"LES MISERABLES" -- MAGNIFIQUE!

Last night I saw “Les Miserables” and was moved to tears on several occasions, notably during Anne Hathaway’s (Fantine) heartfelt “I Dreamed a Dream;” the trio (“In My Life/Heart Full of Love”) in which Cosette and Marius express wonderment about their love while Éponine, looking on, poignantly grieves for her unrequited love for Marius; Valjean’s death scene in which he is joined by the ghosts of Fantine and the Bishop (“Take My Hand”) and the rousing ensemble anthems (“One More Day” and  “Do You Hear the People Sing”) grandly evoking the cause and solidarity of the oppressed Parisian population struggling to adapt to the Industrial Revolution.

Superb acting throughout breathed life into Victor Hugo’s characters, making me believe the actors truly inhabited them — Stanislavski would be proud. The N.Y. Times critic, Manohla Dargis, put it colorfully “Ms. Hathaway, though, holds you rapt with raw, trembling emotion. She devours the song, the scene, the movie, and turns her astonishing, cavernous mouth into a vision of the void.” Seasoned Broadway pro, Hugh Jackman, dazzled with his virtuosic range from angry prisoner, to redeemed sinner, tender father, intense yet forgiving adversary, introspective existentialist, noble everyman. Relative newcomer, Samantha Barks’ strong, emotion-laden voice elevated Éponine into the ranks of memorable tragic heroines. Amanda Seyfried’s loving, tender and vulnerable Cosette melded warmly with Eddie Redmayne’s equally loving, tender and vulnerable Marius. Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham-Carter left little scenery un-masticated as they romped through the roles of larcenous, outré innkeepers to cartoonish perfection, (“Master of the House”) providing welcome comic relief from the story’s otherwise unremitting, tragic grimness. (I thank whomever cast Bonham-Carter as the Queen of Hearts in “Alice in Wonderland” for having unshackled her from her dour Victorian stereotype so we could appreciate her wry comedic genius.) One comment posted on Fandango summarized the acting succinctly: “When Russell Crowe is your weakest link, you've got a heckava movie on your hands!” -- and Crowe left it all on the set.

Tom Hooper directed flawlessly, faithfully evoking the grim reality of the period,  the horrifying plight of the miserable souls giving rise to the work’s title and the redeeming power of love and Christian charity. Hooper visually sets the overriding theme symbolically in the spectacular opening shot, with multitudes of wretched prisoners hauling long lines to drag a leviathan warship, badly listing, into dry dock for repairs under the cold eye of Javert, the embodiment of the law. He follows it with another, equally symbolic scene of Valjean shouldering an impossibly heavy crosspiece yardarm while assailed by Javert. Hooper’s choice of recording live rather than lip-synching has been criticized, unjustly in my view, inasmuch as by removing the safety net the former technique raises the bar for the actors to express themselves more genuinely than if dubbed, with gratifying results. One appreciates Hooper’s attention to symbolic detail, such as including in the background a piece of handwritten banner with the word “Mort,” part of a French phrase expressing a willingness to die for the cause, behind Éponine as she dies at the barricades, and the eye (presumably of God) painted on the building above Valjean as he prays (“Bring Him Home”) for Marius’ deliverance  in the coming battle.

This was the union of Broadway and Hollywood, brilliantly rendering hommage to the glorious tradition of Grand Opera -- composer Claude-Michel Schönberg’s memorable arias, lush orchestration and exquisite counterpoint and melodies interwoven into intricate trios, quartets and quintets; Herbert Kretzmer’s moving lyrics; Victor Hugo’s epic, elevated themes; convoluted plots, ethical dilemmas; dramatic tension and release, leavened by humor; insightful recreations of historical events — spectacles devised to provoke a tidal wave of emotion within the audience.

It succeeded. The film evoked an emotional response more intense than any I have experienced in a lifetime of opera-going for two reasons, both relating to the intimacy achievable by film as compared to opera: First,  the emotional fidelity of voices captured “au natural” by movie microphones, rather than “controlled shouting,” (so described by Pavarotti), required to fill the opera house. (It’s hard to be gripped by the emotional sincerity of Violettas, dying of consumption, singing tenderly to Alfredos with voices not only competing with scene-stealing tenors but also reaching their claques standing in the nosebleed section.) Second, the close-up, bringing the audience inches away from the protagonists displayed on 2,100 square feet of screen — rather than requiring one to squint through opera glasses from the second balcony at tiny figures onstage across a cavernous opera house.

As the credits rolled at the conclusion of the film, the audience applauded warmly, not just for the movie, but also for individual performers as their names crossed the screen. It was a night at the opera.

Perhaps one line (and I may be paraphrasing), spoken toward the end, sums up the essence of this wondrous work: “Whomsoever loves looks upon the face of God.” 
I . . . Loved. . . It.