a choice to be openly homosexual in a Hollywood
that could not stand such a choice (cllrdr's book "Open
Secret" is an incisive companion to closeted 30s Hollywood,
and Whale figures prominently therein).
Brendan Fraser, as a buff, stubbornly
heterosexual mower of Whale's lawn, appears as a vision to the
retired director. Fraser is Whale's "monster" (Whale
directed "Frankenstein" and "Bride of
Frankenstein"). In Fraser, Whale sees a past of horror and
triumph, and the two men begin to share incongruous afternoons
through that conflicted past. Whale's loyal carekeeper - an
unrecognizable and touching Lynn Redgrave (she comes off as a
sweet Mrs. Danvers, even as she warns Fraser that Whale practices
the "unspeakable") - serves as a frame to the kinetic
battle between Whale and the gardener.
This is, however, Ian McKellan's film, and I
cannot remember when I was so entranced by a performance. He is
gentle with Whale, yet never self-pitying. He reveals Whale's
humor, but never lampoons who or what he is. And in that
treatment, the viewer is immediately kin to his pain, a pain
that, as portrayed by McKellan, is universal to men of Whale's
generation. There are laugh out loud moments that do not occur
because you do not want to miss what McKellan says or how he says
it.
Not that McKellan's performance drags Gods into
the performance film. This is no "Gloria" or
"Salvador." Condon has woven the tortures of war,
sexual conflict, and mental strife effortlessly. We are
transported by the "thunderstorms" in Whale's mind (a
byproduct of his stroke) to the trenched of WWI, 30s Hollywood,
and his meager upbringing in the North of England without any
clumsiness, but rather, with haunting skill. The bolts of
lightning move us from present hazy color to past grainy
black-and-white to dreamlike Panasonic, as if we were watching an
old Wolfman film. Condon presages the film texture by showing
both Fraser and Whale viewing "Bride of Frankenstein"
on an old black-and-white.
Best, Condon allows McKellan to portray Whale
not as a victim of his choices and his sexuality, but rather, as
a dignified man for those choices (contrast the feared look on
George Cukor's face as Whale and he meet during Whale's nadir and
Cukor's zenith) . There are no soliloquies or sermons. The demons
that haunt James Whale are far greater than his sexuality.
Condon's last film, for what it is worth, is "Candyman II:
Farewell to the Flesh," which is apropos.
The Coen Brothers may lose out on my list due
to the genius of Gods, but they have only themselves to blame.
Joel Coen contributed an original Whale drawing of the
Frankenstein monster, as well as long-time Coen composer Carter
Burwell. His score is alternately eerie and mystic, never
intrusive.
A minor criticism in an otherwise flawless film
is Fraser. He does not display his own demons with the same skill
as McKellan and occasionally, he appears overmatched. Still, he
has his moments, and the scene wherein McKellan reveals (for
sure) his sexual orientation to Fraser while they both enjoy
stogies is witty and deft.
