It’s interesting how small films that open to good reviews but quickly head toward oblivion can be rescued by word-of-mouth about an amazing performance. That is the case with “Darkest Hour” and its star, Gary Oldman. In this year’s many films and TV shows about World War II, the persona of Prime Minister Winston Churchill has loomed large. Brian Cox did a great job playing him in “Churchill,” as did John Lithgow in “The Crown” on PBS. Fine actors, fine performances. But nowhere has he been portrayed with such subtlety, such sly humor, such bravado masking deep self-doubt as in Oldman’s performance. The actor has no resemblance to Churchill, either physically or vocally, and yet the great man couldn’t have asked for a better homage to him and his leadership during that dark time when it seemed Hitler was about to do to England what he had already done to most of Europe. The genius of prosthetics and expert make-up can only go so far (and David Malinowski and crew do brilliantly) but as we watch Oldman, we feel as though we’re having an intimate glimpse into Churchill’s soul.
The film is basically a dramatization of a debate between those who want to try to reach an agreement and those who know such an agreement with a power-hungry madman is worthless. Both sides are admirably represented; in fact, Ronald Pickup as Neville Chamberlin and Stephen Dillane as Viscount Halifax (both first-rate) make strong arguments for saving lives —both civilian and military—at all costs by not engaging in war; the challenge to Churchill and King George (admirably played by Ben Mendelsohn), who know that many will die but England’s sovereignty must be preserved, is a major test of leadership.
The script is crisp, the acting topnotch all around, including Kristin Scott Thomas as Clementine Churchill —stalwart, supportive and exasperated by this man to whom she’s married. But “Darkest Hour” is Oldman’s film all the way.
I am a musical comedy buff and there is nothing that pleases me more than a good story, a good score and lyrics, and fine singers bringing both to life. Unfortunately, I was not pleased by “The Greatest Showman.” The filmmakers tried to make it work, tried to make it magic, but it just isn’t there. Yes, Hugh Jackman is a gifted singer and actor, but the script is all surface and clichéd, which is a shame. This was a chance to shine some light on a fascinating American enigma from the nineteenth century: P.T. Barnum was a combination salesman/hustler/businessman/con man/dreamer/politician who made great amounts of money off outlandish hoaxes and people with odd bodies, lost it all to bad investments, and in his sixties began the Barnum and Bailey circus. What shows up in the film are one-note characterizations, huge and athletic production numbers that spring to life without much lead-in, songs that all sound the same, busy camerawork, a love story with not a lot of conflict or interest (even with the delightful Michelle Williams doing her best as “the wife”) and two little girls who are, yes, adorable and talented, but who never age, even as the film spans quite a few years. Why not show the girls as teenagers and then young women? Were they saving on salaries? Okay, I nitpick. What you’re hearing is disappointment; I wish Hugh Jackman could have had a better vehicle for his talents. “The Greatest Showman” is, alas, never more than adequate, and it rarely achieves even that level.