Robert Altman’s overextended whodunit, Gosford Park is further proof of life not just imitating art, but showing an ironic parallel.  With each situation that life presents us with, there is a rhythm and timing befitting the execution.  This philosophy also applies to movies, and their various types.  Love stories can be slow and methodical, to help the audience feel the bond, while action films are fast paced, so as to give the frenetic, energized feeling that the characters do.  Somewhere in between, comes the suspense genre.  In order to generate suspense, you must establish certain details, characters, settings etc, along with keeping the pace moving quickly enough so that the nerves are kept stimulated and on the edge.  This is where Gosford Park fails.  While Altman, normally the master of juggling a large ensemble cast and weaving them into an interesting tale, may have had an intriguing tale to tell, his belabored character development bogs things down, and ultimately lulls the audience into a sedated state of ambivalence.  Even a decent ending, cannot save Gosford Park from being well cast bore.

The setting is England; somewhere in the early 1900s I’d guess.  Several well-to-do guests, and their valets (or assistants, or whatever description you care to choose) have been invited by Sir and Lady McCordle at a stately British manor for a weekend of shooting and socializing.  Through the extended relations and conversations it becomes apparent that all is not as comfortable and cozy as it seems it would be for people of this social status.  There is a Hollywood director, and his apparent assistant, researching for their latest film, along with a famous actor with a talent for piano playing, who seems to draw the attention of an unhappy heiress in a loveless marriage.  Then there’s the crotchety old owner of the house, and his wife, who seem to hold the cards over some of the guests.  There are also servants, who have their own stories, only one of which I could really discern.  Owen plays an orphaned assistant to the movie star, who seems secretive, yet lamenting, over his past.  There are other stories and events which become cluttered in the first 2/3 of the film, and ultimately hard to tell what is what, who is who, and how they could possibly be connected.  Then comes the murder, the investigation, and the resolution, all crammed into the last 35 minutes of the film, like Altman realized that he was running out of time, and the resolution, that while surprising, does little to relieve the agony of getting to know these characters.  I can respect a character driven piece, that wants us to care about the people, and what happens to them, but Altman takes that to near overkill status here.  What would have worked better, is if he had cut down the number of characters slightly, thus shortening the setup time, and allowing more for the suspense and curiosity of their outcome.  Granted, that is typical of suspense movies, but it works.  Altman could have used his touch of managing a large cast, giving us enough insight into each to get to know them, but not deluging us with useless information.  Red herrings are one thing, creating suspects and motives are another, but there is a delicate touch and balance to this, along with establishing a rhythm that works to generate thought and interest in the audience.

With a cast this large, it was difficult to pick certain people and actors out, since they all seemed to meld together in a blur of tuxedos and British accents.  Maggie Smith is notable as the cranky Countess of Trentham.  She has just the right balance of sarcasm, arrogance and humor to almost bring life to the role, and stand out from the others.  Along with Mirren, who is relegated to the role of a maid, who may or may not have more going on behind her quiet demeanor, these may be the only roles to take away from the film.  There are other faces, some recognizable (Thomas, who does little more than pout and be arrogant, Watson, who melds into the background, Balaban, who also co-produced, Phillippe, who seems out of place, and Owen, whose look gets him by more than his dialogue) and others who get lost in the crowd. (including the wonderful Richard E. Grant, relegated to a near nothing role) Overall, Altman just couldn’t seem to say no to people, and the fact that there were 5 different production companies, shows that there were a lot of hands in Gosford Park, and even a skilled and talented director like Altman, could not corral all the ideas and characters into a semblance of a coherent movie.

Ultimately, Gosford Park is a futile exercise in excess, the result of which is a tiring period piece detective thriller that fails to generate any momentum or interest.  There is an unwritten order that should be followed in a film that wants to gain curiosity and suspense.  There is the establishment of atmosphere, the introduction of characters, the act itself and the resolution.  Altman does all of this, but takes longer than necessary, and keeps too many balls in the air, for it all to come down in any kind of sensible manner.  He excels at doing pieces which are more about the who’s, then the what’s and where’s.  When he puts people into situations, and then reflects their actions and reactions, he succeeds (The Player, Short Cuts), but here he steps out of his normal genre and, like Crowe in Vanilla Sky, he seems out of his league, and grasping to save face by the conclusion.  Gosford Park never establishes any kind of timing or rhythm, except a hypnotic state lethargy, which results in disappointment at what could have been.

Agree? Disagree, Questions? Comments?

Tell Me Here