The Designated Mourner

'The Designated Mourner', a play by Wallace Shawn, is above all else an exercise in writing. Three people (in this adaptation by David Hare, sat statically throughout in one of two locations, one of which appears to be a television news desk, the other a table in a small café), discuss their relationship. But although they respond to each other in tone, they rarely directly address the subject material that the others refer to; and the wider backdrop to their personal story, a crypto-fascist coup, is mentioned only elliptically by all three participants, just as it might be in real conversation where certain things would be taken as known. But there's little that's naturalistic or conventionally conversational about these carefully constructed interlaced monologues; they better represent the inner voices of self-justification (or alternatively, the voices of published autobiography). In spite of the artifice, one does develop a sophisticated sense for the nuances of the trio's characters; everyone has an agenda, and deciphering the three unreliable narrators is exactly the point. Thi particular film of the play is well acted, and it's probably sensible that Hare has chosen to add very little to the basic script (having made this decision, almost his only work as director is to choose when to cut between alternative close-ups). But while theatre has to work within certain intrinsic limitations (and offers you the benefits of live performance as a compensation), cinema does not and in this sense, this seems a strange work to put on screen. Nonetheless, it's still an interesting experiment, and worth watching if you like your drama wordy and cerebral.

I stumbled across this film late one night, as if i had stumbled into a dream, one i couldn't draw myself from.

The lack of set puts all emphasis on the long monologues, which are delivered with such riveting feeling that the character's words fail not to touch you in someway.The script seems split between drawing from reality's loneliness and hurt, and poetry's cutting imagery and sentiment, which altogether creates some haunting myth.The entire cast (numbering but three and including a fabulous Miranda Richardson)are thoroughly engaging-Mike Nickols carries the film admirably-their characters seem locked in the retelling of the story, utterly lost in the memories and who can help but reflect the feelings of identity and loneliness upon themselves.

What does it mean to be an intellectual? is it a facade comprised of book-learned knowledge, some peripheral understanding of poetry, art, and literature that are ultimately the persona known to others as one's self? Or is it the inner core of a person who possesses not simply a mere knowledge, but rather engages in communal understanding with the work of art, living and experiencing it? These are some of the many questions that this film raises. What these three actors -- who sit at a table, talking into the camera -- manage to accomplish is beyond my comprehension. If you like writers like Joyce or Kafka, if you enjoy poetry and intellectual stimulation in general, you will most likely appreciate this picture.

I worked at the national film theatre & had to usher this film, unfortunately I drew the short straw & was the only one who had to watch it twice. About 75% of the audience walked out per screening. Three people talking to camera. set = table. Genuinely had people snoring. I had to stand up to stop from sleeping.

Worst film ever made. don't accidentally watch it, hire it etc. It really is not worth the effort. If however you're planning to rob a bank, show the workers this film & watch them nod off. This really is a film to kill yourself to. Dull Dull Dull.

PS. no this is not highbrow - it's tosh.

Three characters sit at table, taking turns speaking directly to the camera, talking of courage and cowardice in a time of repression, in an unspecified yet intuitively recognizable place and time not far from our own.

Shawn's virtuoso writing (far more nuanced than a short summary can convey) meditates on the hairsplitting liberal in us all, as 'the last people who really understand John Donne' are casually wiped out in the interest of 'fighting terrorism'.

As for the lack of action: yes, maybe it's really a radio play, but every actor or actress should *see* Mike Nichols, who gives an extraordinary, one-of-a-kind performance. Particularly, he breaks all the rules of "actor's diction," so he sounds just like a *real* person (say, being interviewed for a documentary). Not an effect you can use just anywhere, but brilliant here.