"Cosette" by Emile Bayard in the original 1862 edition of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables
Yesterday morning I hit the theater with the geriatric crowd for the first showing of the day ($6.25, mind you) and saw Tom Hooper's movie version of Les Miserables. My sister saw it Christmas Day and said she almost sobbed several times. I figured she was just tired. How could a movie where almost every word was sung actually grab hold of your emotions in any meaningful way when the singing constantly reminds you it's it's not real-- it's only a musical? I'm not a big fan of musicals because of that reason. Under normal circumstances, who breaks out in song in everyday life?
I confess, I did sweep my porch one day singing a rousing chorus of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz... "because, because, because, because, BECAAAAAAUSE!!! (with lots of vibrato) Because of the wonderful things he does." My sister-in-law caught me on that last line, and I haven't sung with my broom since.
Okay, I have to admit The Sound of Music is one of my all time favorite movies, and it's a musical, but they do a lot of talking in it, too, and a lot of the singing seemed to fit seamlessly in the story. But when Les Mis started with a bunch of wretched-looking prisoners singing as they struggled to pull a ship into some kind of coliseum-looking dock, I thought, oh no, this is going to be a long three hours.
But the three hours passed much quicker than I thought it would. And the gritty settings and grimy people really pulled me into the story, despite the continuous singing. I held my emotions in check, proud of the fact that I was in control, but when [spoiler alert from here on out] Javert walked down the line of bodies of the young rebels and stopped and pinned his medal on the young Gavroche, it took everything I had to keep from wailing out loud. And when Maurius sang his heart-wrenching song in the empty room where he and his revolutionary friends used to meet, it was heartbreaking to see the noble efforts of the young men snuffed out so easily, and their ultimate sacrifices changed nothing other than a short entry in France's history books. I'm sure we never would've known about the June Rebellion or given it a second thought if Victor Hugo hadn't used it as one of the story lines in his book.
But the piece de resistance that was almost my undoing was the last scene where Jean Valjean was dying, and I was so afraid his daughter Cosette and son-in-law Maurius wouldn't get there in time. Cosette's deceased mother Fantine is there to meet him at his death. And she sang him through it, and he agonizingly sings himself through it while his children are singing their praises and are trying to keep him from dying. The tears were streaming down my face, but I was afraid to make any sudden gestures to stop them lest they push some other viewers over the edge, and then we'd all start squalling at the top of our lungs.
Yes, the actors all sang throughout the movie, but they did it as naturally as breathing or talking, and it didn't take long into the movie before I forgot it was a musical. And I especially liked the fact that they weren't lip-synching. A mis-matched lip-synching effort will kill the magic and squash the performance faster than anything.
But the real reason I wanted to write about Les Miserables on this particular blog is that it left me with a powerful urge to want to do better, to be better, whether it's with my writing, or my interactions with others, or my attitude toward those less fortunate than me. I have a great respect towards those who have the courage to face the hard things in life with a will to make them better. The easiest thing for us to do is to turn away and not see the wrongs in our world. God doesn't expect us to try to fix everything ourselves, and it can be overwhelming when we think we're supposed to, but I believe He does expect us to do the right thing when someone crosses our path that needs help. I loved that about Jean Valjean's character. He could've been a thief for the rest of his life, and angry and bitter for the inordinate punishment for such a small crime of stealing bread. But when someone showed him overwhelming grace and mercy in spite of his stealing from that person, it changed him forever. And that's a beautiful picture of what Christ does for us, the wretched poor in spirit.
No comments:
Post a Comment