Tristan +
Isolde
(2006)
Is it Kevin
Reynolds’ mission to direct faintly dull period pictures between Kevin Costner
collaborations? That seems to be the case, with this, Rapa Nui and, to a lesser extent, The Count of Monte Cristo. Tristan
is by far his most soporific film, however, and he is fortunate that his career
torpor has been relieved by the Hatfields
and McCoys mini-series.
Did some
less-than-savvy marketing exec think that adding the “+” to the title gave the
film some sort of Romeo + Juliet
“street” cachet with the kids? That’s the only thing I can come up with
(although, it’s unclear which is correct; imdb has a “+”, the poster “&”).
Ridley Scott
was originally attached to a version of this tale in the ‘70s, and perhaps he
would have had the edge on Boorman’s Excalibur.
But I doubt it. The legend predates the Arthurian romance between Lancelot and
Guinevere, but just isn’t as compelling. Both involve a love triangle with the
king as cuckold, but the Arthurian take has abundant rich mythology surrounding
it. Reynolds eliminates any supernatural elements (no love potion here) and
goes for the post-Gladiator “blood
and brutality” take on legends (see also Bruckheimer’s King Arthur and Ridley Scott’s Robin
Hood), thus eliminating much of what made them so compelling in the first
place.
The bare
bones: Sophia Myles plays Isolde, daughter of the Irish king, who tends the
injured Tristan (James Franco) when he washes ashore in Ireland. Naturally, they
fall in love. Tristan serves English King Marke (Rufus Sewell), who saved his
life when he was a child. Tristan must flee back to Britain, never having
learned Isolde’s real name. He wins a tournament as King Marke’s champion but
learns that the prize (part of a plot by the King of Ireland), a bride for
Marke, is Isolde. Tristan and Isolde embark on a clandestine romance that eventually
has ramifications both personal and political.
The most
obvious problem with Reynolds’ film, aside from the complete lack of
inspiration in the visuals and screenplay, is the miscasting of Franco. He is
the personification of the feckless movie brat, surly and tepid when he should
be representing a heroic ideal. More superficially, he has the anachronistic look
and air of a modern American and does nothing to disguise this. He lacks
believability as a brutal fighter and has zero charisma as a doomed lover (and
no chemistry with Myles). This isn’t just a jab at the ubiquity of Franco; he
was fine in Sam Raimi’s Spider-man
films, working against his bland good looks. But here he is called on to do
little more than pout and preen; he certainly can’t carry the film. The result
is only a little less embarrassing than Orlando Bloom’s leading man duties in Kingdom of Heaven. Crucially, the
romance plot, upon which the films drama rests entirely, crumbles. If we don’t
sympathise with the title characters, and we don’t, we gravitate towards the
measured and reasonable Marke .
Everyone else
(Myles, Sewell, Mark Strong, Henry Cavill, David O’Hara) is fine, but Dean
Georgaris’ screenplay is lifeless and his dialogue is forgettable (he is also
credited on The Manchurian Candidate
remake, Paycheck and the second Tomb Raider; not the most illustrious of
CVs). Reynolds stages the action competently, but there’s no spark or vitality to
lift this extremely pedestrian retelling of the legend.
**
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