Film Review - Le Comte de Monte-Cristo (The Count of Monte-Cristo)
This new version of the Alexandre Dumas classic proves an enjoyable, satisfying, six-course-dinner of a film
The Count of Monte-Cristo has been adapted umpteen times for film and television, often unsuccessfully. However, this new take, courtesy of directors Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de La Patellière. is rather magnificent. Last year, their screenwriting involvement with Martin Bourboulon’s criminally underseen two-part adaptation of another Alexandre Dumas classic, The Three Musketeers, more than proved their credentials. Here, they’ve crafted something even better.
For those unfamiliar with the plot, it begins in 1815, just after Napoleon escapes exile in Elba. Recently promoted merchant Captain Edmond Dantès (Pierre Niney) finds himself the fall guy at the centre of a cruel conspiracy, in which he is framed as a Napoleonic spy. Those framing him are led by prosecutor Villefort (Laurent Lafitte), jealous colleague Danglars (Patrick Mille), and Fernand Mondego (Bastian Bouillon), cousin of Dantès’s fiancée Mercédès (Anaïs Demoustier). Fernand rather fancies Mercédès for himself.
On his wedding day, Dantès is arrested and later imprisoned in solitary confinement at the notorious Château d’If. After four years of misery, he meets another prisoner: Italian scholar, priest, and Knight’s Templar descendant Abbé Faria (Pierfrancesco Favino). This happens when Faria digs a secret tunnel to Dantès’s cell. Over the next few years, Faria teaches Dantès various languages, history, and much more, eventually revealing the location of a great Templar treasure to which he is heir, offering to share it with him. The treasure is located on the island of Monte Cristo. An escape plan ensues (I won’t spoil the exciting details), the treasure is obtained, and some years later, Dantès returns to France as the mysterious and immensely wealthy Count of Monte Cristo, to take elaborate vengeance on all who wronged him.
Let’s be honest: The Count of Monte-Cristo is such a superb story that you’d have to work hard to make it rubbish. At the same time, it is a dense tome, and there are normally significant plot departures from page to screen to streamline or reinvent the material. These generally occur in the second half, when Dantès, using his various aliases, disguises, and allies, becomes consumed by revenge. In this case, supporting characters such as Haydée (Anamaria Vartolomei), Albert (Vassili Schneider), and André aka Benedetto in the novel (Julien De Saint Jean), take different narrative paths. On the other hand, whilst some might think the implied lesbian subplot involving Eugénie (Marie Narbonne) is modern revisionism, it is hinted at in the text.
This adaptation feels brisk, even at 178 minutes, deftly removing certain sections of the text (the smugglers who rescue Dantès, for instance) whilst reinventing others. I won’t get into the latter for fear of spoilers (beyond what I’ve mentioned above), but rest assured, this is a cracking good watch; a veritable cinematic six-course-dinner of a film, and immensely satisfying. Performances are strong, with Pierre Niney, in particular, rising to the challenge of portraying the multi-faceted protagonist. It’s a credit to him that the various masks, disguises, and accents stay on the right side of Inspector Clouseau, for one thing. For another, Niney nails the outrage, injustice, despair, and vengeful fury, ensuring the film is emotionally gripping throughout. Scenery is well and truly chewed, in a manner entirely appropriate to the narrative theatrics.
Speaking of scenery, this is also a feast for the eyes, with lavish, drone-assisted cinematography from Nicolas Bolduc and splendid costume design from Thierry Delettre. Stéphane Taillasson and Patrick Schmitt contribute fabulous production design and art direction, respectively. Incidentally, all four are Musketeers alumni, with Cesco Bonello and Sven Bonnici new additions to the latter discipline. The look and feel of this film, and the Musketeers films, are very much tonally akin. They also share an editor in Célia Lafitedupont, though scoring this time is by Jérôme Rebotier. His lush, sweeping compositions are used to great effect, and reminded me at times of Hans Zimmer’s work on Christopher Nolan’s films. On that subject, all three of these recent Dumas adaptations have a hint of Nolan about them (especially the action scenes in the Musketeers films).
All things considered, I recommend seeing The Count of Monte-Cristo at the cinema where it can be best appreciated. It is such a damn good story that no matter how many other versions you’ve seen, and no matter what liberties this ultimately takes with the text (I had no issue with the reinventions here), the result is still wholly absorbing.
(Originally published at Medium.)
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