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Sophie’s Choice
(1982)
Alan J Pakula’s Holocaust drama presumes its
own importance but doesn’t pause to consider the almost wholly turgid result.
Yes, the central scene (which provides the title) is powerful. But it is unable to justify the entire film; indeed, there is a strong disconnect between the
indulgent thespian antics of the US sections and the flashbacks to Poland.
It could be that William Styron’s novel
explores its themes more successfully but this adaptation consistently flies
its colours as a literary construct, employing several layers of unnecessary artifice
when the premise is potent enough. There’s the decision to make Sophie (Meryl
Streep) Polish Catholic (apparently because Styron wished to emphasise that the
actions of the Nazis were not limited to the Jewish people). We then learn that
her law professor father was aggressively anti-Semitic, and then that Sophie
was sent to Auschwitz for stealing a ham. Sophie’s lover Nathan (Kevin Kline)
is Jewish and schizophrenic. There is
a heavy-handed irony to the situations that have been created, seemingly at
every stage. The intent appears to be to make Sophie and Nathan’s relationship
poetically tragic (the highs of flights of fantasy and the lows of that ghosts
of the past, depression and storming arguments) but they are never believable.
This sense of design is added to by the use of a narrator, also the third
person in the love triangle; young would-be author Stingo (Peter MacNicol, best
known as Biscuit in Ally McBeal).
For a director whose low-key realism was a
defining trait during the ‘70s, Pakula seems unable to rein in his actors.
Streep accents her way to a second Oscar, aided by the make-up department delivering
a ghostly pallor and severe haircut. Kline showboats like crazy (if you’ll
excuse the choice of word), and it’s easy to see why John Cleese was inspired to
re-apply this energy to comic effect in A
Fish Called Wanda. In a comedy, a performance that feels like a performance
can be fine; in a serious-minded drama it’s just distracting. MacNicol,
meanwhile, is saddled with a character of such insipid naivety he makes John
Boy Walton appear worldly-wise. Accordingly, he irritates throughout. The trio
lack any qualities that would encourage the audience to invest in their
experiences.
The script employs various reveals in
relation to the characters, in addition to the tricky flashback structure.
These are momentarily effective but can’t compensate for the pervading
sluggishness. It’s become a cliché that films about disability or the Holocaust
are Oscar bait, but here the accusation seems justified. Sophie’s Choice is
overwrought and underwhelming.
**