Nostromo (1996), directed by Alastair Reid
Apr 16th, 2009 by John Murphy
The challenge of adapting Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo for the screen, large or small, is of such a colossal magnitude that perhaps only Nostromo himself, the novel’s hero and “a man in a thousand” should have been charged with the task. The difficulties start with the logistics of the production. Set in a fictional South American republic at the turn-of-the-century, with a silver mining operation as its economic engine, Nostromo demands a large-scale canvas if the book is to be done any justice.
No doubt that is why David Lean, legendary director of old-school epics like Bridge on the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia, was slated to helm his version of Nostromo in the early 1990’s. In declining health at the age of 83, it was a big gamble for the studio behind it, and the studio lost. Tragically, Lean died before filming commenced and we are left with only a few tantalizing glimpses of the “might-have-been”: a script by Christopher Hampton (now published, though Lean would have worked from a script revised by the great Robert Bolt, author of A Man for All Seasons and The Mission), some costume and set sketches, and a cast list that included Peter O’Toole (slated to play the tortured alcoholic, Dr. Monygham), Isabella Rossellini, Greta Schacchi, and newcomer George Carraface as “Our Man,” Nostromo. Along with Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon project, Lean’s unrealized Nostromo is one of the great what-ifs? of film history.
As if the large-scale logistics and the specter of Lean weren’t enough, there is the book itself, arguably Conrad’s masterpiece, that poses unique, almost insurmountable challenges. Nostromo is a knotty, difficult, brilliant, richly layered work of surpassing art. There is very little dialogue in the novel and much less in the way of Hollywood-style “action.” The themes of greed, corruptibility, guilt and redemption, are woven seamlessly into a story that is highly symbolic, psychologically complex, and very difficult to parse on first reading. There is a huge cast of ethnically diverse characters, complicated political and economic dealings, revolutions, betrayals, backstories, and murky motivations. Just keeping the chronology in order is difficult.
I’m prefacing my review this way to put the achievement of the 1996 TV adaptation in proper perspective. To call it “competent,” in light of the Everest-level challenge the filmmakers faced, is no small praise. Nostromo is a novel that proves the old Hollywood wisdom about good books making bad movies and bad books making good movies. That said, there is much to admire and appreciate about this production, even if it lacks the vision and artistry that Lean would have (we can only imagine) brought to the material.
The cast, with one notable exception (and another major caveat), is where this production shines. Colin Forth perfectly embodies Charles Gould’s starchy Englishness, even as Gould’s growing obsession with his silver mine begins to consume him. Serena Scott Thomas as Gould’s seraphic wife has the exactly the warmth and beauty that Conrad describes. Albert Finney could not be better (could anyone be better than Albert Finney? Even O’Toole?) as tormented Monygham, a doctor haunted by his past. Some delicious supporting turns also spark life into the proceedings: devilishly handsome Joaquim de Almeida as slippery turncoat, Colonel Sotillo, and Nelson Guerrero as Father Corbelan — a priest with a face like a monument, who keeps whiskey and a six-shooter next to his Bible.
As good as those actors are, any production of Nostromo inevitably rises or falls on the basis of its leading man, its titular “hero.” Claudio Amendola makes for an athletic, likable, and charismatic protagonist. But his charisma lacks danger, lacks that special something that sets Nostromo apart. Amendola almost too likable, too approachable. In the novel, Nostromo is an imposing, intimidating character with a rich interior life. He is the “incorruptible” — the kind of man that can calm a riotous crowd through his presence alone. When his fall comes, it should be more than just a good man gone bad, it should be, to quote Henry V, “Like another fall of man.” I can only think of one actor alive possessed of the right mix of qualities to make Nostromo convincing: Javier Bardem.
But that version of Nostromo (directed by Peter Weir, perhaps) exists only in my head. This version is a helpful corollary to the book — a better adaptation of the Cliff’s Notes Nostromo than Conrad’s Nostromo. Maybe this semi-arid approach can be blamed on Alastair Reid, whose direction is pedestrian. For a novel rich in symbols, Reid misses many opportunities to translate Conrad’s visionary language into an equally evocative cinematic tone-poem. He relies on his superb cast and a reasonably faithful script to convey Conrad’s ideas, when he could have used the camera to hint at some of the book’s haunting themes — the legend of the “ghosts of Azuera,” for example, so important in the book, is not even mentioned in the movie. A lush score by il maestro himself, Ennio Morricone, goes a long to way creating exactly the kind of atmosphere that the direction fails to provide.
Of course, a truly faithful adaptation of Nostromo would be almost as difficult to parse as the novel itself. The strength of this production is in its expert cast and the limpid strength of the storytelling. But if you get the sense that there’s more to the story, you’re right. And if the TV version leads you to the book, then it has done its worthy duty.
