Tom Jones (1963): Eitan's Take

Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of watching Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon for the first time. I was taken aback by its joyful grimness, its lyricism, its visual grandeur, and its nihilistic cleverness. In reviews of Kubrick's film, I read that many critics feared that it would be a film close in style and substance to Tom Jones, but were pleasantly surprised by the intellectualism and ingenuity of the 1975 Best Picture nominee. Needless to say, I was immediately worried about the kind of film that Tom Jones would be.

All my fears were realized.

Where Barry Lyndon is a sumptuous and elegantly conceived 18th century black comedy, Tom Jones is a middling, almost humiliatingly awful romp. Director Tony Richardson has almost no sense of pacing and, even worse, little idea of how to make the source material truly comes to life on screen. Albert Finney is quite wonderful as the title character -- how could he not be! -- and the occasional moments of bawdiness almost liberate the film from its bottom-of-the-barrel comedy of errors roots, but no amount of heaving breasts, cunning innuendo, and sitcom-style fourth-wall-breaking asides can rescue such a worthless and trivial little film. If there's one thing I can't stand (unless it's in the hands of Moliere or Shakespeare), it's "who will marry who?" plotlines and extended forays into bleak conversations about inheritance and estates. It's why I can't bring myself to enjoy any of the recent Keira Knightley films, and why I found Tom Jones so unappealing. There is almost nothing gutsy or winning here -- just a rather ugly, mushy mess.

There are two segments, however, that deserve mention. The first is the stunning and eloquent courtship sequence staged for Tom and his darling young love Sophie. These few scenes -- about three or four minutes total -- are shot and edited in a rambunctious, freewheeling style that reminded both Shira and me of those heartbreakingly charming Super-8 reels that often show up in the flashbacks of beautifully filmed romances. These few moments really breathe life, and have a timeless feel to them that is hard to deny.

The other segment that won my heart was an extended eating contest between Tom and a bosomy, red-haired firebrand. Chowing down on lobster, chicken, and a cornucopia of fruits, the lusty and forbidden love between these two audaciously sexy people is captured in a way that is funny, touching, and extremely sensual. The shot-reverse shot montage here, with juices dribbling down chins and oysters being seductively consumed, is brilliant in ways the rest of the film only wishes it could be.

If Richardson had the craftsmanship and ingenuity to give the whole film a light and seductive touch, I think that it would have bowled me over and bucked my predictions. The lumbering, awkward, crudely-edited, and poorly-conceived Tom Jones that he did make, however, earns a 5/10.

Tom Jones (1963): Shira's Take

I cannot help but compare this movie to Barry Lyndon, which I watched recently. Clearly, they share a mid-eighteenth-century British countryside setting, but there are far more similarities--no truly likable characters, an interesting plot executed oddly (in Barry Lyndon's case, it was painfully nihilistic; in Tom Jones, it was quirky and silly), and this sort of hapless-man-that-stumbles-into-good-luck-occasionally story. You can tell my disinterest in a movie by how many celebrity resemblances I find. My Tom Jones viewing experience (Eitan can attest to this) was filled to the brim with, "Oh my god! It's Rowan Atkinson!" Or, "Doesn't he look a little bit like Quentin Tarantino?" -- These examples are Hugh Griffith (Squire Western) and Julian Glover (Lt. Northerton), respectively. A side note: Eitan mentioned the striking resemblance of Lt. Northerton to Walter Donovan of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and apparently Julian Glover DID play Donovan. So, at the end of the film, when he said something to Tom (Albert Finney) about how in his next life he should live it better and ended it with a pointed, "Mr. Jones," I think that was what made the casting director of Indiana Jones decide to cast him. He just had to change the mister to doctor, and he had the Jones villain thing down. < / tangent >

I found myself irritated that the leading lady, Sophie (Susannah York) was still interested in Tom after his eight billion love affairs with all the women of England. I found myself irritated that the cast felt they constantly were in a state of elbow-nudge inside-joke with the audience. And for some ridiculous reason, Diane Cilento (Molly Seagrim a.k.a. the worst part about this movie) was nominated for an Oscar for this hideously uninspired performance. In every way that Barry Lyndon is stark and depressing and oh-so-70's, this movie is insipid, comedic, and oh-so-60's. Movies like this just don't win best picture anymore--I would compare this to 2008's highly disappointing Mamma Mia! Entertainment is good, but without substance, it always leaves me flat. There were some great scenes, though. I loved Tom sitting across from Mrs. Waters at the inn dining table as they watch each other eat every food imaginable and somehow find the greasy chicken bits all over their faces sexually appealing. The hunting scene was shot so insanely beautifully, until the unnecessary spur-cutting-horse and run-over-goose bits. The hanging scene at the end included close-ups of faces of onlookers from interesting angles, and it was interesting and haunting. Plus, there was a baby pug, which gives any movie extra points. All in all, it's a 7/10, but that might be because it was less awful than I expected. And remember, dear readers: It's not unusual to be loved by anyone. It's not unusual to have fun with anyone.