It is easy to criticize and get snarky about Les Misérables. It is bombastic, melodramatic, unabashedly sentimental, and one can reasonably argue that director Tom Hooper’s handling of the material is wobbly and at times artistically unappealing. Some will find it unbearably overwrought, while those inclined to see musicals as an inherently campy endeavor will be put off by the film’s insistent theatricality. But against all odds, this star-studded extravaganza is also one of the most deeply moving films I’ve seen this year, a flawed work of popular art whose power and conviction cannot be easily dismissed.
First, the basics: Les Misérables the film is adapted from the wildly popular, Tony-winning stage musical by Claude-Michel Schönberg, Alain Boublil, and Herbert Kretzmer, which was itself based on Victor Hugo’s classic novel of the same time. The setting is France in the tumultuous early nineteenth century. The protagonist is Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackson) a convict who broke parole and is on the run after being imprisoned for nineteen years, the result of stealing a mere loaf of bread for his sister’s child and multiple attempts at an escape. The antagonist is Javert (Russell Crowe), a harsh, unsympathetic policeman with an unwavering belief in the rightness of the law and in its application.
The story is well-known: Valjean is transformed by the kindness of a Catholic bishop while on the run and repents of his sins to God, eventually starting life anew and becoming the respected mayor of a town and a successful businessman. A worker with an illegitimate child named Fantine (Anne Hathaway) is unjustly thrown out of his factory by the foreman and becomes a downtrodden prostitute. Moved and feeling responsible for her plight, Valjean adopts her daughter Cosette with the determination to bring her up with love and care.
But the world is not so forgiving. Valjean’s past sins catch up to him as his old identity is once again made known. Javert, a symbol of legalistic justice, pursues Valjean, a man touched by God and an embodiment of grace and compassion, with full force. This central story spans the course of seventeen years and runs through a tapestry of subplots centering around a new wave of unrest and civic rebellion in France that led to the June Rebellion of 1832.
Victor Hugo’s original story is an unapologetically sincere story of redemption, the kind of grand, morally serious epic that celebrates the noble human impulse for love, mercy, and justice while touching on such weighty subjects as politics, religion, and social inequality. The stage musical is a drastically condensed version of that sprawling story and something of a highlight reel, but its taut characterization, sincerity, and expertly orchestrated music made it a highly effective rendering of Hugo’s timeless tale.
Like millions around the world, I have seen it performed live on stage, listened to the soundtrack more times than I can count, watched the various anniversary concerts and stage tributes, and enjoyed the pleasure of singing its many tunes. There is no denying that the musical is pure melodrama, but for those willing to surrender to it and get on its wavelength, it is stirring stuff, as moving as it is, yes, spiritually edifying.
Les Misérables the film then is a very imperfect adaptation of what was itself an imperfect adaptation of a legendary novel. The initial reviews have put forth a batch of perfectly valid criticisms. Director Tom Hooper (the Oscar-winner behind The King’s Speech) is simply not a very fluid or inventive filmmaker. He does not seem to have a particularly well-considered or controlled creative vision. The film’s handheld aesthetics, which along with the production design is an attempt to lend gritty realism and immediacy to the proceedings, is overactive and under-realized at times. Hooper’s trademark slanted and off-center framing is similarly problematic in some of sequences, coming off as gimmicky and positively bizarre, a futile effort to generate further interests when none are needed, and his frantic cutting and relentless pacing sometimes threaten to overwhelm the senses and undermine the innate tension in some of the set pieces. There were quite few times when I wished the camera would slow down, sit still and let us linger on a particular moment or on wider, panoramic shots of the characters and the landscape surrounding them.
But somehow the film managed to transcend these obvious imperfections. For all of his flaws as a director, Hooper is to be commended for making some very bold choices: The production design is appropriately gritty, and the much-talked about live-singing, a first for a major studio musical and a decision that allowed the actors to belt out the tunes live on camera, is a success. In several key sequences Hooper trusts his actors fully and lets the camera focus, in close-up, intently on their faces, without additional flourishes. This approach may seem unimaginative to some, but it lends an unusual urgency and intimacy to the performances, a dare for the viewer to grapple with the characters’ plight head-on. Hugh Jackman, Anne Hathaway, Samantha Barks, and Eddie Redmayne all benefited from this approach in their big numbers.
Hathaway in particular has been singled out for her show-stopping, close-up rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream.” Despite her brief on-screen appearance, she is a compelling voice of suffering and grief at the center of the film. Barks, who played the character of Eponine on the London stage and reprises the role here, brings an authentic grace to the film despite the somewhat one-dimensional nature of her character; Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen provide appropriate comic relief to the otherwise dramatic story. And while Russell Crowe as Javert is probably the weakest link, lacking a polished singing voice and the menace required of him, there is nonetheless an understated poignancy to his portrayal of a good man with a misguided notion of righteousness.
But it is Hugh Jackman’s Valjean who is the heart and soul of the story and who carries the film with a conviction and grace that made the film so deeply moving. A veteran of musical theater, Jackman’s committed performance as a tormented soul touched by God and a righteous man trying to do his best in a harsh world has an intensity and power I did not know he had in him.
Jackman’s rendition of “What Have I Done,” Valjean’s devastating wrestle with his guilt and shame early on in the film, gets the story to a riveting start, and throughout the film, he handles such well-known songs as “Who Am I?” and “Bring Him Home” with passion and elegance. He embodies the piercing earnestness of the film. (Spoiler Alert) Indeed, by the time the story reaches its endpoint and shows Jackman’s Valjean finally reaching eternal peace, with an angelic Fantine leading him to rest (“Come with me, where chains will never bind you. All your grief at last, at last behind you”) and with the bishop whose compassion first transformed him once again appearing on screen to receive him with openness and love- an elegant and amazingly powerful symbol of God’s redemptive embrace, I was a total wreck, and more than happy to forgive the film’s many flaws.
Can valid and justifiably negative criticisms be made of Les Misérables? Absolutely. The film’s flaws abound, and there are already plenty of critics who have written thoughtfully about the film’s shortcomings. But perhaps partly inspired by the film’s vision of mercy and grace (and by the character of the bishop), I was more than happy to embrace the film the way I would an earnest person with obvious and identifiable flaws, and the end result was unexpectedly rewarding and edifying.