Altman's kaleidoscopic storytelling can yield a masterpiece like Nashville, or the brilliantly raucous M*A*S*H. But what in those films was inspired chaos is, in Gosford Park, just chaos. And all the King's horses and all the King's men (to say nothing of the knights, ladies and other A-list British actors who mostly comprise the sterling cast) couldn't put Gosford together again.
The idea of creating one movie from several familiar English story lines no doubt seemed tasty to Altman and his collaborators Bob Balaban and Julian Fellowes. They set out to present a scathing examination of the upper class in that time-honored settinga shooting partyusing an Upstairs/Downstairs-style format, and encase it all in an Agatha Christie-esquire drawing room murder plot, with a John Cleese-y bumbling inspector thrown in for good measure. If this sounds like too much, it is. The movie is pulled in so many directions, it never gets anywhere. While some of the class satire is wickedly well done, the murder story is given perfunctory treatment. The subplots explaining why several none-too-suspicious suspects want the victim dead are so forgettable, and carelessly presented, you get the idea that Altman himself doesn't really care. The revelation of the real killer seems more an afterthought than a climax. And Stephen Fry's incongruous, idiotic investigator seems mistakenly edited in from another movie.
Trying to tell too many stories at once isn't the only problem afflicting Gosford Park. It also suffers from too many characters. While the many roles in Nashville were as deftly and distinctly drawn as Hirschfeld caricatures, Gosford is confusing in its superfluity of indistinguishable minor parts.
The frustrations noted are lightened by the many fine performances. Clive Owen, Eileen Atkins, Maggie Smith and Helen Mirren earn top honors, with honorable mentions to Kristen Scott Thomas, Jeremy Northram, Michael Gambon, Ryan Phillippe, Emily Watkins and Richard E. Grant. Alan Bates and Derek Jacobi are also on hand to ensure that Gosford Park offers the most spectacular cast assembled since Murder on the Orient Express.
All in all, not unenjoyable, but a very mixed bag.
The idea of creating one movie from several familiar English story lines no doubt seemed tasty to Altman and his collaborators Bob Balaban and Julian Fellowes. They set out to present a scathing examination of the upper class in that time-honored settinga shooting partyusing an Upstairs/Downstairs-style format, and encase it all in an Agatha Christie-esquire drawing room murder plot, with a John Cleese-y bumbling inspector thrown in for good measure. If this sounds like too much, it is. The movie is pulled in so many directions, it never gets anywhere. While some of the class satire is wickedly well done, the murder story is given perfunctory treatment. The subplots explaining why several none-too-suspicious suspects want the victim dead are so forgettable, and carelessly presented, you get the idea that Altman himself doesn't really care. The revelation of the real killer seems more an afterthought than a climax. And Stephen Fry's incongruous, idiotic investigator seems mistakenly edited in from another movie.
Trying to tell too many stories at once isn't the only problem afflicting Gosford Park. It also suffers from too many characters. While the many roles in Nashville were as deftly and distinctly drawn as Hirschfeld caricatures, Gosford is confusing in its superfluity of indistinguishable minor parts.
The frustrations noted are lightened by the many fine performances. Clive Owen, Eileen Atkins, Maggie Smith and Helen Mirren earn top honors, with honorable mentions to Kristen Scott Thomas, Jeremy Northram, Michael Gambon, Ryan Phillippe, Emily Watkins and Richard E. Grant. Alan Bates and Derek Jacobi are also on hand to ensure that Gosford Park offers the most spectacular cast assembled since Murder on the Orient Express.
All in all, not unenjoyable, but a very mixed bag.