2001 / 137 Minutes / R
Reviewed by Dale Nauertz

“Gosford Park” is one of those delightful films that just completely took me by surprise, the way that the best Robert Altman films have. I’m not a gigantic admirer of Altman. Sure, his method of overlapping dialogue is realistic, but it’s also sorta annoying at times. You have to really pay attention most of the time in an Altman film to figure out what the hell is going on. Then again, that’s probably his point. But I am being honest, it sometimes bugs me. Actually, aside from this qualm, I really haven’t got a lot of bad things to say about the man. “Nashville” was good but not, as some have suggested, “100 Best Films of All Time” good. Let’s not get carried away, folks. But “MASH” deserves as much credit as it can get (perhaps even more) and “The Player” attacks Hollywood filmmaking’s flaws with a zest and a surgical skill that few can dream of, even if I do think that it gets a bit aimless at times. Right there is my one problem with Altman’s approach: it sometimes, as in parts of “The Player” and “Nashville” gets a tad aimless and loses focus of what it wants to achieve.

But I have come, in this instance, to praise the man, not to damn him. Because “Gosford Park” is a glorious achievement, brimming with pitch perfect dialogue, delightful pacing, wonderful character development, and a script and cast so good that I will scream if neither gets recognition from the Academy (I will not, however, be surprised; I will simply scream). Altman has rarely given us a picture this accomplished, this skillful, this ambitious and dazzling in its own subtle way. And I say that in all boldness after seeing perhaps four of the man’s films.

The plot is simplicity itself. It’s like a Merchant Ivory film version of the board game “Clue”. That’s the best way I can describe it. A party of rich people congregate at the house of a snobbish land baron and dog enthusiast (Michael Gambon, a wonderful British actor that fans of “Sleepy Hollow” and “Toys” may recognize) for a weekend of bird shooting and gossip. A little shooting, a lot of gossip. Many of them have also come to beg money off of the land owner. Suddenly, the man winds up dead and it seems that everyone may be a suspect. Who did it? Who can stand to gain from the bastard’s death? An even better question: who actually wanted him alive?

What makes this movie really exciting and, I believe, is the heart and soul of it, is that the film is not solely concerned with the snobs and dames dining upstairs. It is just as interested (perhaps even more so) with the goings on downstairs: with the butlers and maids and valets who work their asses off to give the whole shindig the illusion of being effortless. The wait staff in this film is like the Hand of God: they’re hardly seen, but nothing would exist in this house without their presence. The film is marvelous in showing us the way they do their jobs with a little bitching and a lot of gossip. It is wonderful at demonstrating the way the serving class envies, despises, depends on, and lives vicariously through the ones it waits upon. It shows the class structure in fascinating detail. It is so fascinating, in fact, that one even forgets that there is supposed to be a murder in this film until someone walks into frame wielding a knife halfway through. Even after this, the murder mystery (complete with a bumbling inspector who bears a little resemblance to Peter Sellers’ Inspector Clouseau) is not nearly as interesting as how everyone reacts to it, and the subtle way that everyone stands to lose something, gain something, and has something to hide because of the murder. It’s more a comedy of manners, a study of manners, than it is anything else.

And it is brilliant because of this. I did care about the murder. I did care about how it all turned out. But I really enjoyed the way that the film arrived there and all the care it took in presenting its characters. Julian Fellowes NEEDS an award for Best Screenplay. For balancing over twenty main characters with such wit and aplomb, if nothing else, he deserves it. If for no more than simply providing the excellent framework for said study of manners, and filling the screen to the brim with such careful and observant details, the man deserves to have his script bronzed. It is based on an idea by Altman and Bob Balaban (who turns up as a constantly deal-making Hollywood producer completely out of his element) and they deserve some credit too, but I am sure that Fellowes is the one who made it sing. And then Altman stepped behind it to really kick it into gear.

The film is sometimes a tad confusing (it’s a miracle it isn’t even more so) and sometimes it takes a while to figure out who is who’s servant and who is doing what with whom. But you do figure it out, and it’s all in good fun anyway. Marvelous fun. The cinematography is pitch perfect. It’s not all candelabras and shiny veneer, it’s more earthy and subdued than all that. The camera swoops and glides through the proceedings like that of a documentarian (another precise and loving touch). The lighting is wonderful and dead on. The music underscores everything nicely.

And then you have the cast. Each of them is brilliant. Each and every one of them acquits themselves remarkably with the script and the surroundings. Of particular note are: Kelly MacDonald as a fresh, maid; Clive Owen as a servant with a secret; Emily Watson as a cynical, hardworn maid; Maggie Smith as a sad yet feisty old duchess; Ryan Phillippe as a man who is not what he seems; Richard E. Grant as a snide butler; Helen Mirren as the leader of the wait staff; and, oh hell, just look it up on the Internet Movie Database. They all deserve more credit than I can give them here. They’re all great and I thank them all.

In short, “Gosford Park” is a wonder to behold. It’s like a game of “Clue” with a pulse, only much better. It’s fascinating and stunning simply in the way it lays bare human relationships and servitude specifically. Watch it. You won’t regret it. Or forget it.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 4th, 2002 at 8:32 pm and is filed under Dale's Reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.