The one thing cinema offers that stage-shows
cannot is the ability to take the action into an expanded landscape. Here Les
Mis misses. Outwith the first 15 minutes of Jean Valjean’s personal and
physical journey, and for all of the talented vocalization on show (and Russell
Crowe’s misjudged rock operatics), this epic tales seems small and localized.
The barricades look like the front garden at a house clearance and the sweeping
Parisian vistas go no further than a quick view of Notre Dame and watching Russell
spend more time precipitously wobbling along the edges of high walls than a
depressed lemming.
Once Anne Hathaway goes so does most of our
interest with Amanda Siegfried’s grown up Cossette being so pallid and dull you
wonder what all the fuss is about. And, by sticking so closely to its core
source, the coincidences become ridiculous. This is a big event movie that
doesn’t rise above it’s confinements and is, consequently, extraordinarily long
and emotionally distant.
4/10
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