Hollywood is a sucker for romantic epics. Long after the genre reached its peak, studios have made quick money by putting two big stars together and leaving them in the middle of nowhere. In the aftermath of Heaven's Gate, you would have thought that filmmakers had learnt their… More
Hollywood is a sucker for romantic epics. Long after the genre reached its peak, studios have made quick money by putting two big stars together and leaving them in the middle of nowhere. In the aftermath of Heaven's Gate, you would have thought that filmmakers had learnt their lesson; they would have realised that scale is not a substitute for story, and would have concentrated on creating something more intimate and involving. But while Out of Africa is nowhere near as bad as Heaven's Gate, so much of it will try the patience of those who like their dramas taut.
There is no denying Out of Africa looks good. David Watkin has form as a cinematographer, having shot both The Devils and Chariots of Fire, and he offers up a good range of work, from solid wide shots of the Kenyan plains to ornate interiors which have a still life quality to them. The score is pretty good as well -- John Barry, who composed the James Bond theme, also has experience with epics, having scored the likes of Zulu and The Lion in Winter. He blends his own compositions with the recordings of Mozart to make certain moments swell to just the right degree.
Beyond that, Out of Africa is neither more nor less than baggy nonsense. Its first and biggest problem, like so many epics, is its length. In the words of Mark Kermode, "length is not a measure of depth": so often the films which go on the longest actually have the least to day. At 160 minutes, Out of Africa is not interminable -- it's shorter than all three Lord of the Rings and way, way shorter than Heaven's Gate. But considering the film's message and the limited extent of character development, it could have been an hour shorter and still got all its ideas across.
There is an argument with historical epics for keeping the pace slow, to capture how it would feel to live in a world before high-speed broadband and 200mph supercars. The most successful film to do this is Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon, which captures the painterly, stately quality of the 18th century and deliberately takes its time so that we as an audience are forced to slow down and come into the past.
But despite his best efforts, Pollock is no Kubrick, and Out of Africa is not so much painterly as ponderous. It feels like the same encounters and character developments are being repeated, literally ad nauseum, and you never get the sense of the film wanting to move forward. It's like being led across Africa by a guide who constantly wants to stop and admire the view: it's pretty, but you never really go anywhere.
Lord Attenborough once remarked that E.T. was a better film than Gandhi, since the latter was "a piece of narration, rather than a piece of cinema". For all its strengths, Gandhi relies on some kind of foreknowledge of the character and the history to achieve a complete emotional impact. Out of Africa falls into the same trap: it looks good, and has a couple of decent performances (including Leslie Phillips on his very best behaviour), but ultimately it isn't very 'dramatic', or indeed 'romantic'. Meryl Streep's sporadic narration virtually carries the film, and at points is the only semblance of narrative we have. Every time it attempts to build up something important, it cuts to something loud and fleeting like a firework display or a chariot race. As much as Pollock admires David Lean, he does not have the gumption to direct like him.
Much like Pollock's later film The Interpreter, Out of Africa is strangely coy about the nitty-gritty of its politics, being content to offer up brief suggestions of where it stands but shying away from giving further comment. It keeps dodging any given opportunity to explore themes deeper than its central story, for instance the role of women in Africa. Early on in the film Karen Blixen is forced to leave a bar which only serves men -- a matter which isn't raised again until she is kneeling before Sir Joseph. The matter seems to be resolved when the men invite her for a whisky before she leaves, but resolved to what end? The film makes no attempt outside of these brief scenes to look at the role of women in white African society, a wasted opportunity made worse by the casting of Streep who revels in playing strong-willed women.
The same goes for the border war the white men are fighting, which is only hinted at on a couple of occasions. The sub-plot about Blixen contracting syphilis seems completely pointless, since it is dismissed within the space of 20 minutes. It is treated so flippantly and so unnecessary to the character that any editor worth their salt would have taken it out. The central point is that epics have to take account of their surroundings: it may be centrally a love story, but love stories never happen in isolation.
This brings us on to the romantic relationship at the heart of Out of Africa. All hopes of this being half-decent are scuppered by the below-par central performances. Streep is capable of great work -- think of Sophie's Choice, Ironweed or Kramer vs. Kramer -- but here she is really, really annoying. Part of this is her failed attempt at the Danish accent, which starts off promising but eventually becomes laughable as it wanders in and out of Dutch. But mostly it is because her character is so completely unlovable. She may be strong-willed, but she is also preening, selfish, distant and haughty. In the first hour especially, she makes lots of melodramatic turns away from the camera, and there is no great fall from grace which give her a sense of humility.
Robert Redford is not much better, though for entirely different reasons. Having oozed roguish charm in both Butch Cassidy and The Sting, here he feels lost and confused, a situation not helped by a script which keeps its characters' lips at arm's length for nearly two hours. Until then he wanders in and out of the story as he sees fit, always turning up when Streep needs him before prompting disappearing. The relationship has so little chemistry that you end up wishing one of them would be mauled by a lion or accidentally shot by the other: neither would make much sense, but both would at least be more exciting.
Out of Africa is a turgid and ponderous film, and one of the least-deserving winners of the Best Picture Oscar. Within its wide-angle landscapes and sweeping score there is a better, tighter, more thought-provoking story; and it may well be that the original stories are insightful and compelling. But the film is neither of these, squandering the best (and worst) efforts of its actors and ending up with something very boring indeed. It has none of the awe-factor of Doctor Zhivago, very little of Gandhi's intelligence, and precious little of the romantic tension of The Colour Purple (which though very flawed is the better film). Streep fans may leap to its defence, but it's a cold experience for those of us who aren't so easily seduced.