In a year filled with such groundbreaking films as The Matrix, American Beauty, Fight Club, Being John Malkovich, Three Kings, Magnolia, and others, inevitably there will be films of equal--if not superior--merit that will get lost in the shuffle when it comes time to hand out the slew of cinema awards. I fear that Snow Fallings on Cedars will be such a film. The cinematography is simply stunning, the screenplay draws on the narrative strengths of film--montage and arresting visual images--and the acting is understated in such a way that magnifies rather than diminishes the emotional power of its subject matter. And yet the combined force of so many excellent and well-made movies and critical ambivalence will certainly prevent many people from seeing and appreciated this intricately woven film.
A common misconception I've read in the reviews that have panned Snow Falling in Cedars is that the film is, in the words of Newsweek, "a potboiler screaming to get out." Nothing could be further from the truth, as the central motivation for the film isn't just a courtroom thriller. True, the centerpiece of the novel is a murder trial, but in the novel the trial was a set piece designed to showcase many broader issues: culture clashes, racism, and the how cultural misperceptions lead from small misunderstandings to the brink of miscarriages of justice. In fact, to make this film a "potboiler" would be missing the whole point, which I think many reviewer have.
Director Scott Hicks made the correct, though commercially less viable choice, of centering Snow Falling on Cedars on the impressions, memories, and regrets of all who come together in the courtroom. Hence the very visual, impressionistic style. One need not haul out a host of horrific images of the Japanese internment to capture exactly how unjust and morally indefensible it was. Hicks simply evokes shades of Schindler's List in the way the Japanese residents are rounded up, tagged, and unceremoniously carted off in US military trucks, while in the foreground waves a 48-starred American flag. The image is at once simple and powerful.
The film's narrative style weighs heavily on this kind of storytelling. True, it may not make immediate sense, but as the film progresses the images begin to layer upon themselves and begin to reveal their fragility and beauty. The acting from all quarters, especially Ethan Hawke (who has spent so many movies in goateed slacker mode), is understated and judicious. There are no histrionics, no scenery-chewing bits that have "Oscar moment" flashing all over them. And to witness Max Von Sydow's masterfully underplayed defense summation is to experience the rare instance where you truly see a fine actor steeled in his craft.
Find the time to see this film and you will find yourself rewarded with an impressionistic, quietly invoked film written in the language that cinema was meant to speak.
A common misconception I've read in the reviews that have panned Snow Falling in Cedars is that the film is, in the words of Newsweek, "a potboiler screaming to get out." Nothing could be further from the truth, as the central motivation for the film isn't just a courtroom thriller. True, the centerpiece of the novel is a murder trial, but in the novel the trial was a set piece designed to showcase many broader issues: culture clashes, racism, and the how cultural misperceptions lead from small misunderstandings to the brink of miscarriages of justice. In fact, to make this film a "potboiler" would be missing the whole point, which I think many reviewer have.
Director Scott Hicks made the correct, though commercially less viable choice, of centering Snow Falling on Cedars on the impressions, memories, and regrets of all who come together in the courtroom. Hence the very visual, impressionistic style. One need not haul out a host of horrific images of the Japanese internment to capture exactly how unjust and morally indefensible it was. Hicks simply evokes shades of Schindler's List in the way the Japanese residents are rounded up, tagged, and unceremoniously carted off in US military trucks, while in the foreground waves a 48-starred American flag. The image is at once simple and powerful.
The film's narrative style weighs heavily on this kind of storytelling. True, it may not make immediate sense, but as the film progresses the images begin to layer upon themselves and begin to reveal their fragility and beauty. The acting from all quarters, especially Ethan Hawke (who has spent so many movies in goateed slacker mode), is understated and judicious. There are no histrionics, no scenery-chewing bits that have "Oscar moment" flashing all over them. And to witness Max Von Sydow's masterfully underplayed defense summation is to experience the rare instance where you truly see a fine actor steeled in his craft.
Find the time to see this film and you will find yourself rewarded with an impressionistic, quietly invoked film written in the language that cinema was meant to speak.